The Campfire Girls on Station Island: or, The Wireless from the Steam Yacht

CHAPTER XXIV – THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE

Henrietta Haney was a very lonely little girl after the yacht sailed from Station Island. Not that she had nobody to play with, for she had. There were other children besides Sally Stanley of her own age, or thereabout, in the bungalow colony. And as she had been in Dogtown, Henrietta soon became the leading spirit of her crowd.

She even taught them some of her games, and once more became “Spotted Snake, the Witch,” and scared some of the children almost as much as she had scared the Dogtown youngsters with her supposed occult powers.

She was running and screaming and tearing her clothes most of the time when she was away from Mrs. Norwood, but in the company of Jessie’s mother she truly tried to “be a little lady.”

“Be it ever so painful, little Hen is going to learn to be worthy of you and Jessie, Mary,” laughed Mrs. Drew, who was like her daughter in being able always to see the fun in things. “What do you really expect will come of the child?”

“I think she will make quite a woman in time. And before that time arrives,” added Mrs. Norwood, “she has much to learn, as you say. In some ways Henrietta has had an unhappy childhood – although she doesn’t know it. I hope she will have better times from now on.”

“You are sure to make her have good times, Mary,” said Mrs. Drew. “I hope she will appreciate all that Jessie and you do for her.”

“She is rather young for one to expect appreciation from her,” Mrs. Norwood said, smiling. “But the little thing is grateful.”

Without Jessie and Amy, however, Henrietta confessed she was very lonely. Sometimes she listened to the radio all alone, sitting quietly and hearing even lectures and business talks out of the air that ordinarily could not have interested the child. But she said it reminded her of “Miss Jessie” just to sit with the ear-tabs on.

She had heard about the older girls going to the lighthouse station to interview the wireless operator there, and although Henrietta knew that the government reservation at that end of the island was no part of the old Padriac Haney estate, she wandered down there alone on the second day of the yacht’s absence and climbed up into the tower.

The storm had blown itself out on shore, and the sun was going down in golden glory. Out at sea, although the waves still rolled high and the clouds were tumultuous in appearance, there was nothing to threaten a continuation of the unsettled weather.

Henrietta had no idea how long it would be before the yacht reached Boston, although she had heard a good deal of talk about it. She had watched the Marigold steam out of sight into the east, and it seemed to the little girl that her friends were just there, beyond the horizon line, where she had seen the last patch of the Marigold’s smoke disappear.

The wireless operator had seen Henrietta before, cavorting about the beach and leading the other children in their play, and he was prepared for some of her oddities. But she surprised him by her very first speech.

“You’re the man that can send words out over the ocean, aren’t you?”

“I can send signals,” he admitted, but rather puzzled.

“Can folks like Miss Jessie and Miss Amy hear ’em?” demanded Henrietta.

“Only if they are on a boat that has a wireless outfit.”

“They got it on that Marigold,” announced Henrietta.

“Oh! The yacht that sailed yesterday! Yes, she carried antenna.”

“And she carried Doctor Stanley and Miss Nell Stanley, too, besides the boys, Mr. Darry and Mr. Burd,” said Henrietta. “Then they can hear you?”

“If they know how to use the wireless they could catch a signal from this station.”

“Miss Jessie knows all about radio,” said Henrietta. “She made it.”

“Oh, she did?”

“Yes. She made it all up. She and Miss Amy built them one at Roselawn. That was before Montmorency Shannon built his. Well, Miss Jessie is out there on the Marigold.”

“So I understand,” said the much amused operator.

“I wish you would – please – send her word that I’d like to have her come back to my island.”

“Are you the little girl who owns this island? I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes. But there ain’t much fun on an island if your friends aren’t on it, too. And Miss Jessie is one of my very dearest friends.”

“I understand,” said the operator gravely, seeing the little girl’s lip trembling. “You would like to have me reach your friend, Miss Jessie – ”

“Her name’s Norwood, too,” put in Henrietta, to make sure.

“Oh, indeed? She is the lawyer, Mr. Norwood’s daughter. I have met her.”

“Yes, sir. She came here once.”

“And you wish to send her a message if it is possible?”

“Yes, sir. I want you should ask her to get to Boston as quick as she can and come back again. We would all like to have her come,” said the little girl, gravely.

“I am going to be on duty myself this evening and I will try to get your message through,” said the operator kindly. “The Marigold, is it?” and he drew the code book toward him in which the signal for every vessel sailing from American ports, even pleasure craft, that carries wireless, is listed.

He turned around to his instrument right then and began to rap out the call for the yacht. He kept it up, off and on, between his other work, all the evening. But no answer was returned.

The operator began to be somewhat puzzled by this fact. Knowing how much interested in radio the girls were who had visited him, he could not understand why they would not be listening in at some time or other on the yacht.

He kept throwing into the ether the signal meant for the Marigold’s call until almost midnight, when he expected to be relieved by his partner. Towards ten o’clock there was some bothersome signals in the ether that annoyed him whenever he took a message or relayed one in the course of the evening’s business.

“Some amateur op. is interfering,” was his expression. “But, I declare! it does sound something like this station call. Can it be – ?”

He lengthened his spark and sent thundering out on the air-waves his usual reply: “I, I, OKW. I, I, OKW.”

Then he held his hand and waited for any return. The same mysterious, scraping sounds continued. A slow hand, he believed, was trying to spell out some message in Morse. But it was being done in a very fumbling manner.

Of course, half a dozen shore stations and perhaps half a hundred vessels might have caught the clumsy message, as well. But the operator at Station Island, interested by little Henrietta in the Marigold and her company, felt more than puzzlement over this strange communication out of the air.

“Listen in here, Sammy,” he said to his mate, when the latter came in. “Is it just somebody’s squeak-box making trouble to-night or am I hearing a sure-enough S O S? I wonder if there is a storm at sea?”

“There is,” said his mate, sitting down on the bench and taking up the secondary head harness. “The evening papers are full of it. Northeast gale, and blowing like kildee right now.”

“Arlington gave no particulars at last announcement.”

“Don’t make any difference. The boats outside know it. Hullo! What’s this? ‘S-t-a-t-i-o-n I-s-l-a-n-d.’ What’s the joke? Somebody calling us without using the code letters?”

“Don’t know ’em, maybe,” said the chief operator. “Set down what you get and see if it is like mine.”

The other did so. They compared notes. That strange message set both operators actively to work. One began swiftly to distribute over the Eastern Atlantic the news that a craft needed help in such and such a latitude and longitude. The other operator, without his hat, ran all the way to the bungalows to give Mr. Norwood and Mr. Drew some very serious news.

CHAPTER XXV – SAVED BY RADIO

Jessie Norwood was not tireless. It seemed to her as though her right arm would drop off, she pressed the key of the wireless instrument so frequently. They had written out a brief call of distress, and finally she got it by heart so that Amy did not have to read her the dots and dashes.

But it was a slow process and they had no way of learning if the message was caught and understood by any operator, either ashore or on board a vessel. Hour after hour went slowly by. The Marigold was sinking. The pumps could not keep up with the incoming water; the fuel was almost exhausted and the engines scarcely turned over; the buffeting seas threatened the craft every minute.

Dr. Stanley remained outwardly cheerful. Darry and the others took heart from the clergyman’s words.

“Tell you what,” said Burd. “If we are wrecked on a desert island I shall be glad to have the doctor along. He’d have cheered up old Robinson Crusoe.”

As the evening waned and the sea continued to pound the hull of the laboring yacht the older people aboard, at least, grew more anxious. The young folks in the radio room chattered briskly, although Jessie called them to account once in a while because they made so much noise she could not be sure that she was sending correctly.

Darry tried to relieve her at the key, but he confessed that he “made a mess of it.” The radio girls had spent more time and effort in learning to handle the wireless than the collegians – both Darry and Burd acknowledged it.

“These are some girls!” Darry said, admiringly.

“You spoil ’em,” complained Burd Ailing. “Want to be careful what you say to them.”

“Oh, if anybody can stand a little praise it is Jess and I,” declared Amy, sighing with weariness.

Nobody cared to turn in. The situation was too uncertain. The boys could be with the girls only occasionally, for they had to take their turn at the pumps. It had come to pass that nothing but steady pumping kept the yacht from sinking. They were all thankful that the wind decreased and the waves grew less boisterous.

Towards midnight it was quite calm, only the swells lifted the water-logged yacht in a rhythmic motion that finally became unpleasant. Nell was ill, below; but the others remained on deck and managed to weather the nauseating effects of the heaving sea.

Meanwhile, as often as she could, Jessie Norwood sent out into the air the cry for assistance. She sent it addressed to “Station Island,” for she did not know that each wireless station had a code signal – a combination of letters. But she knew there was but one Station Island off the coast.

The clapperty-clap, clapperty-clap of the pumps rasped their nerves at last until, as Amy declared, they needed to scream! When the sound stopped for the minute while pump-crews were changed, it was a relief.

And finally the spark of the wireless began to skip and fall dead. Good reason! The storage batteries, although very good ones, were beginning to fail. Before daybreak it was impossible to use the sender any more.

Somehow this fact was more depressing than anything that had previously happened. They could only hope, in any event, that their message had been heard and understood; but now even this sad attempt was halted.

Jessie was really too tired to sleep. She and Amy did not go below for long. They changed their clothes and came on deck again and were very glad of the hot cup of coffee Dr. Stanley brought them from the galley. The cook had been set to work on one of the pump crews.

The girls sat in the deck chairs and stared off across the rolling gray waters. There was no sign of any other vessel just then, but a dim rose color at the sea line showed where the sun would come up after a time.

“But a fog is blowing up from the south, too,” said Amy. “See that cloud, Jess? My dear! Did you ever expect that we would be sitting here on Darry’s yacht waiting for it to sink under us?”

“How can you!” exclaimed Jessie, aghast.

“Well, that is practically what we are doing,” replied her chum. “Thank goodness I have had this cup of coffee, anyway. It braces me – ”

“Even for drowning?” asked Jessie. “Oh! What is that, Amy?”

“It’s a boat! It’s a boat! Ship ahoy!” shrieked Amy, jumping up and dancing about, dropping the cup and saucer to smash upon the deck.

“It’s a steamboat!” cried Darry Drew, from the deck above.

“Head for it if you can, Bob!” commanded Skipper Pandrick to the helmsman.

But before they could see what kind of craft the other was, the fog surrounded them. It wrapped the Marigold around in a thick mantle. They could not see ten yards from her rail.

“We don’t even know if she is looking for us!” exclaimed Dr. Stanley. “That is too bad – too bad.”

“Whistle for it,” urged Amy. “Can’t we?”

“If we use the little steam left for the whistle, we will have to shut down the engines,” declared Darry.

“This is a fine yacht – I don’t think!” scoffed Burd Alling. “And none of you knows a thing about rescuing this boat and crew but me. Watch me save the yacht.”

He marched forward and began to work the foot-power foghorn vigorously. Its mournful note (not unlike a cow’s lowing, as Jessie had said) reverberated through the fog. The sound must have carried miles upon miles.

But it was nearly an hour before they heard any reply. Then the hoarse, brief blast of a tug whistle came to their ears.

“Marigold, ahoy!” shouted a well-known voice across the heaving sea.

“Daddy!” screamed Jessie, springing up and dropping her cup and saucer, likewise to utter ruin. “It’s Daddy Norwood!”

The big tug wallowed nearer. She carried wireless, too, and the Marigold’s company believed, at once, that Jessie’s message had been received aboard the Pocahontas.

“But – then – how did Daddy Norwood come aboard of her?” Jessie demanded.

This was not explained until later when the six passengers were taken aboard the tug and hawsers were passed from the sinking yacht to the very efficient Pocahontas.

“And a pretty penny it will cost, so the skipper says, to get her towed to port,” Darry complained.

“Say!” ejaculated Burd, “suppose she didn’t find us at all and we were paddling around in that boat and on the life raft? That would take the permanent wave out of your hair, old grouch!”

The girls, however, and Dr. Stanley as well, begged Mr. Norwood to explain how he had come in search of the Marigold and had arrived so opportunely.

“Nothing easier,” said the lawyer. “When the operator at the lighthouse station got your message – ”

“Oh, bully, Jess! You did it!” cried Amy, breaking in.

“Did you send that message, Jessie?” asked her father. “Well, I am proud of you. The operator came to the house and told me. Although his partner was sending the news of your predicament broadcast over the sea, he told me of the tug lying behind the island, and that it could be chartered.

“So,” explained Mr. Norwood, “I left Drew to fortify the women – and little Henrietta – and went right over and was rowed out to the Pocahontas by an old fisherman who said he knew you girls. I believe he pronounced you ‘cleaners,’ if you know what that means,” laughed the lawyer.

“Henrietta, by the way, was doing incantations of some sort over the wind and weather when I left the bungalow. She said ‘Spotted Snake’ could bring you all safe home.”

“Bless her heart!” exclaimed Jessie.

That afternoon when the tug worked her way carefully into the dock near the bungalow colony on Station Island, Henrietta was the first person the returned wanderers saw on the shore to greet them. She was dancing up and down and screaming something that Jessie and Amy did not catch until they came off the gangplank. Then they made the incantation out to be:

“That Ringold one can’t have my island – so now! The court says so, and Mr. Drew says so, too. He just got it off the telephone and he told me. It’s my island – so there!”

“Why, how glad I am for you, dear!” cried Jessie, running to hug the excited little girl.

“Come ashore! Come ashore! All of you!” cried Henrietta, with a wide gesture. “I invite all of you. This is my island, not that Ringold’s. You can come on it and do anything you like!”

“Why, Henrietta!” murmured Jessie, as the other listeners broke into laughter. “You must not talk like that. I am glad the courts have given you your father’s property. But remember, there are other people who have rights, too.”

“Say! That Ringold one – and that Moon one – haven’t any prop’ty on this island, have they?” Henrietta demanded.

“No.”

“Then that’s all right,” said the little girl with satisfaction. “I’ll be good, Miss Jessie; oh, I’ll be good!” and she hugged her friend again.

“And don’t call them ‘that Ringold one’ and ‘that Moon one,’ Henrietta. That is not pretty nor polite,” admonished Jessie.

“All right, if you say so, Miss Jessie. What you say goes with me. See?”

It took some time, after they were at home, for everything to be talked over and all the mystery of the radio message to be cleared up. The interested operator from the lighthouse came over to congratulate Jessie on what she had done. After all, aside from the girl’s addressing the station by name, the message had not been hard to understand. And considering the faulty construction of the yacht’s wireless and the weakness of her batteries, Jessie had done very well indeed.

The young people, of course, would have much to talk about regarding the adventure for days to come. Especially Darry. When he learned what he would have to pay for the towing in of the yacht and what it would cost to put in proper engines and calk and paint the hull, he was aghast and began to figure industriously.

“Learning something, aren’t you, Son?” chuckled Mr. Drew. “Your Uncle Will pretty near went broke keeping up the Marigold. But I will help you, for I am getting rather fond of the old craft, too.”

“We all ought to help,” said Mr. Norwood. “I sha’n’t want you to scrap the boat, Darry, my boy. I like to think that it was my Jessie saved her from sinking – and saved you all. To my mind radio is a great thing – something more than a toy even for these boys and girls.”

“Quite true,” Mr. Drew agreed. “When your Jessie and my Amy first strung those wires at Roselawn I thought they were well over it if they didn’t break their limbs before they got it finished. When we get back home I think Darry and I would better put up aerials and have a house-set, too. What say, Darry?”

“I’m with you, Father,” agreed the young collegian. “But I won’t agree to rival Jess and Amy as radio experts. For those two girls take the palm.”

THE END