Radio Boys in the Secret Service; Or, Cast Away on an Iceberg

by J. W. Duffield

A dozen men were calling down to wife or daughter or other relative or friend in the boat, and Guy was unable to make his voice reach his mother intelligibly. So he waved his hand to her and turned to follow Glennon and Watson.

This was not an occasion for much detailed observation of surroundings, but there were certain conditions and circumstances that impressed themselves on Guy’s mind so indelibly that he may never forget them. It was a clear cold night. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly. The ship was listing heavily to starboard and many of the passengers were moving nervously here and there in the hope of finding a boat or raft not yet launched. The forward end of the vessel was sinking rapidly. Fortunately few women and children were left on the ship, so that there was little individual helplessness to hamper the most hopeful activities under the circumstances.

Apparently everybody still on the sinking vessel was now on the boat deck. The first few boats that were launched had been loaded from the promenade, but as the ship sunk lower there was a general migration to the boat deck. There it soon became evident that although the liner had been equipped with enough lifeboats and rafts for an emergency of this kind, yet half the boats were useless because the listing of the vessel rendered it impossible to lower them.

Naturally, in spite of the imminent danger that confronted all on board there was a good deal of curiosity as to the cause of the sinking of the Herculanea. At first it appeared to be another Titanic disaster, for near the ship loomed a monster iceberg, so immense, indeed, that it appeared more like a “mainland of ice” than an island of frozen water. The word was circulated among the passengers that the liner had struck a submerged projection of this huge berg.

But Guy heard this report positively contradicted by one of the officers, who declared that an explosion had opened a great gap in the steamer below the water line. This officer expressed the opinion that the vessel had struck a floating mine probably laid by a German submarine after the United States declared war.

Although there was general good order on board, one could not help seeing that the feeling everywhere was tense, and little more would be required to create a panic. The captain stood on the bridge, issuing orders through a megaphone. He exhorted the passengers to preserve order for their own sake. The throbbing of the big engines had ceased, but all the mechanical power had not been killed, for one or more of the dynamos still worked supplying electric current to some of the lighting wires and to the wireless apparatus. From an open window of the radio house came the thrilling sounds of the current leaping the spark gap and eager high pitched voices. Ever since the fatal blow doomed the steamer to a watery grave, the operator had been flashing a continuous stream of distress messages. And this he continued to do as long as the electric current lasted. Meanwhile assurance was passed among the remaining passengers that a liner had caught the Herculanea’s “S. O. S.” and was racing to the rescue. But nobody could dodge the fearful importance of this question—Would she arrive before the sinking steamer went down?

“Are all the boats gone?” inquired Guy, as he and Carl Watson turned to look about them for some means of escape from the doom that seemed to be theirs.

“Your mother was the last person to enter the last boat,” replied Watson solemnly.

“Thanks to your great generosity,” said Guy, scarcely able to control his emotion of gratefulness.

“Look down there,” interrupted Carl, pointing toward the after end of the main deck. “Those fellows seem to have found a supply of rafts. Let’s go down and see what’s doing.”