The Young Wireless Operator—Afloat / Or, How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs in the Merchant Marine

by Lewis E. Theiss

In the nose of the Lycoming sailors had been at work for hours preparing to perform the miracle that Roy was watching. Great, cone-shaped bags had been made of canvas and stuffed with oakum. The oakum had been saturated with storm oil. The bags had been suspended over the forward wash-basins so that at the proper time their contents could drain into the sea. Additional supplies of oil stood at hand in cans. Long before the Lycoming came abreast of the Empress, Captain Lansford had everything in readiness to spread abroad the oil film that was now taming the seas before Roy’s astonished vision. At the proper moment word was passed to start the oil. With coarse sailmakers’ needles the canvas cones were punctured and the oil began to flow. Drip, drip, drip, drip, it fell into the wash-basins and made its way down the drain-pipes to the sea, hushing the boisterous breakers even as Christ stilled the waters with His command, “Peace. Be still.”

Three times the Lycoming circled the Empress, each time at a greater distance, until the waters for a mile about the crippled liner were coated with oil. Then Captain Lansford brought the Lycoming as close as he dared to the Empress, which lay directly to leeward. A great life-boat was unlashed and made ready for launching. Up to this time Roy had remained in the wireless house. Now he made his way to the deck, where some sailors were gathered beside the life-boat. The captain stood on the bridge with a megaphone in his hand. He roared out a call for volunteers to man the boat. There was a rush for the smaller craft. Without pausing to consider, Roy leaped into the boat. He found himself seated beside the sailor who had come to the wireless house with the captain’s message. The boat was manned almost before Roy was fairly seated. The third officer sat in the stern to steer her.

The captain was scanning the sea critically. “Launch her!” he bellowed suddenly.

The boat swung outboard and dropped on the smooth crest of a wave. The tackles were cast loose and all hands gave way with the oars that their tiny craft might not be smashed against the Lycoming’s side. Before the next wave rose they were at a safe distance from the Lycoming. The lines they were to take to the Empress trailed astern.

From the deck of the Lycoming the oily sea had seemed comparatively peaceful. Once Roy was on it in a small boat, he found it was terrible. The little life-boat was tossed about like a cork in a boiling caldron. Now it shot high in the air, lifted by some mighty roller. Now it dropped down, down, down, until Roy thought it would surely go to the bottom. Once away from the protection of the Lycoming, the life-boat felt the full force of the wind. It seemed to Roy the blasts would jerk him from his seat and throw him into the maelstrom. Now the boat bobbed this way. Now she ducked the other way. A feather whirling in the tempest could hardly have been more unstable.

In such a sea none but an expert oarsman could wield a great oar such as Roy now grasped. Had he been the least bit awkward with it, he might easily have caused disaster. Roy realized that at once and thanked his lucky stars that he had learned to row well that first summer in camp at Fort Brady. Now he gave way smoothly and with power. Through the darkness he tried to see the stroke oar and pull in unison. The search-light pointed its powerful ray over their heads, lighting the way for the steersman. It was useless to call the strokes of the oars. In the shrieking wind no earthly voice could have been heard. There was nothing to do but sit tight and pull.

Slowly the boat forged through the seething sea. It neared the Empress, which seemed to bulk as huge as a mountain. Painfully the little craft fought her way to the leeward side of the Empress and crept as near as she dared. Lines were flung from the Empress. They were bent to those the life-boat was towing. Slowly these were hauled to the ship, and the crew began to pull on the heavy hawsers to which the life-boat lines were attached. The Lycoming’s boat worked its way along the lee side of the Empress, toward the davits that had been swung outboard to lift it. Suddenly there was a great outcry aboard the Empress. The anchor chains had snapped. At once all hands were called forward to pull on the hawsers. Unless they were got aboard the Empress was doomed.

Straightway the wind drove her directly toward the little life-boat. With all their might the men in the boat pulled away from the ship, which would have crushed them like an egg-shell.

In a moment they had passed from under her protecting side and found themselves pitching wildly on the inky waves. To get back to the Lycoming was impossible. To try to gain the Empress was worse than useless. To stay where they were was folly. The only hope of safety lay in scudding before the storm. Instantly the third officer’s decision was taken.