They found that the earthquake shock had slightly disturbed the apparatus, and it took them half an hour to adjust it. As there had been a delay on account of the landslide, it was eleven o'clock before Tom began sending out any flashes, and he kept it up until midnight. But there came no replies, so he shut off the power, and prepared to get a little rest.
"It looks pretty hopeless; doesn't it?" said Mr. Fenwick, as he and Mr. Damon were on their way back to the sleeping shack.
"Yes, it does. Our signal hasn't been seen, no ships have passed this way, and our wireless appeal isn't answered. It does look hopeless but, do you know, I haven't given up yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I have faith in Tom Swift's luck!" declared the eccentric man. "If you had been with him as much as I have, up in the air, and under the water, and had seen the tight places he has gotten out of, you'd feel the same, too!"
"Perhaps, but here there doesn't seem to be anything to do. It all depends on some one else."
"That's all right. You leave it to Tom. He'll get an answer yet, you see if he doesn't."
It was an hour past midnight. Tom tossed uneasily on the hard bed in the wireless shack. The telephone receiver on his ear hurt him, and he could not sleep.
"I may as well sit up for a while," he told himself, and he arose. In the dimness of the shack he could see the outlines of the dynamo and the motor.
"Guess I'll start her up, and send out some calls," he murmured. "I might just happen to catch some ship operator who is up late. I'll try it."