“By the ticker-tapes of Tripoli,” cried Dick suddenly, “somebody’s telegraphing us!”
“Yes; it’s the Morse code!” almost shouted Jack, and leaning against the wooden wall of the cabin he energetically rapped out a reply.
[CHAPTER VI.]
A STORM AT SEA.
In fifteen minutes or so the boys learned, by means of this novel method of telegraphy, that in the next cabin to them were imprisoned Mr. Chadwick, Professor Von Dinkelspeil and Captain Abe Sprowl, the skipper of the yacht. As we already know, both our lads were experts at the key, as was their father, and Dick Donovan had picked up enough of the art in newspaper offices to be able to understand at least part of what Mr. Chadwick was signaling.
It naturally took some time to place them in full possession of all the facts pertaining to their uncomfortable position, but by degrees they were told all that Mr. Chadwick knew of the case. The crew of rascals at present in possession of the yacht was the same outfit that had been shipped hurriedly at Madeira. Either out of maliciousness, or because they really believed it, certain members of the old crew had told the new hands that the professor was off on a hunt for fabulous treasure on the Spanish Main.
Trouble had broken out in mid-ocean. The crew had sent a committee to the professor formally to demand a share in the treasure. This, of course, had been denied for the very excellent reason that the trip was not making a treasure hunt. Its object was purely scientific, its destination, that naturalists’ paradise, the Upper Amazon. But the crew, their minds inflated by hopes of gold and jewels, professed to believe that they were being tricked. No words of Captain Sprowl, an old Yankee mariner, could convince them to the contrary. Under the leadership of Mart. Medway, the bristly-moustached man, and Luke Hemming, his lieutenant in mischief, they had been ugly for weeks.
This led to Captain Sprowl’s bluntly telling them that on arrival in America, to which he was shaping his course for that purpose, they would all be discharged and new men taken on in their places. This did not suit the men at all. Driven wild by dreams of wealth they broke into open mutiny a short time after the professor had sent his wireless despatch to Mr. Chadwick. Led by Medway and Luke Hemming, they insisted that the yacht be held on her course for South America. A refusal to do so resulted in so much trouble that the yacht had been navigated as close to the shore as was safe, and the guns fired for aid when they saw in the distance what they thought was the Baking Pan Life Saving Station. What followed then, we already know.
Of course it took a long time to explain this with the primitive means at the command of those who had so unexpectedly got into communication. It was a matter of vast joy to Jack, though, to know that his father was uninjured and in good spirits, although, so Mr. Chadwick had tapped out, those on the other side of the partition were as much in doubt as to their ultimate fate as were the boys themselves.
By the time it was deemed prudent to cease communication for the time being, there was an angry sea running outside. Once a big green wave climbed the yacht’s side and swept in a torrent into the boys’ cabin. They had to close the port-hole and this made the tiny place almost insufferably stuffy. The motion, too, of the yacht as she plowed through the rising sea made Dick feel uncomfortably squeamish. Luckily, both Jack and Tom were good sailors and felt no inconvenience.