The City of Mexico’s wireless man cut off. The third officer came into the wireless room.
“Ready, the old man wants you to make out a bulletin for the passengers. They’ll go wild over this.”
Jack quickly typed off a bulletin.
“Shortly before noon, in communication with wrecked and drifting flying-boat Adventurer. She is about twenty miles to the Southwest. We are hurrying at top speed to her assistance and should be there in a little over an hour’s time.
“Ready, Chief Operator, S. S. Tropic Queen.”
The excitement that followed the posting of this notice on the bulletin board at the head of the saloon stairs may be imagined by those who have passed long, dreamy, uneventful days at sea, when even the sight of a distant sail provides all manner of topics of conversation.
But now they were steaming at top speed toward the hulk of a flying-boat—that is, provided she was still on the surface. The ship buzzed and hummed with vibrant excitement. Passengers lined the rails, and some of the more excitable even tried to swarm into the rigging, from which exalted positions they were swiftly ejected.
Black smoke poured from the Tropic Queen’s funnels, and the speed of her accelerated engines caused a humming vibration to run through her frame like the twanging of a taut fiddle string. On the bridge, white-uniformed officers stood, with glasses in hand, all on the alert to catch the first black speck on the sparkling sea which might reveal the location of the wrecked air adventurers.
Forward, on the forepeak and in the crow’s nest, lookouts had been doubled. And excitement was added to the race to the rescue when it became known that the City of Mexico was speeding from the southward on the same errand of mercy.
[CHAPTER XVII—A DERELICT OF THE SKIES]
“What a wonderful thing wireless is!” remarked Sam, as the two young operators stood gazing from the upper deck where their “coop” was perched.