Nature has been kind to man. She has so made him that he is incapable of feeling all the tragedy and sorrow of a terrible situation at the time when it bursts upon him. Vincent Ardmore, as he clung to the wrecked plane, with his companion gone from him forever, did not sense the full horror of his position. He realized little more than the fact that he was chilled to the bone, and that the wind and waves were beating upon him unmercifully.

Then, gradually there stole into his benumbed mind the thought that he might improve his position. The platform above him still stood clear of the waves. Could he but loosen the straps which bound him to the fuselage, could he but climb to that platform, he would at least be free for a time from the rude beating of the black waters which rolled over him incessantly.

With the numbed, trembling fingers of one hand he struggled with the stubborn, water-soaked straps while with the other he clung to the rods of the rigging. To loosen his grip for an instant, once the straps were unfastened, meant almost certain death.

After what seemed an eternity of time the last strap gave way and, with a wild pounding of his heart, he gripped the rods and began to climb.

As he tumbled upon the platform, new hope set the blood racing through his veins.

"There might yet be a chance," he murmured, almost joyfully; "the storm is breaking." His eyes wandered to the fleeting clouds. "Dawn's coming, too. I--I--why, I might send a message. The motor's gone dead, of course, but there are still storage batteries. If only the insulations are good. If water has not soaked in anywhere!"

With trembling fingers he tested the batteries. A bright flash of fire told him they were still alive. Then with infinite care he adjusted the instruments. At last he tapped a wire and a grating rattle went forth.

"She's still good," he exulted.

Then slowly, distinctly, he talked into the transmitter, talked as he might had he been surrounded by the cozy comforts of home. He gave his name, the name of his aircraft; told of his perilous position; gave his approximate location and asked for aid. Only once his voice broke and fell to a whisper. That was when he tried to tell of the sad fate of his companion.

Having come to the end, he adjusted the receiver to his ears and sat there listening.

Suddenly his face grew tense with expectation. He was getting something, an answer to his message.

For a full moment he sat there tense, motionless. Then, suddenly, without warning, a new catastrophe a.s.sailed him. A giant wave, leaping high, came crashing down upon the wreckage of the plane. There followed a snapping and crashing of braces. When the wave had pa.s.sed, the platform to which he clung floated upon the sea. His radiophone equipment was water-soaked, submerged. His storage batteries had toppled over to plunge into the sea.

So there he clung, a single individual on a ma.s.s of wreckage, helpless and well-nigh hopeless in the midst of a vast ocean whose waves were even now subsiding after a terrific storm.

CHAPTER XXII

THE WRECK OF THE _KITTLEWAKE_

"I'm getting a message!" exclaimed Curlie excitedly. "Getting it distinct and plain, and it's--it's from them."

"Oh, is it?" the girl sprang from the seat.

"From your brother. They've been wrecked. They're not on an island but on the sea. Safe, though, only--" he paused to listen closely again--"I can't just make out what he says about his companion."

"Oh! Please, please let me listen!" Gladys Ardmore gripped his arm.

Quickly Curlie s.n.a.t.c.hed the receiver from his head and pressed it down over her tangled ma.s.s of brown hair.

She caught but a few words, then the voice broke suddenly off, but such words as they were; such words of comfort. The voice of her only brother had come stealing across the storm to her, a.s.suring her that he was still alive; that there was still a chance that he might be saved.

She pressed the receivers to her ears in the hopes of hearing more.

In the meantime Curlie was answering the message. In quiet, rea.s.suring tones he gave their location and told of their purpose in those waters and ended with the a.s.surance that if it were humanly possible the rescue should be accomplished.

"And we will save them," he exclaimed. "At least we'll save your brother."

"You don't think--" Gladys did not finish.

"I hardly know what to think about your brother's chum," Curlie said thoughtfully. "But this we do know: Your brother is clinging to the wreckage of a seaplane out there somewhere. And we will save him. See!

the storm is about at an end and morning is near!" He pointed to the window, where the first faint glow of dawn was showing.

For a moment all were silent. Then suddenly, without warning, there came a grinding crash that sent a shudder through the _Kittlewake_ from stem to stern.

"What was that?" exclaimed Joe Marion, springing to his feet from the floor where he had been thrown.

"We struck something!" Curlie was out upon the deck like a shot.

He all but collided with the skipper, who had deserted his wheel.

"We 'it somethin'," shouted the skipper, "an' she's sinkin' by the larboard bow. Gotta' git off 'er quick. Boats are gone! Everythin's gone."

"No," said Curlie calmly, "the raft forward is safely lashed on."

The engineer appeared from below. The engine had already ceased its throbbing.

"She's fillin' fast," he commented in a slow drawl.

"You two get the raft loose," said Curlie. "I'll get the girl."

Dashing to his stateroom he seized two blankets and a large section of oiled cloth. With these he dashed to the radio room.

"Got to get out quick!" he exclaimed.

Before she could realize what he was doing, he had seized the girl and had wrapped her round and round with the blankets, then with the oiled cloth. Joe had rushed out to help with the raft. Curlie carried the girl outside and, when the raft with the others aboard was afloat, handed her down to the skipper.

"Try and keep her dry," he said calmly. "We'll all get soaked, but we can stand it for a long time; a girl can't."

"Now push off!" he commanded. "Get good and clear so that the wreck will not draw you down."

"You'll come with us," said the skipper sternly. Curlie had not intended going with them. He had meant to remain behind and send a call for aid, then to swim for the raft. But now, as he saw the water gaining on the stricken craft, he realized how dangerous and futile it would be. He was needed on the raft to help get her away. Having seen all this at a flash he said:

"All right; I'll go." Having dropped to the raft, and seized a short paddle, he joined Joe and the engineer in forcing the unwieldy raft away from the side of the doomed _Kittlewake_.

They were none too soon, for scarcely two minutes could have elapsed when with a rush that nearly engulfed them the boat keeled up on end and sank from sight.

"And now," said Joe addressing Curlie as he settled back to a seat on one of the gas-filled tubes, "you can test out what you said once about keeping your radiophone dry and tuned up under any and every circ.u.mstance. Suppose you tune her up now and get off an S.O.S."

There was a smile on the lips of the undaunted young operator as he said with a drawl:

"Give me time, Joe, old scout, give me time."

The girl, staring out from her wrappings, appeared to fear that the two boys had gone delirious over this new catastrophe.