“I’d like to have had ’em in the foc’sle of my old ship, the Sarah Jane Braithwaite!” he had exploded. “I’d have shown ’em. Keel-hauling would have been too good for such a bunch of sojers.”
At the conclusion of his story, Nat had asked to be allowed to utilize the Lightship’s wireless in trying to raise his friends.
“Waal, I want to know!” was the skipper’s exclamation, already recorded above. “Anything you want on this ship is yours, young feller, even down to my wooden leg, although I wouldn’t wish that on yer. Come ahead, I’ll show you whar the contraption is. Lord! Lord! these are wonderful days, when lads who can use wireless and fix busted gas engines come drifting along, a-bumping into just the folks that needs ’em.”
The wireless room was on deck, enclosed in a small cabin at the foot of the forward mast of the Lightship. Nat saw that it contained a set of the latest and best instruments, and he soon was sending out broadcast an appeal to locate the Nomad. Following this, he tried on a chance to raise Goat Island. He had not much idea that there would be anybody there, but he thought it was worth an effort anyway.
To his amazement when he switched to the receiving apparatus and adjusted the telephones to his ears, out of space came a reply that almost made him fall off his chair. It was sent in a hesitating, unskillful way, very unlike Ding-dong’s expert key-handling, or even Joe’s.
“Who wants Goat Island?”
“I do, Nat Trevor!” he rejoined. “Who is this?”
“Nemo,” came back out of the ether.
“Nemo! Why, that’s the Latin for ‘nobody’” exclaimed Nat, in an amazed tone.
“Are you Goat Island?” flashed back Nat. “Answer at once!”