Chapter XI: "good Luck!"

The silence in the hut was absolute as Frank bent low over his instruments. Even Pudge was subdued for once. There is something thrillingly dramatic to the most phlegmatic of temperaments in the idea of a wireless call for aid. Across unknown miles the message comes winging through the air--an appeal out of space.

Of course, the others could not catch what was coming, for the whisper of the wireless waves sounds faint and shadowy even to one with the "phones" clasped to his ears. But Frank's manner showed plainly enough that, whatever was winging its way to his organs of hearing, was exciting to the last degree.

Suddenly the boy switched to his transmitting apparatus. With his helix he began attuning the length of his sparks, while the snake-like blue flame hissed and crackled across the "high-efficiency" spark gap. It looked like a living thing of lambent fire, as it writhed and screamed in response to the pressure on the key.

"What's wanted? Where are you?"

This was the message that went speeding out on the air waves from the aerials above the hut.

"This is the yacht _Wanderer_, from New York to Rocktown. We have struck a derelict and are leaking badly. Who are you?"

"A station on Brig Island, about four miles at sea from Motthaven. Where are you?"

The latter question was unanswered for the time being. Instead came another query:

"Have you any means by which you can get to our assistance? We are in dire peril."

"We will try to aid you. But what is your position?"

"Wait. I'll look at the chart."

There came a pause, during which Frank rapidly detailed what he had heard to the eager group of listeners. But in the midst of it the unknown sender broke in once more.

"We are about twenty miles to the southeast of you, on an almost straight course. Can keep afloat only a few hours longer. Can you get tug from the mainland?"

"Impossible," flashed back Frank, "but will do what we can. Are you at anchor?"

"No, but the drift is very little. We are off soundings. Can you come to our aid?"

Frank's fingers pressed down on the key firmly. Rapidly he sent this message pulsating:

"How many on board?"

"Three. Owner, a friend and a hand."

"All right. Standby!"

"Good-by, and hurry," came out of the night, and then--silence.

Frank disconnected his instruments and turned to the others. Rapidly he detailed the impending tragedy out there in the darkness.

"Can't we get to them in the motor boat?" demanded Harry breathlessly.

Frank shook his head.

"Not in the time we have. They can't keep afloat much longer, recollect. What can be done? Is there no way we can help them?"

"Yes, there is."

The words came quietly but in a decided tone from Dr. Perkins. Frank was the first to guess the import of the speech.

"The _Sea Eagle_!" he exclaimed excitedly.

Dr. Perkins nodded.

"Yes. Here is our chance to test her in the service of humanity. She is ready for flight this instant."

"But in the darkness? How can we pick up this yacht?"

"By the searchlight. Most likely the yacht has rockets. When she sees our searchlight she will send some up. That will give us her bearings. The general location of the craft we know."

"Are we all to go?" demanded Pudge.

"Hardly," rejoined his father, slipping into an overcoat, for the night was somewhat chilly, though the air was calm. "Frank and Harry, I need you two. You others await our return. Have hot coffee and food ready, as the survivors may be in need of nourishment."

"Aye, aye, sir," responded Ben; "and now, sir, if I may give a bit of advice, lose no time in getting away. I've been in some sea disasters myself, and sometimes every second counts."

"You're right, Stubbs," ejaculated Dr. Perkins. "Boys, get the _Sea Eagle_ ready. I'll bring along the searchlight."

While Frank and Harry hastened on their errand, Dr. Perkins got the searchlight out of its locker. It was a small but powerful one, constructed so as to fit into a socket on the _Sea Eagle's_ "bow." Its light was supplied from a small dynamo connected with the engine of the sea-and-air craft. By the time the doctor was ready the _Sea Eagle_ had been wheeled out of her shed, and Frank gave a sharp hail.

"All ready, doctor!"

"With you in a moment, my boy," was the response, as the inventor hastened out into the darkness.

The outlines of the _Sea Eagle_ loomed up gray and ghostly in the gloom. Only a tiny speck of light showed in her bow by the steering wheel, where a minute electric bulb shed light on the compass. This light was obtained from a storage battery of peculiarly light construction, connected with the dynamo before mentioned.

The boys had clambered on board as soon as the airship had been wheeled out of its shed. They extended their hands to Dr. Perkins and helped him on board. The searchlight was put in place and its wires connected to the storage battery. A snap of a switch and a sharp pencil of light cut the night. The appliance worked to perfection.

"Now, then," said the doctor, as he took the wheel, "the less time we lose, the better. Frank, you had better apply the buoyancy apparatus, as we must make an abrupt rise to clear the trees."

"Why not launch from the runway?" inquired Frank; "wouldn't that be quicker?"

"That's right. I think it would. Head the prow round for the rails."

Willing hands pushed the _Sea Eagle_ around, for on her ball-bearing supporting wheels she handled very easily, despite her great weight.

Presently the craft was poised at the summit of the incline, ready for her rush downward.

"Give her power!" cried the doctor.

Frank seized the self-starting lever, and gave it a twirl. A pressure of his forefinger on the button followed, and almost simultaneously the motor began to thunder and roar.

"Right here!" cried Frank.

"All right. Hold tight. I'm going to apply full power."

Dr. Perkins jerked back the clutch lever as he spoke. There was a jarring shock, and then a downward rush through the night, the searchlight cutting a blazing white path through the blackness. Down, down they raced at terrific speed. Suddenly the jarring movement ceased. The _Sea Eagle_ appeared to glide upward as if drawn skyward by invisible ropes. As the craft left the rails, and began soaring to the stars that looked quietly down on the exciting scene, a sound was borne upward to the aerial voyagers.

"Good-by."

And then an instant later in Ben's stentorian tones:

"So long, mates! Go-o-o-d luck!"