“The Sombrero Island Light. The monthly provision boat has not arrived from the mainland. We are almost destitute.”
Jack looked up at his wireless map. Sure enough, on a tiny speck of land not far off, was marked in blue, with a red star, the location of the island light, the coloring denoting that, like many modern lighthouses, it was equipped with wireless.
“How many of you are there?” inquired Jack’s radio.
“Two. But my partner, an old man, is bedridden from suffering. I have not slept for many nights and am almost exhausted.”
“Keep up your courage,” rejoined Jack, “and I’ll see what I can do.”
He hurried forward with his message to the bridge. He found the captain taking his ease in slippers and pajamas outside the sacred precincts of his cabin. Jack told him briefly about the communication he had had, and then handed the skipper the notes he had made of the radio conversation.
The captain looked annoyed. A frown furrowed his forehead.
“Confound it all,” he muttered, “I was making up my mind for a record run and this means delay. But we can’t neglect to aid those unfortunates who are probably suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst at this very moment.”
He paused as if reflecting, while Jack stood by respectfully. The captain had not dismissed him, and the boy judged that he was considering some plan.
“Come into the chart room,” he said presently; and Jack followed him through a doorway into the chart room where the sea-maps were stowed neatly away in overhead racks.