Chapter XI: Another Passenger

For a moment Tom did not move from the position into which he had fallen when he clambered aboard the derelict. He was exhausted, but, more than this, he was startled by the sound of the childish voice. And yet, in an instant, he knew who had called his name.

“Is--is he here--little Jackie here?” Tom gasped.

“That’s what he is, matie,” answered one of the men. “I’ve been holding him ever since we picked him out of the wreck of a lifeboat, poor little chap. But I guess he’d rather come to you.”

“Tom--Tom Fairfield I want you!” cried Jackie. “Where is my daddy?”

Tom felt a lump come into his throat, but he rose up and answered as best he could.

“I--I’ll take care of you now, Jackie,” said Tom brokenly. “Daddy--I--I guess your daddy is off somewhere in a boat, looking for you. He’ll row up in the morning, and won’t he be surprised when he sees you here ahead of him? Oh, won’t we have a grand joke on him, though!”

Jackie laughed--laughed amid that waste of waters on the wave-washed derelict.

“Oh, how nice, Tom!” he said. “I want you to hold me, and tell me about how daddy will be surprised.”

“Poor little kid,” murmured the sailor who held the little boy, as he passed him over to Tom when a lightning flash came.

Tom was now getting his strength and wind back after his long swim. He was still soaking wet, but the rain had now ceased, and the wind was warm. If the sea went down enough so that the waves would not wash up over the derelict they might all get dry. And then the morning would come. But what would it bring?

Tom gathered Jackie in his arms, and the boy, with a contented sigh, snuggled up to our hero’s shoulders.

“Now tell me about daddy,” he commanded. “Tell me about the joke on him.”

Tom started to comply, forcing himself to make a joke out of what he feared would be a grim discovery in the daylight. The boy’s father was probably among those drowned when the ship foundered. But little Jackie must not know it. So Tom made up a fanciful little story--telling it while the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, and while the derelict rose and fell on the long swells.

“Move back here, mate,” said one of the sailors in a low voice. “It’s higher, and more out of the water.”

He moved forward to make a place for Tom, and the lad noticed that the man took a position where he would be more exposed to the waves than at first.

“But you--” began Tom with an objection.

“Come on,” ordered the man, half harshly. “You want to keep the kid dry; don’t you?”

Then Tom understood, and with a grateful heart he moved up so that Jackie would not be so wet. The little fellow was breathing heavily now, and Tom knew that he was asleep.

“Well, Tom Fairfield,” remarked one of the sailors, “this is tough luck, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t be much worse, and yet there’s lots worse off then we are,” commented the other.

Tom looked at the sailors as the lightning flashed again. One he knew as Abe Fordam, and the other was Joe Weldon. They had been deck helpers, cargo shifters--doing any of the many things required on a steamer, and hardly sailors proper, for there were no sails to manipulate. Tom had made their acquaintance when he had requested them to pose for their pictures as they were coiling up an anchor chain one day on deck.

“How did you happen to get aboard this derelict?” he asked, getting into as comfortable a position as possible with his little burden.

“It sort of--happened,” replied Abe.

“We had lowered away the main lifeboat, with most of the passengers in it,” added Joe, “right after the second crash came, and then there wasn’t time to do much more. It was everyone for himself. Some of the men were cowards, too,” he added contemptuously.

“That’s what they were,” growled Abe. “They swamped one boat by all trying to crowd into her. Me and Joe here shifted for ourselves, and got aboard a life-raft that we slid down the sloping deck. We were better off than most, too.”

“But how did you get aboard this derelict?” asked Tom.

“Our raft hit it, after we’d been afloat some time, and I says to Joe that we’d better take to it, seeing as how it was bigger than the raft. So we transferred our keg of water to it, and what little grub we had, and climbed on.”

“Then we found the boy,” supplemented Joe.

“That’s right, then we found the boy,” agreed Abe. “I see something awash near the bow of this old craft, and I made a grab for it, thinking it might be more grub. But it wasn’t. It was part of a lifeboat, with some life preservers jammed under the thwart. I pulled it up, and there was this kid, sort of fastened by the life preserver straps. At first I thought he was gone, but I listened close, and heard his breathing.

“We got the water out of him, as best we could, and then he began to cry. He cried for his daddy something pitiful, and nobody knows where his daddy is,” he added softly.

“Then he called for Tom Fairfield,” added Joe.

“Yes,” assented Abe, “he cried for you. And it seems sort of Providential-like that you should come swimming along. How did you do it, Tom?”

“It just happened. I rolled off the deck when the second crash came, and, when I came up I swam for it. I called for help as I saw a lifeboat rowing away, but they didn’t hear me. Then I swam until I got this life-ring, and then--well I saw the derelict and made for that.”

“And it’s a good thing you did,” commented Joe. “For Abe nor I don’t know the first thing about taking care of kids. I’m glad you come.”

“So am I,” grunted Abe.

“What sort of a craft are we on?” asked Tom.

“A derelict lumber ship, as near as I can make out,” replied Abe. “Them kind floats longest and they’re the very worst sort of derelicts for a ship to hit, for they’re so heavy--almost solid, you might say. This is what the _Silver Star_ hit, I’m almost positive. First we hit her a light blow, and then we sort of fended off. The engines got out of commission, and something went wrong with the steering gear, I guess. Then we fetched up with another whack at it, and that finished us.”

“That’s it,” agreed Joe. “But it ain’t a bad sort of craft to float on when you’ve been wrecked. It’s better than the life-raft.”

“Will it float long?” asked Tom.

“As long as we need it--maybe longer,” spoke Abe, and his voice was rather gloomy.

“Have you any water, and enough food to--to last for some time?” asked Tom.

“Not an awful lot,” murmured Joe. “There’s water enough for four days, maybe, if we don’t take too much, and some tinned meat and biscuits in the case we put on the raft. Why, are you hungry, Tom?”

“No, oh, no, not at all. I was just thinking ahead. There are four of us, counting little Jackie.”

“And he’ll get his share, along with the rest of us, matie,” said Abe quickly. “It’ll be share and share alike, until the last crumb and drop is gone.”

“That’s what,” growled his companion.

“Are there any chances of us being picked up?” Tom inquired.

“Oh, yes, plenty of chances,” answered Abe. “But you can’t tell how long it will be before that happens. Still we can’t do anything but wait.”

“Maybe one of the lifeboats will sight us,” suggested our hero, as he moved a bit so that Jackie would rest easier.

“Maybe, but hardly. They’ll probably row toward the nearest land,” suggested Joe.

“And where might that be?” inquired Tom.

“Well, we were about three days from the Hawaiian Islands, at the rate we were going in the _Silver Star_,” went on Joe, “but in the storm I guess we were pretty well blown out of our course. Probably now we’re some distance to the east of ’em now, and maybe below ’em, for all I can tell. But if we can make a southwest course we’re bound to fetch up at some island sooner or later, if we’re not picked up by some vessel in the meanwhile.”

“Oh, then we’re not so badly off,” commented Tom.

“It might be worse,” agreed Joe. “Well, the storm’s over, and it’ll soon be daylight I reckon.”

The lightning had ceased, and the thunder was only distantly rumbling. It was quite dark, and the derelict drifted on with its passengers staring moodily out into the blackness--all but Jackie, who was in happy dreamland.

“There’s the sun,” announced Joe, after a pause. He pointed to where a faint light showed in the east. It gradually grew until the red ball of fire seemed to pop up from the ocean.

Jackie awoke, and sat up in Tom’s arms.

“Did daddy come yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” replied our hero softly. “But he may--soon.”

“And he’ll be s’prised to see me here; won’t he?”

“Yes, Jackie.”

Tom looked at the craft on which he now was. As the sailors had surmised, it was a derelict lumber ship, and one end of it was well out of the water.

Tom was just wondering how they could improve their situation by making a sort of shelter and platform from some of the lumber when Joe cried out:

“Look! Look over there! It’s a boat, or part of one!”

They looked to where he pointed. There, drifting slowly toward them was a wrecked lifeboat, one of those that had been carried on the _Silver Star_.

“If we can only get her, she may have food and water in,” suggested Joe. “I’m going to swim for it, and tow it in. I see a rope trailing from the bow.”

Before they could object he had leaped off the derelict and was swimming toward the boat as it rose and fell on the wash of the sea. Joe was strong, and a good swimmer, and soon he was aboard again with the end of the line. By it they hauled in the boat.

“Anything in it?” asked Abe.

“I didn’t stop to look. Just grabbed the line and turned back.”

Now the boat was alongside. Tom looked into it and uttered a cry of surprise. It contained one passenger--a man, and it was the same mysterious man who had kept himself hidden in his stateroom aboard the _Silver Star_.