“The very fellow. I’ll never forget him in New Guinea. A splendid lad. But will he go with you?”
“I rather think he will,” rejoined Jack with a twinkle in his eye.
CHAPTER IX.
A STRANGE QUEST.
Readers of earlier volumes of this series will recall Tom Jukes, who, after being cast away when his father’s yacht burned at sea, was found by Jack’s clever wireless work. This was the youth,—he was about Jack’s own age,—whom the wireless boy had been commissioned to find. Although the task appeared, as Jack had said, one almost impossible of accomplishment, still Jack was boy enough to be delighted at the prospect of traversing war-ridden Europe and possibly playing a part in the mightiest struggle of all time. As for Bill Raynor, he was wild with excitement at the idea. Uncle Toby Ready, when he was told of the intended trip, shook his head and muttered something about “playing with fire,” but he was eventually won over and presented Jack with a dozen bottles of the Golden Embrocation and Universal Remedy for Man and Beast.
“If so be as you meet up with the Kaiser, or the King of England, or the Czar, just give ’em a bottle with my compliments,” he said in bestowing the gift. “By the flying jib, it might be the means of building me up a big European trade. Think of it, Cap’n Toby Ready, P. O. H. R. H.—Physician in Ordinary to His Royal Highness. If you don’t run acrost any of them skippers of state you can just distribute it around careless like, and draw special attention to the directions and to my address in case the prescription should require to be refilled.”
Jack promised, but it is to be feared that the Golden Embrocation never got nearer Europe than the cabin of the square rigger Jane Harding, of Halifax, Nova Scotia, which happened to be in the Erie Basin unloading lumber. Captain Podsnap, of the Jane Harding, was an ardent admirer of, and believer in, Captain Toby’s concoctions which, as the compounder boasted, never were known to do harm even where they didn’t do good. To Captain Podsnap, therefore, Jack hied himself perfidiously and made over to him the gifts intended for ailing royalty.
The St. Mark was what is known as a “popular” ship. That is, she usually crossed with full cabins. But on the present trip there were a bare score of passengers in the first cabin, not many more in the second, while in the steerage were a couple of hundred travelers, mostly reservists of the various countries at war, returning to Europe to take up arms.
As they steamed down the harbor, the docks on each side of the river could be observed to be crowded with idle steamers of all sizes, from small freighters to huge four-funnelled liners. With smokeless stacks and empty decks, they lay moored to their piers, offering an eloquent testimonial to the almost complete paralysis of ocean traffic that marked the earlier days of the war. Off Tompkinsville, Staten Island, the dreadnought, Florida, swung at anchor, grim in her gray war paint,—Uncle Sam’s guardian of neutrality. It was her duty to keep watch and ward over the port to see that no contraband went out of the harbor on the ships flying the flags of combatting nations and in other ways to enforce President Wilson’s policy of “hands off.”
With dipping ensign, the St. Mark slipped by, after a brief scrutiny by a brisk young officer. Then, down the bay she steamed, which the boys had traversed only a few days before on the hunted Kronprinzessin.