Cordage humming, she stood bravely on the out course, and when she was ten hours beyond sight of land, her wireless operator, Gallagher, sat at a little petrol outfit which had been installed aboard her, sending the last good-bys of the little ship’s company of nineteen over the evening sea.
Crook Haven, the great Irish station, was taking his messages, the Success, with her call of "I. D. B.," having been given right of way over all other craft. Time and time again other ships tried to cut in, but Crook Haven "turned them out" until Gallagher finished.
Then Gallagher, with his earpieces still on, heard the message which he had shut out come spluttering out of the night. It had been relayed from the Carpathia. She was picking up the Titanic survivors.
Upon the old barkentine the news of the disaster fell like a thunderclap, and the fear of death took each of them by the throat.
"What chance have we," they asked, "with nothing but a century-old bottom between us and losin’ the numbers of our mess?"
And it was not cowardice, either. There was not a man for’ard on the Success but who would cheerfully take every chance that comes in a sailor’s twenty-four-hour day.
There came a time when the Success was sixty days from port and apparently far out of her course. Consequently every time their puny wireless would sputter into the night in a vain attempt to give their location to the ships which were looking for her, the crew, spirit broken and diseased, would jump to the conclusion that their captain was sending the "S. O. S." call for aid, and a strong hand was needed to drive them to the back-breaking task when both watches were required on deck constantly to tack her, and to wear her when the proximity of a great iceberg would not permit them to tack.
When they were twelve days out, four hundred miles due east of Boston, trouble broke out among the crew. Five of the Liverpool bullies grew unruly and demanded that the Success be headed for Halifax, which lay a bit over four hundred miles west and about one hundred and[Pg 66] fifty miles north of their then position. That same night, while asleep in their bunks, they were made prisoners and were kept locked up until Boston was reached.
The famous old hulk finally dropped anchor off of East Boston flats, thus closing one of the most remarkable voyages in recent years. The five malcontents, and one other who had made trouble for the captain, were sent back to their native countries for punishment. From Boston she went to New York, Baltimore, Washington, and Philadelphia prior to her sailing for San Francisco.
She will remain in Oakland for a brief period only while she is being fitted out for her voyage to British Columbia, whence she will sail direct to Melbourne, her home port. She will never return from the latter port, as she will then have completed a tour of the world.