The wireless operator-with the U. S. Coast guard

Front matter

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Foreword

Reading into the present the history of the early mariner along our shores, one is im¬ pressed with the march of civilization. Insti¬ tutions having for their purpose the saving of human life are products of civilization—a part of the great scheme of humanization.

This volume, dedicated “To those un¬ sung heroes, the men of theU. S. Coast Guard,” is an interesting, an engaging, and a compelling portrayal of the everyday work of the Coast Guard, with its vicissitudes, hardships, perils and accomplishments. The Coast Guard in fact is an establishment of service and opportunity — service to those whose fortunes are cast with the deep and along our shores, opportunity for the young men of the nation of character, sta¬ bility and fixedness of purpose, to follow the Stars and Stripes in the ever-beautiful cause of humanity.

F. C. BILLARD, Rear Admiral, U. S. Coast Guard, Commandant

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The Wireless Operator— With the U. S. Coast Guard

CHAPTER i

TTENRY HARPER was making his way down the longest street in the world as fast as the jam of traffic would allow. But this long¬ est street in the world, Broadway in New York City, is also one of the world’s busiest thorough¬ fares, and, despite his haste, Henry Harper could proceed but slowly. It was the noon hour, and the sidewalks were jammed with thousands upon thousands of clerks, stenographers, busi¬ ness men, and other busy workers, going to or from their luncheons. The streets were over¬ flowing with vehicular traffic, as the sidewalks were with foot-passengers. No matter to which side Henry darted, there was always some per¬ son or some vehicle in front of him, and so, though quivering with impatience, he was obliged to curb his speed and make his way the best he could among pedestrians and trucks. He was bound for the office of the United States Secret Service, and it seemed to him that he would 13 never get there. He had just come to New York from his home in Central City, Pennsylvania, and he was on his way to see his old friend Willie Brown, who had some time previously won a position with the Secret Service.

When, finally, he did reach his destination, Henry found himself facing a situation that troubled him a great deal more than he cared to admit. Willie Brown was not in the office. What was more, Willie was not even in town. He had been sent away on some special duty. The office boy did not know when Willie would return. All he knew was that Willie had started on a trip that would probably last two or three weeks, and there was no one in the office who could give Henry any more definite information. All the clerks were out at luncheon, but they probably wouldn’t know where Willie was going, anyway. And the Chief, who had given Willie his orders in person, had left for the day.

If Henry had wanted to see Willie merely to renew old acquaintanceship, the situation would have been unpleasant enough. But it was a thousand times worse than that, for Henry had come to New York upon Willie’s express invi¬ tation, and the latter was going to try to help him get a job. Henry had not told him exactly when he would arrive, and so he could not blame him for not being on hand or for not leaving 3 , message for him. Willie’s absence made it mighty unpleasant for Henry, though, for the latter had expected to be his guest, and his funds were slender. Indeed, he had little more than enough money to pay his return car fare. Two or three days at a New York hotel would exhaust these funds entirely. No wonder Henry looked worried as he slowly left the building and stepped once more into the seething jam on Broadway.

“ I’ll slip over to the Confederated Steamship Office,” thought Henry to himself. “ I know the Lycoming is at sea, and Roy won’t be back in New York for almost a week. But maybe I can find some one who can help me out of my difficulty.” So he headed hopefully toward the piers on the Hudson River front, occupied by the coastwise steamship line for which another of his old chums, Roy Mercer, now worked as a wireless operator on the steamer Lycoming.

Again he was doomed to disappointment. Not a ship lay in the docks. Not an official of any sort could be found about the place. Only a watchman was in charge, at the gate, and he proved to be gruff and surly. If only one of the Lycoming's sister ships had been in port, Henry would have appealed to the wireless operator on her, and trusted to the freemasonry that exists among wireless men generally. But there was no such luck for him. Apparently there was no one he could reach to whom he could appeal. Here he was, stranded in the metropolis, without a friend or an acquaintance, with no job in sight, and with only a very few dollars in his pocket. It was a situation to take the heart out of almost any boy.

But Henry was no ordinary boy. To begin with, he was approaching manhood. In a year or two he would be old enough to vote. He was as large as most men, and as independent men¬ tally as he was sturdy physically, so he did not become alarmed and panic-stricken, as a younger lad might have, but set himself to think out the best course he could pursue. He knew that all he had to do was to find some way to tide himself over until either Roy or Willie returned, and things would be all right.

Nevertheless he was worried about his money. For even though he could readily borrow from his friends upon their return, it wouldn’t be exactly an easy thing to repay the loan. The money in his pocket was about all the money he had in the world.

With Roy and Willie, he had belonged to the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol. Indeed, it was Henry himself who had organized that little group of boys, and who had made the first wire¬ less set they possessed, by the use of some pat¬ terns given him by an uncle. And he had become probably the most expert wireless operator in the patrol. In fact, during an emergency he had served for a time as a government operator in the big wireless station at Frankfort, not so many miles from his home in Central City.

When he thought of those days Henry sighed, almost with bitterness. Then he was the leader in every respect. Not only was he the oldest boy in the Wireless Patrol, but he was farthest ad¬ vanced. In the nature of things he should by this time have been far along the road to success, and in a position to help his friends; whereas it had actually turned out that he was behind them all, and that they were helping him instead. Yet it was no fault of Henry’s. His father’s death had thrown upon him the burden of supporting not only himself but his mother as well. Henry had given up his work at the high school for a time, but his mother had insisted upon his com¬ pleting it. It had taken him twice as long to finish his course this way as it would have, could he have gone on without interruption. But now he was glad he had listened to his mother. Even though he was so late getting started, he knew he would go farther in the end.

But was he started? The question worried Henry so much that he could hardly think. He had come to New York with high hopes of get¬ ting a real start, and now he seemed about to waste the few remaining dollars he possessed. What should he do? The roar of the traffic dis¬ turbed him. He could not think connectedly. He wanted to compose himself, so he made his way down the water-front to Battery Park, where he might be undisturbed while he thought out his problem.

But the familiar scenes in Battery Park set a new train of thought in motion in his head, and utterly defeated, for the time, his plan to think out his course of action, for in front of him, as he sat on a park bench, was the old, familiar harbor, with its seething waters and its throbbing life. And straight across the rolling waves was Staten Island, where he had spent those memo¬ rable days in that never-to-be-forgotten hunt for the secret wireless of the Germans, during the war, when the Secret Service had accepted the proffered help of the Wireless Patrol in the search for the treacherous spies that were betray¬ ing the movements of American transports. How clearly all the incidents of that search for the secret wireless now stood out in Henry’s mind. He could recall, as though it had been but yesterday, the departure of the selected unit of the patrol—Roy Mercer and Lew Heinsling and Willie Brown and himself—from Central City, and their meeting with their leader, Cap¬ tain Hardy, and the tedious watch for the German spies, lasting through weeks, which began in upper Manhattan and ended in Staten Island.

And when Henry thought of the snug little headquarters they had had in a private house in Staten Island, with a delightful elderly couple, he jumped to his feet and almost shouted with relief. Why hadn’t he thought of those old peo¬ ple before? They would take him in and tide him over until his friends returned. They would be glad to see him again, too. Henry felt sure of that, and, sighing with relief, he leaped to his feet, seized his little suit-case, and hustled over to the near-by municipal ferry-house, just in time to catch an outgoing boat for Staten Island.

Eased in mind, he now eagerly watched the harbor, thrilling with the stirring scenes before him. Six miles as the crow flies lay the course across the bay to Staten Island, and this six miles was alive with shipping. Everywhere vessels were moving. Sister ferry-boats were ploughing the waves straight toward Staten Island. In the Hudson and the East Rivers more ferry-boats were crossing back and forth. Big steamers were moving majestically along. Tugboats without number churned the choppy waves to foam, some riding in solitary state, and some towing long strings of barges at the ends of great hawsers. Others were snuggled in between big lighters, like porters with huge bandboxes under each arm.

In the anchorages below the Statue of Liberty great tramp ships rode idly at anchor, awaiting cargoes. And on the opposite side of the bay, below Governor’s Island, stately sailing ships rolled gently in their moorings. Motor-boats, yachts, sailboats, even an occasional rowboat, moved this way and that. The surface of the water was crossed and recrossed with lines of yeasty foam, churned up by the passing craft, while the air was vibrant with the ceaseless toot¬ ing of ships’ whistles.

And there was Governor’s Island, with its an¬ tiquated round fort, and the ancient cannons atop of it. And farther along was the newly-made part of the island, filled in with thousands of loads of material brought by barges. On this made land now stood row upon row of govern¬ ment sheds and warehouses erected during the war. And Henry recalled the still more stir¬ ring scenes during those days of struggle, when every possible anchorage was occupied, and the boats of the Coast Guard went rushing about with their peremptory orders to incoming steam¬ ers, like traffic police of the harbor, as indeed they were. And as his boat drew near the ferry-house at St. George, Henry saw a Coast Guard cutter herself lying at anchor close to the Staten Island shore. How trim and beautiful she looked, in her shining white paint, with her flags flying, and her motor-boat lying lazily along¬ side.

But now the great ferry-boat was coming to rest in her dock. The clank of pawls, as the deck-hands made the huge craft fast, the lower¬ ing of the gangways, and the hurried rush of feet, made Henry take his gaze away from the fascinating harbor scene, for the crowd was mov¬ ing and he had to move with it. In another mo¬ ment he had stepped ashore and found himself outside the ferry-house.

An interesting place, indeed, was this St. George terminal. Henry had journeyed on the upper deck of the ferry-boat, and now he found himself in the upper part of the ferry-house. There were all the usual features of a great wait¬ ing-room—long rows of seats, and news-stands, and quick-lunch counters, and fruit-stands. None of these interested Henry. His attention was centred on the scene without. The edge of the island was a low-lying fringe of land, now given over wholly to shipping facilities—great wharves and piers and wide roadways skirting the water’s edge. Inland a few hundred yards the ground rose sharp and steep, and these slop¬ ing terraces were covered with buildings. Skirt¬ ing the hilly heart of the island, roads wound downward, meeting directly in front of the ferry building, and reaching that structure by a long, sloping approach. These converging roads made Henry think of a huge funnel, with the sloping ferry-approach as its small end. And the idea of a funnel was carried out by the way this approach poured traffic into the ferry-ter¬ minal. Trolley cars, motor cars, and pedestrians swarmed down it in endless procession. Seem¬ ingly all the roads in Staten Island converged at the upper end of this ferry-approach, and shunted their burdens toward the crowded ferry-house.

Up this ferry-approach Henry made his way until he came to the end of it, where it split into divergent roads. A moment he stood here, wait¬ ing a favorable opportunity to cross the road. While waiting, he noticed a man on the opposite curb, who was likewise held up by the traffic, and who was evidently impatient of delay. Suddenly the man swung from the curb and tried to worm his way across the thoroughfare, among the mov¬ ing vehicles. He had a bulging suit-case in one hand and a large package in the other. Henry judged that he was hurrying to catch a boat.

The stranger was half-way across the street, when a recklessly driven car, rushing up the ferry-approach, made the nearest drivers on the upper roads swing sharply to one side. That caused all the traffic to turn out. The man cross¬ ing the road was so laden with bundles that he could not move quickly enough, and he was caught directly in front of an oncoming motor truck. With a leap, Henry was at the pedes¬ trian’s side. Seizing him by the arm, he dragged him to safety. But the car in passing knocked the parcel from the man’s arm and broke it open, scattering its contents on the road. The car be¬ hind promptly stopped, blocking the traffic. Henry snatched up the scattered contents of the parcel and jumped back to the sidewalk. Then he took the suit-case himself, while the stranger bundled the contents of the broken parcel under his arms, and together they made their way to the ferry-house.

Henry’s companion was a heavy-set man of ruddy complexion, whose strong face showed both firmness of character and kindness of spirit.

“ That fellow would have got me sure,” he said indignantly, “ if it hadn’t been for you, sir. They ought to put about half of these motor-car drivers in jail.”

“ They’re pretty reckless,” Henry agreed.

“ I don’t know how I am ever going to repay you,” said the man. “ You probably saved my life.”

“ I don’t want any pay,” said Henry. “ If I really saved you from harm I am glad.”

They reached the ferry-house, but, instead of entering, the man turned to the right and went down a flight of steps. Then he walked across the lower road to the very edge of the wharf, and out on a little float. Henry saw at once that the man must belong on some one of the ships at anchor near by, and was probably waiting for a small boat to meet him.

“ If I can be of no further help to you,” said Henry, “ I must be on my way.”

“ I guess I’m safe enough now,” laughed the man. “ And I owe it to you that I got here with a whole skin.” He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little roll of bills. “ Take these,” he said to Henry, “ and my best wishes.”

Henry looked at the money longingly, but only for a second. “ I thank you,” he said, “ but I couldn’t do it, sir.”

“ At least you will shake hands,” smiled the stranger, and he thrust out his hand. Henry took the proffered hand, shook it warmly, and, saying good-bye, turned on his heel. In a few moments he was back at the crossing, and a sec¬ ond later he had gained the farther curb and was absorbed in the study of the old town where he had spent such memorable days.

But what a difference! This was not the town of St. George as he knew it at all. How it had expanded and been built up. On every hand arose unfamiliar buildings. From a little town the settlement had altered into a city. Where once stood little cottages now arose great busi¬ ness blocks or towering apartments. No longer was this a sleepy little island. It was a pulsing part of a great city.

Rapidly Henry strode along, his pulse stirred, as always, by the throbbing life of the great me¬ tropolis. On he went, and on and on, until he came to the place where he should have seen the house of the German spy. It was no longer there. A great row of apartments had replaced it. And when Henry looked above, at the higher level where stood the house in which he and his comrades had spent so many thrilling days, again he saw a row of towering apartments. The house he was seeking no longer existed.

The realization shocked him. He stopped in his tracks and stared. His heart almost stood still. His last hope was gone. Then wildly he tore up the roadway to the higher level, still hop¬ ing that he might find some trace of the people he sought. His hope was vain. No name in any doorway even remotely suggested the name he was looking for, and all whom he questioned gave him the same reply,—they did not know any one of that name.

Almost stunned, Henry turned about and slowly retraced his footsteps. He was hardly conscious of where he was going, but he kept walking, and his footsteps naturally went down¬ hill. Before he realized where he was, Henry found himself on the water-front. A great, wide, cobbled thoroughfare ran along the water’s edge, and here, projecting far out into the bay, stood pier after pier in a magnificent row, all built as a result of the war. But the pulsing life of the war days was gone. Many of the piers seemed empty or deserted. Few vessels lay in the docks. Yet the splendid water-front, once open and un¬ obstructed, was now completely shut in by these hulking structures. To see the water here, one must either go back up the hill, where one could see over the pier-sheds, or else go to the seaward end of a pier. And no matter how keen his dis¬ appointment was, Henry did want to see the water-front here. After a little he would go back to Manhattan and try to find some quarters where he could exist until one of his friends re¬ turned, or until he could get a job. But before he went back he meant to have a good look at this lower end of the harbor, which he loved so well.

Carefully he made his way along the edge of a pier, outside of the pier-shed. It chanced to be unoccupied. Henry was glad it was so, for there would be no one to disturb him. He could enjoy the scene to his heart’s content. When he reached the outer end of the pier, he set his little suit-case down and gave himself up to full en¬ joyment of the scene. Not far below him were the buildings at the quarantine station, and a great steamer lay in the Narrows there, evidently detained by the quarantine officials. Here were no hurrying ferry-boats, but directly off the pier on which he stood were anchored a number of ocean-going craft. How huge they seemed. How alluring was the thought of a voyage aboard one of them, even if they were but clumsy freighters. There was nothing clumsy about the little Coast Guard cutter that lay near them, however, and again Henry admired the trim lit¬ tle craft. He saw her small boat returning from land with some passengers aboard, and he won¬ dered at her speed and the way she darted through the waves. He could even see the man on watch, as he paced back and forth across the bridge.

Presently an ocean liner passed down the Nar¬ rows, headed for the open sea. How majestically she rode the waves! Her rails were lined with people. Henry wondered where they were go¬ ing, and when they would be coming back again. He watched the great ship until she began to grow small in the distance. He was lost in thought, his mind with the voyagers on the great vessel. There was not a soul about to disturb his meditations. No ofte was on the pier, and no ships lay in the docks alongside. How he wished he might take a journey abroad, like the passengers on that great liner, and see distant lands and strange peoples.

Unconsciously Henry had approached the very edge of the pier. He hardly realized that only a foot or two of solid planking lay between him and the heaving waters. His thoughts were entirely centred upon the vanishing steamer. He wanted to watch her until he could see her no longer. Her course turned her slightly to¬ ward the shore, behind some pier-sheds and ship¬ ping farther down-stream. Henry craned his neck as far as he could, to watch the disappear¬ ing vessel. Then he took one step forward, and, as he did so, his toe caught under a spike which was sticking up an inch or so in the flooring of the pier. He lost his balance, and, before he could recover himself, pitched head foremost over the end of the pier. Then, with no one near to aid him, with not a soul to hear his startled cry for help, he sank far down into the cold and heaving waters.

CHAPTER II confused was Henry that he knew not in which direction to strike out. He could not tell which way was up and which was down. He was afraid to try to swim, lest he drive his body still deeper into the water, or swim against a pil¬ ing and perhaps knock himself unconscious. In¬ stinctively he had taken a deep breath just as he struck the water. It was fortunate, for he was a long time coming up, and before his natural buoyancy lifted him to the surface, he began to suffer for air. His lungs seemed to be bursting. He felt as though he were suffocating. But just when it seemed as though he could hold his breath no longer, his head shot up above the water.

With a gasp Henry sucked in a lungful of air, and with it he gulped down a mouthful of salt water. He began to cough and as he did so a choppy wave hit him smack in the face and he swallowed more water. Although he was an ex¬ cellent swimmer, he was really in a bad way. All of his swimming had been done in smooth, fresh water. Pie was not accustomed to salt water and the roughness that usually accompanies it. With 29 his face drenched with the spray, his eyes sting¬ ing with the salt water, and the choppy, uneven waves dashing over him, he knew not how to take care of himself, or hardly in which direction to try to swim.

Indeed, it would have bothered even a more experienced person to know just where to turn. The pier from which Henry had fallen contained not a soul, and no boats lay in the long, flanking docks. It was useless to look for help from that quarter. It was almost as useless to turn to¬ ward the ships that lay at anchor some hundreds of yards out in the water. Between them and the shore the tide was sweeping seaward with great power. Even if he could manage to keep afloat, it would be almost useless to swim toward these ships. He could never hope to stem that strong current, and the chance of being seen by any lookout on the ships seemed remote indeed to Henry. As for getting out of the water, there seemed no possible chance of that either. There were no ladders, no ropes, no steps visible any¬ where along the piers, by which he could mount upward. Only the rounded pilings that upheld the pier floors offered space to cling to, and these were covered with rough barnacles and coated with slime. Besides, it would do little good to cling to them unless he could first attract the at¬ tention of some one.

With all his might Henry shouted, but he got no response. He was fast becoming chilled, for the water was very cold. His strength was ebb¬ ing, and the swirling eddies sucked him toward the pier. Once, indeed, he was drawn entirely under the pier, and the choppy water knocked him roughly against the pilings. His head banged hard against a great spile, and for a moment Henry almost lost consciousness. Then he recovered his full senses and set himself to fight for his life. His strength was going fast, and he knew it. Yet he did not allow himself to be¬ come panic-stricken. He took a grip on himself, turned away from the pier, and struck out with all his remaining strength. Whatever happened, he would get away from those deadly pilings. The thought of dying under the pier, among those slimy spiles, chilled him worse than did the cold water.

Incessantly the waves dashed in Henry’s face, blinding him. But he kept his mouth shut and quickly learned to breathe guardedly, so he swal¬ lowed little more water. Before him he could dimly distinguish the great black bulk of an an¬ chored ship. Even at the risk of being swept sea¬ ward, he decided that he would try to swim to it.

Had it not been for his wet clothing and his shoes, which felt like lead, Henry might have been able to make it. But his garments held him back terribly. And so, though he continued to make headway, he was swept swiftly along with the tide, out toward the open sea. From time to time he shouted and waved a hand aloft, trying to attract attention. All at once he realized that he could never gain his goal, and the thought struck sudden terror to his heart. Still he strug¬ gled on, but his strokes grew feebler and feebler. His vision became so confused he could not see anything clearly. He was so utterly tired as to be almost exhausted. Indeed, his movements had become almost mechanical, and he had all but lost consciousness when he was startled by the sharp clang of a bell and the noisy churning of water close at hand. Then something took him by the coat-collar and he felt himself being bodily lifted out of the waves. Again the bell clanged sharply, once more a propeller churned the waters, and he felt himself moving swiftly over the tide.

It was a full minute before Henry could clear his brain and wipe his eyes clean, so that he could see. He found himself in a powerful little motor-boat, quite evidently built for use at sea, that was now scudding along under full power direct toward the little white Coast Guard cutter. Straight at the cutter charged the little craft. When it was only a few yards distant, the bell clanged once more, the propeller ceased to revolve, the little boat’s head came sharply about, and in another moment the craft was resting be¬ side the ship’s ladder.

“ Can you make it alone?” asked one of the sailors in the boat, as Henry rose to his feet and stepped on the landing-stage of the cutter.

“ Sure,” said Henry, who was already recov¬ ering his strength.

“ Then up with you, quick.”

“ All right,” answered Henry, “ but first I want to thank you men for saving me. I couldn’t have kept afloat much longer. You got to me just in the nick of time. I don’t know what to say, to make you understand how I feel.”

“ Forget it,” smiled the sailor, “ and hustle aboard. You’ll get pneumonia if you stay there in the wind.”

Henry turned and started to mount the ladder. He noticed that one of the sailors was close be¬ hind him, apparently ready to support him if he needed help. But Henry was not now in need of assistance. His strength was increasing every minute. He grasped the ladder-rail and mounted upward, and when he looked ahead of him, he saw that the cutter’s rail was lined with faces. Apparently the entire crew had been watching the rescue.