It was a race to thrill the most critical, and a contest of speed, too, which had, as its goal, a human life; for, from the frantic signals now being made by the man on the drifting flying-boat, it was plain that he did not expect to keep above the water much longer.
The Mexico’s wireless man was signaling Jack.
“Hit it up, you Tropic Queen.”
“We’re doing nicely, thank you,” came back Jack. “What’s the matter with your old sea-going smoke wagon?”
In this way the messages between the two on-rushing steamships were flashed back and forth above the sparkling sea, while the drama of the race for a life was going forward.
And now the passengers had caught sight of the tiny object adrift on the vast ocean. A hoarse cheer ascended to the boat decks, in which the shrill voices of women mingled. They were shouting encouragement and advice to the castaway of the sky.
He replied by waving. The speed of the ship suddenly was reduced. Under Quartermaster Schultz a boat crew was made up. Jack begged to be allowed to be one of them and, to his delight, the captain told him to cut along.
Sam, although deeply disappointed at being left behind, nevertheless cheered with the rest as the boat was lowered and struck the water with a splash. Then, as the steamer’s propellers ground in reverse to check her way, it dashed off toward the stricken flying-boat.
The craft could be seen quite plainly now—a dainty affair with golden, shimmering wings supporting a boat-like structure amidships. Jack was familiar with the general construction of flying-boats, the very latest type of aëroplane, from pictures he had seen in magazines, but he had never seen a real one before. He marveled that so frail looking a craft could have made her way so far out to sea.
But as they neared the stricken airship, shouting words of encouragement to her lone occupant, a startling thing happened. Simultaneously a groan burst from the throats of the boat crew.