Half way to the shore a triangular fin came cruising near him.

THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS ON THE PACIFIC

BY

CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

AUTHOR OF “THE BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES,” “THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS’ SERIES,” “THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC,” “THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS AND THE LOST LINER,” “THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS OF THE ICEBERG PATROL,” “THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS AND THE NAVAL CODE,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR O. SCOTT

NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1916, BY HURST & COMPANY

CONTENTS

The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific.

CHAPTER I.—ON THE BROAD PACIFIC.

Twenty days out from San Francisco in the vast, heaving desert of the sea, twenty days of storm, sunshine and calm, the Sea Gypsy, the great white yacht of Jacob Jukes, head of the big Atlantic and Pacific Shipping Combine, was making her way lazily through the dreamy South Seas. The vessel was capable of great speed, being known as one of the fastest craft of her kind. But she was bound on a mission which might take a long time to consummate, and economy of coal, which was piled even on her decks, to re-enforce the supply in the bunkers, was necessary.

What this mission was remained, so far, a mystery to every one on board except Mr. Jukes himself, the iron-jawed and impenetrable organizer of the expedition. Up to this time he had shown no inclination to unburden himself of his secret, and although the craft was equipped with powerful wireless of the most modern type, the yacht had received no messages, nor had she sent any, under orders from Mr. Jukes.

On this particular evening Jack Ready leaned against the door of the wireless-room, a converted deck cabin, and covertly watched the heavy-shouldered, bull-necked form of the millionaire shipping man as the latter gazed over the rail across the vacant waters at the gorgeous sunset.

It was a true pageant of the heavens, such as is only to be seen in the Southern ocean. Great cloud-masses rose in wondrous forms, like glorified castle walls and turrets, glowing with purple and gold and red. Jack found himself following Mr. Jukes’ gaze. Although such spectacles had been almost nightly ones since they had steamed into the tropics, there was something wild and sinister about the present one that thrilled him.

Captain Septimus Sparhawk, the brown, gaunt captain of the yacht, whose thin face was decorated by two little dabs of grayish whiskers forward of each ear, passed by.

“Nothing to do but to look at the sky, eh?” he asked Jack, as a suspicion of a smile crept over his face.

“That’s about all, sir,” rejoined Jack, with a laugh. “I expect to see spiders spinning webs on my instruments every day. I haven’t touched the key since we sailed.”

The captain shook his head. He was an old and loyal employee of the shipping man, and not much given to words. But, apparently, now he felt called upon to express himself.

“It’s a queer business, lad,” he said, “and it may get queerer still before we find out what it’s all about. I’m as much in the dark as you or the cabin boy. But right now that sunset worries me more than anything else.”

“You’re on the look-out for a storm?” asked Jack, noting a sudden look of anxiety in the captain’s pale blue eyes, surrounded by a network of tiny wrinkles, due to long gazing into salty gales.

“Worse than that, Ready,” was the rejoinder. “This is the hurricane season in these parts and the glass,—I’ve just taken a squint at it,—is dropping as if it never meant to stop.”

“If I could use the wireless——” began Jack.

“We could probably get a weather reading from some other ship,” interrupted the captain, starting off, “but as it is, we might as well not have it on board at all. The thing’s got me stumped.”

He carried himself off on his long, thin legs but paused to speak to Mr. Jukes. The ship-owner, although Jack could not hear what was said, appeared to be agitated somewhat by the captain’s words, for he began puffing rapidly at his after-dinner cigar, sending out smoke like the exhaust of a locomotive funnel, a sure sign, as Jack had observed, that he was disturbed.

“I’ll make all snug, sir,” the boy heard the captain say, as he turned away, “and then we will be prepared for whatever happens.”

“Very well, Sparhawk,” answered Mr. Jukes, in a somewhat louder voice than he had used hitherto, “and be sure to see to it that the deck load of coal is secured safely. They tell me the bunkers are running low.”

As has been stated, the Sea Gypsy’s decks were piled high fore and aft with coal, kept in place by wooden bulkheads, which did not add to the appearance of the ship and encumbered progress from bow to stern. Only amidships, where the cabins were situated, was the deck clear. As the captain ascended the bridge he turned and gave an order to a petty officer and presently the crew could be seen at work lashing big tarpaulins down over the coal which was so important to keep the Sea Gypsy moving on her mysterious mission.

The news that the coal supply was running low in the bunkers was a surprise to Jack. He made for Billy Raynor’s cabin where the young chief engineer of the yacht was writing up his “log.”