The Ocean Wireless Boys on War Swept Seas

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE MIGHT OF MILITARISM

It was some time later that Jack began to realize that he was a prisoner and borne on a giant aeroplane.

How did he get there?

Try as he would he could not answer that question. He gazed about him. Away in the distance he could distinguish small specks of light, which, were they not moving so rapidly about space, he would have mistaken for stars.

Below searchlights swept the horizon. Here and there were the glimmerings of fast dying out camp-fires. Suddenly a faint streamer of red light shot high into the air, held steadily for a moment, and then broke into a million colored globules.

“A signal,” thought Jack. “I wonder if it will be answered.”

He then became aware of a movement on the part of the air pilot. Till that moment he had not noticed the least sign of life from the wheel man. Now there came a soft blob and a red light shot into the air.

Almost instantly there again was darkness.

“By Jove!” whispered Jack to himself, amazedly. “This certainly is marvelously fast work!”

There was no repetition of the signals.

For a while Jack was content to gaze about him in idle wonder. He seemed indifferent to his plight. He drank in the scenes about him, gazed interestedly at other air-craft that passed them, and watched the sky begin to turn a dull slate color. It was the dawn of another day of carnage.

Others, too, were on the watch for these faint signs of day. From somewhere came the long, awful boom of a huge cannon.

Jack tried to get up, but fell back to his former position. He only then realized that he was chained to his seat. He had a certain amount of freedom, but beyond that he was a prisoner, helpless.

“Well,” mused Jack upon this discovery, “even if my hands and feet were free, I could not escape from this height. We must land some time, and then I’ll have more need to use them.”

So Jack settled back to watch developments. Now everything was astir. A faint murmur was wafted to him on the morning breeze.

He could see the soldiers moving about, the great cannons and howitzers beginning to lumber onward, the column of Uhlans already in saddle, and the hundreds of air-craft rising to greet the early sun’s rays.

“It’s wonderful!” whispered Jack, fascinated. “Yes, wonderful, but how terrible! This whole array is primed to create nothing but havoc, sorrow, destruction, and death! Gee, but I’m glad the good old United States has no need for such military organization!”

Another sound came to his ears, and cut short his thoughts of America. In an astonishingly brief time, the Army of the Invasion had completed its formations and was on the march, the rank and file, all deep-throated men, singing Das Fatherland.

“Good God!” gasped Jack. “They are going to their death with a song on their lips!”

From somewhere in front of these columns came a roar of cannon. The air was filled with shrill, piercing shrieks as tons upon tons of metal, charged with fearful destructive powers, tried to stem the human flood.

For a few minutes the smoke and steam hid the dreadful spectacle from Jack. He gazed intently below him, anxious to see the victor of this clash.

Of course, it must not be forgotten that the human waves of men were supported by great artillery fire on their own side. Unaided entirely these men would have been annihilated miles before the fortresses.

The ranks were on the double run now. Their bayonets glistened in the dull sunlight. On, on, ever on, they went, keeping perfect stride, never faltering.

Jack could not tear his eyes from the sight.

Even while storming the redoubt, the ranks held firm. Another sheet of flame checked them for a moment. They tried to recover, and somehow couldn’t. Again came that destructive, raking fire. The lines faltered.

Jack trembled from excitement. Was this magnificent effort to fail? He was not thinking of them as Germans. He was only aware of brave, dauntless men trying to best steel and explosives.

Again came a sheet of flame.

The ranks actually seemed to fall back.

Then once more, from the rear, rose the deep notes of Das Fatherland. It stiffened the thinned ranks. They rushed forward, the fierce cry of victory mingling with the strains of their national anthem.

“That was great!” cried Jack. “My sympathies are not very strongly with the Germans, but I’m bound to give credit where credit is due. Well, what now – ?”

Jack became aware that the machine on which he was a prisoner was going to make a landing. Silently, swiftly, the winged mechanism was guided toward earth behind the German lines.

Jack smiled with satisfaction.

“I’ll have a chance to stretch my legs,” he said. “As long as Radwig is dead, I have not so much to fear. I wonder what they want of me?”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

MILITARY CROSS-EXAMINATION

The machine came to a stop. The pilot never moved from his seat. Instead, he motioned to a soldier to come to him. Evidently a few words were exchanged.

A sharp command was issued.

Two soldiers came up to Jack. He held up his hands to show that he was chained. One of the soldiers leaned forward, and pressed a button at the side of the car. The chains fell from Jack.

Without comment the two soldiers seized Jack and flanked him. A detail of six additional men fell in step, a petty officer wheeled about, – a movement that acted as a signal for the soldiers to march.

A five-minute walk brought them to a small cottage. Here they halted. Jack was blindfolded. When the bandage was removed, he found himself facing an elderly man seated at a desk. Jack could not make out his features, as they were hidden in a gray mask.

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” he was asked.

Jack understood the question, and replied:

“No.”

“What is your nationality?” came the question in English.

“American.”

“What part of America?”

“New York.”

“Your occupation?”

“Wireless operator.”

“For your government?”

“No, for the Transatlantic Shipping Combine.”

There followed a short pause. Jack was wondering what next to expect. The questions had been brief and propounded in a crisp, commanding way. There was no leeway for equivocation.

“Do you tell the truth?”

“I do,” replied Jack quietly.

“Why do you tell the truth?”

“Because I believe in it,” said Jack simply.

“Under what circumstances did you first meet Herr Radwig?”

Jack, greatly surprised, hesitated. Would it be wise to tell everything? How under the sun did this man in the gray mask know so much?

“Remember, the truth.”

Jack thought quickly. The question implied that this officer had some knowledge of his dealings with Radwig. Possibly, also, the officer was about to test the value of his declaration that he told the truth. So Jack figured. But was this not an amazing illustration of the wonderful efficiency and thoroughness of the German Secret Service.

“Speak!” came the imperative command.

“Very well,” replied Jack calmly. “It was on the Kronprinzessin Emilie. It seemed that we were about to be dashed to pieces on floating icebergs. Some shrieked:

“‘The Titanic!’

“‘The boats!’ shouted a man. He violently pushed two women aside, wedged in the panic-stricken throng. I stood at the head of the companion way. The man told me to get out of the way. I tried to calm the people. But this man seemed to have lost his reason. He rushed at me, trying to strike me. I was too quick for him. I struck first. He staggered back, subdued. It was only later that I learned this man’s name.”

“And then – how and when did you meet Herr Radwig?”

So Jack had to relate incident after incident. Always, at the end of a recital, came the same question, asked in the same matter-of-fact tone of voice:

“And then – when and where did you meet Herr Radwig?”

Everything must have its end. At last Jack had modestly related every episode with which the reader has been made acquainted. The even tone of his questioner, his piercing eyes, and the unbroken silence was beginning to weary Jack. He felt that he could hardly keep his wits about him.

Evidently the German officer noticed these signs and was patiently waiting for them. He leaned forward, and the steady monotone now gave place to a rasping, menacing gruffness.

“Who are you?” he suddenly snapped.

“An American,” came the tired reply.

“An American!” jeered the officer.

“Yes, and I’m proud of it!”

“Why should you be proud of something you could not help?”

“I don’t understand you,” replied Jack, passing his hand over his brow as if to clear away the ever increasing drowsiness.

“You don’t understand me?”

Jack shook his head.

“Answer me!”

Jack opened his mouth to speak, his lips moved, but he could utter no sound. He stood still, staring stupidly at the man in front of him. His thoughts were befuddled. What did he – the man in the gray mask – want?

“I wish those eyes wouldn’t glare at me so,” Jack mumbled to himself. “I didn’t do anything to them.”

But the eyes behind the gray mask became larger, rounder, more compelling. Jack knew instinctively that they meant him harm. What power they held! Something within him fought to arouse him. He tried to move and could not. Larger, ever larger those eyes seemed to grow! The features of the man were lost; in fact, those eyes seemed to belong to no one; they seemed to have life and power, dreadful power, of their own.

Jack shrieked with terror!

Was he lost?

CHAPTER XXXIX

SHATTERING THE SHACKLES

Did it ever occur to you that nature plays many pranks? From the many learned books and men – and from daily events – we are lead to assume that nature is grim, relentless. On the whole, this assumption is true. But one of the things that has made nature a harder problem for man to solve is that there are the most unexpected exceptions to the most carefully proved rules. Sometimes these exceptions take place with things and sometimes with persons.

Nature had played a prank with Jack.

When he came to his senses he found de Garros solicitously bending over him, his broken English running riot in his native French.

“What’s up?” questioned bewildered Jack.

De Garros shrugged his shoulders.

“I – er —phew! Zee – la —compron– eh – I understand not! You make zee big cry, I in rush – excited much —phew!”

Jack sat up in bed.

“Are we still in Louvain?” he demanded.

“We, we, certainly!” de Garros hastened to assure him.

A big sigh of relief welled from Jack.

“De Garros,” he said, “I have had the most remarkable nightmare!”

Whereupon Jack related to de Garros, as well as he could recall the details, the dream that had seemed so real.

De Garros was thrilled. Every now and then he broke into the recital with exclamations most expressive of the impressions they made upon him.

“And now,” Jack said in conclusion, “I think it is best for us to dress. I have never dreamed before, and I never want to dream again, if all dreams are so terribly real.”

De Garros laughingly agreed with him.

When Jack had dressed, he began to explore the corridors of the hotel. He felt that Bill, Tom Jukes and Pottle were guests of it. Of course, the easiest way about it would have been to inquire at the office.

As the hour was rather early he did not care to do this at once. A little later Jack was joined by de Garros, and together they walked into the dining room. Even at this hour several tables were occupied.

Almost at once the two were espied by their friends. A more amazed and glad set of chaps would have been indeed difficult to find anywhere.

“Honest, Jack,” cried Bill, tears of real joy in his eyes, “we had given up all hope of ever seeing you again.”

“Man alive!” declared Tom Jukes, “you can’t imagine how we felt, for we knew that there was no chance of getting through to save you.”

“Blues – here – everybody!” exploded Pottle. “Funeral cheerful in comparison – no eat – no food – just blues!”

“Come, Jack,” invited Bill, “and de Garros, breakfast with us and tell us about it.”

So, between mouthfuls, Jack related his experiences with Radwig’s party of Uhlans. Affectionately he placed his hand on de Garros’ arm, and soberly said:

“I owe my life to you. If it hadn’t been for you – ”

“It was sure luck, the greatest ever,” declared Tom Jukes.

“Fine stuff – fooled the enemy – shot at sunrise – others get shot instead – up in the air – down again – all safe – at last – hurray!” cried Pottle, capering about wildly.

“I can’t think it was luck,” said Jack gravely. “I think there was a higher power than that concerned in it.”

“You are right,” agreed Bill.

“Read – ee —mon ami, you ’ave not forget zee dream,” slyly remarked de Garros.

Jack turned scarlet. Somehow he felt that it was not very manlike to have even bothered with nightmares.

“What’s this?” demanded Bill.

“Come on, now,” coaxed Tom; “don’t hold anything back.”

“Dreams?” questioned Pottle. “Dreams? Great stuff – big inventors – and Columbus – dreamers!”

So Jack went over that adventure again.

This time, however, he decided to tell it in the way it actually happened. The result was that when Jack led them up to the climax he held even de Garros spellbound.

Jack ceased to speak and looked at his friends.

“How did you get away?” asked Bill.

“I didn’t,” was the smiling reply.

“You didn’t!” came the perplexed chorus.

De Garros was chuckling softly. He had to admire Jack’s cleverness.

“Battle – prisoner – great fight – man in gray mask – disappear – eyes bigger and bigger – what’s this – fairy tale?”

“No, Pottle,” replied Jack, “it was only a dream.”

For a moment there was silence and then they all broke into peals of laughter, laughter that seemed so strange and out of place in these days frought with war’s devastation.

So they had the good sense to check their merriment, especially as they saw the eyes of many surprised men and women upon them.

They soon left the dining room, and prepared to leave Louvain. Late that afternoon arrangements were completed.

Regretful good-byes were said to plucky little de Garros, whose demonstrative eyes were wet as he clasped their hands in farewell.

“We may nevaire meet again,” he stammered, “but I nevaire forget you all.”

“Nor will we forget you!” cried Jack warmly. “You – you, if it hadn’t been for you – ”

“Read – ee, mon ami, you ’ave forget what you do for me long ago. A fair exchange. You save my life.”

“You’re fine,” exploded Pottle. “Legion of Honor cross for you – long war – much dead – much wounded – but you’ll live!”

A prediction, strangely enough, that came true.

CHAPTER XL

OLD GLORY AGAIN

Before the fall of Louvain, Jack and his friends were across the border in France. Ultimately they were lucky enough to rejoin the St. Mark– sent for the accommodation of refugees – at Marseilles.

A cable was despatched to America, telling of Tom Juke’s safety.

Pottle, the young photographer, cabled his paper, asking for permission to remain in the battle zone. This was granted.

So the trio – Jack, Bill and Tom – said farewell to Pottle.

“When I get back – possible – the paper will make – hurrah! – look me up – eh?”

“We sure will, old top,” promised Tom.

The voyage across was without incident, save that, as was expected, they were stopped by British warships.

So, one fine morning, unannounced, Jack called upon Uncle Toby Ready. The old tar gave vent to a great cry of joy. Though Jack had often been away for long periods, Uncle Toby never fully knew the thrilling adventure Jack had participated in. Now there was no hiding of the truth. The war was at hand. The Germans were sweeping everything before them. How had it fared with Jack? This uncertainty had worried Uncle Toby. He felt that he would never be able to forgive himself, had anything happened to Jack.

When the first greetings were over, Uncle Toby could not help but ask about his Golden Embrocation and Universal Remedy for Man and Beast.

“Did you meet up with the King of England?” he queried.

“No, Uncle Toby,” laughed Jack, “I did not.”

“Be it so with the Kaiser?”

“No, not the Kaiser, either.”

“How now – was it the Czar?”

Jack shook his head.

“But made a – use of ’em?”

“Yes,” replied Jack with a twinkle in his eye. “I did make – ”

At this moment there came a sharp rap on the door. Jack opened it, and a messenger, upon ascertaining who he was, handed him a telegram.

“What now?” demanded Uncle Toby.

Jack tore open the envelope. The inclosed sheet read:

“Congratulations and grateful appreciation. Report immediately.

“Jacob Jukes.”

“Yeou ain’t a-goin’ back to Europe!” declared Uncle Toby emphatically.

“Don’t worry, Uncle,” replied Jack. “I don’t think it is for that Mr. Jukes wants me.”

“Well, if he don’t,” replied the old captain, “give ’im a bottle of my Golden Embrocation and Universal Remedy for Man and Beast with my compliments.”

“All right,” laughed Jack as he put the bottle in his pocket, never intending, of course, to carry out the errand.

Jack found Mr. Jukes in earnest conversation with his son, Tom. However, the moment Jack entered, father and son arose.

“Jack,” said Mr. Jukes, extending his hand, “let me thank you.”

It was said sincerely and simply. Their handclasp was hearty and true.

Mr. Jukes began to pace the office.

Tom looked at Jack and winked.

“Young man,” suddenly said Mr. Jukes, sternly addressing Jack, “you are bound to succeed in life. You have the makings. You have your trade – or shall I call it profession? But operating wireless is not everything. You can be a wireless operator all your life and your salary will be your only means of keeping the wolf from the door. Too many of our people have to depend on that means of support. Some day I feel it will be different. At all events, I shall make a beginning with you. So Tom and I have decided to give you a number of shares in our Combine.”

Thereupon Mr. Jukes went on to explain the value of the shares, instructing Jack just what he should do with them. To tell the truth, Jack had never troubled himself very much with the intricacies of stock values.

Finally Jack left Mr. Jukes’ office feeling like a millionaire.

“Strange,” mused Jack, “that this good fortune should come to me when thousands of others are losing their all in Europe.”

Feeling thus satisfied, Jack decided to acquaint Helen Dennis with the good news. As he strolled down to the dock, he could not help but note that in so far as New York was concerned, the war did not exist. People went about their business in their accustomed way. Beyond the usual set or serious expression characteristic of the average New Yorker when he is engaged in earning his dividends or salary, as the case may be in different instances and walks of life, the average person seemed absolutely unconcerned of the World Tragedy that was unfolding itself across the sea.

At the docks, however, there was increased activity. The demand upon American ammunition and commodities had jumped by leaps and bounds. Shippers were reaping a harvest.

The Silver Star, Captain Dennis’ ship, was in port. Jack had little difficulty in getting aboard. Captain Dennis was delighted to see Jack. He could spare but little time, so when Jack had told him only briefly of his experiences, the wise tar, his eyes twinkling with mischief, said:

“Really, Jack, don’t you think Helen would be more interested in your adventures?”

Jack blushed.

“Never mind, lad,” laughed the captain, “we all have those days, you know.”

So Jack made his way to the captain’s cabin.

But let us say nothing more of them; rather let us ask what became of Bill Raynor?

CHAPTER XLI

WAR IN TIMES OF PEACE

Just before Jack called upon his Uncle Toby, Bill had expressed a desire to stroll about the Great City.

“You see,” Bill said in explanation, “the sight of old New York makes me glad to be back again. They say it’s a selfish place. Well, perhaps there are towns that make you feel more at home, but once you know Manhattan’s ways, you don’t want to change!”

“Have it your way,” agreeably laughed Jack.

So they parted for the time being.

Feeling hungry, Bill decided to visit one of the select downtown restaurants his purse seldom allowed him to patronize. Now, as the reader will remember, Bill had no need to worry over funds – at any rate, not for the immediate future.

Bill thoroughly enjoyed his meal. He left the restaurant feeling like a prince.

“Those prices are steep,” he reflected, “but the food and service are worth it.”

Barely had he walked a block when he recognized Tom Jukes a few strides in front of him. Bill’s first impulse was to hail Tom, but something about the latter made him hesitate.

“Something seems queer,” muttered Tom, puzzled. He was undecided. Should he follow the millionaire’s son?

Tom Jukes seemed anxious to avoid being seen. Every now and then he glanced about him hurriedly. He kept close to the building line, his cap pulled over his eyes. He turned into one of those ancient alleys down in the financial district of New York.

Bill Raynor came to a quick decision.

“I’ll follow him!” he muttered.

A moment later Bill was also in the moldy alleyway. Tom swung south, then west, and south again, and finally halted before a pair of ornamental iron gates of the most antique and peculiar design.

Bill, mystified that such places still existed in the Great Metropolis, dogged Tom’s footsteps, always careful to keep well out of sight.

He saw Tom pass through these iron gates. A moment later Bill had followed Tom through, though now he had to be far more careful, for every flagstone seemed to give up a hollow bellow.

Tom walked up an iron staircase clinging to a decaying bulk of a dirt-gray stone ramshackle building. He climbed one flight and then disappeared from view.

Bill, very carefully – every nerve alert – followed. A moment later he stepped into a long, dim, lofty corridor, walled with marble of a greenish tint, and smelling faintly of dry-rot.

Picking his steps with the greatest caution, Bill felt his way forward. Somewhere in front of him he saw the shadowy form of Tom.

Bill saw Tom pause before a door, which he opened very slowly. A faint light came from within. A moment later Tom had disappeared from view.

Bill crept forward.

Should he open the door?

“I wish Jack were here,” said Bill to himself.

Jack, it was, who had won the approval of Jacob Jukes, head of the great shipping combine, and father of Tom, for his masterly handling of many difficult situations.

Under the circumstances, Bill did not flinch in his determination to learn what was going on behind that door!

Bill put his ear to the door – and at once heard a faint tick-tick, as well as a muffled voice. Slowly Bill felt the door for the knob and to his surprise he found there was none!

“Entrance by signal only!” instantly decided Bill.

But how was he to get in without it?

His eyes were now more accustomed to the gloom. He looked about him, hoping to find a window or some outlet that might lead to the barred room.

Farther down the corridor, to his right, he saw a stairway – or what appeared to be a stairway. He walked toward it, always bearing in mind to be extremely careful.

He climbed up one flight without mishap. On this floor, the feeling of desertion and forlorn desolation grew deeper. Bill could barely suppress a shiver.

Suddenly a rat scampered across the floor.

“Phew!” ejaculated Bill, “this is some place!”

He noticed a thin ray of daylight a short distance from him. Bill at once decided to discover its origin. A moment later he saw that the light flowed from the cracks of a door.

A brief investigation proved the door to be unlocked. As he quietly pulled the door open he saw that the room was absolutely bare, and that the light came from the mud-pasted windows facing a brick wall not five feet from them.