“How soon will some ship come to our aid?”
Again and again the call was sent out into space, and in less than an hour there was a cheer from the vicinity of the wireless room.
“What’s that?” asked Ned of some of his soldier chums.
“They’ve received our calls!” cried a young lieutenant. “Three of Uncle Sam’s warships are racing toward us at top speed. Now we’re all right!”
And the good news was true. Working night and day, often at great personal risk, the engine room force had managed to rig up a boiler, get steam to an engine, and so whirl the dynamo that furnished the current for the powerful wireless spark. The operators had done the rest.
Forth into the air had gone the mystic signals, and this time they had been heard and understood by many receivers both on shore and at sea. It did not take long to flash the news to the proper quarters, and from Brest, the very port from which the Sherman had departed, aid was rushed to her. The position was accurately given—as accurately as can be on a boundless sea—and the rest had to be left to fate.
In record-breaking time the rescuing convoy was sighted, and then joyous scenes took place on board the Sherman.
Soon after the first enthusiasm had worn off, though, the question arose as to what was the next thing to do. The war-weary soldiers wanted to get back home—to Uncle Sam’s country.
But this problem was easily solved. The war vessels had orders to take on board all the passengers and proceed with them to the United States. The Sherman would be towed back to Brest for repairs, and on board her a crew would have to remain to look after the ship. Every one else, however, was transferred to one or another of the three war vessels that arrived about the same time. The baggage, too, was transferred, much to the satisfaction of the returning soldiers.
“Is there anything that can be done to see if Jerry and Bob are alive?” asked Ned of his captain, when they, together with their comrades and fellow officers, were on board the warship.