CHAPTER XII

THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR

Weary were the hours, even fraught with anxiety as they were, that Ned, Bob, and Jerry passed aboard the drifting craft. Notwithstanding the presence of many of their comrades in arms, there was a sense of loneliness on the vast expanse of the waters of the Atlantic.

Had the _Sherman_ been proceeding along under her own power, lessening each hour the miles that separated her from the shores of America, this feeling would not have manifested itself. But as it was, with every one ready for the trip home, which, for this unavoidable cause, could not be completed, the sense of the vastness and loneliness of the ocean, on which the troopship could only drift, filled the boys’ hearts.

With the acknowledgment on the part of the engineers that the wireless apparatus could no longer issue appeals for help, all that remained to be done in connection with that was to wait for the possible chance that some of the messages previously sent out would be answered. To this end one man was kept constantly on duty, with the rubber receivers clamped to his ears. And from the strained look on his face it was easy to guess that his task, simple as it might seem, was no sinecure.

“Why don’t they rig up some kind of sail?” asked several of the soldiers who clustered on the decks, a few forming a knot around Ned, Bob, and Jerry, for those lads had let it be known that they had been talking with one of the wireless men, and, in a manner, spoke as those having authority.

“That’s it!” chimed in another impatient one. “If we can’t steam we ought to be able to sail. I’ve often read stories of where a steamer lost a propeller or something, and the sailors rigged up a mast and got home all right.”

“They rigged up a jury mast--I’ve read about that, too,” said another. “Why can’t we do that here, and blow home?”

“Yes, why can’t we?” asked others. “Let’s send a delegation to the captain and ask him!”

This seemed to find considerable favor, and it might have been carried into effect but for the fact that just then a peculiar tremor which could mean but one thing was felt throughout the ship.

“The engines have started!” cried Ned.

“That’s the throb of the propeller, sure enough!” added Bob.

“We’re moving!” came from Jerry, and a chorus of delighted cheers greeted this announcement.

There was no question as to the last statement. The _Sherman_ was, indeed, moving slowly through the water. Very slowly, indeed. The motion was hardly perceptible at first, but it was undoubted. Soldier after soldier, hearing the news and feeling the vibration, looked over the side and verified Jerry’s announcement.

Like wild-fire rumors flew about the transport. The chief one, and that most readily believed, because it was the one that every one desired to believe, was this:

“The engines have been repaired. Now we’ll get home!”

And for a time this seemed true. The _Sherman_ gathered headway, and soon began moving more swiftly. But, even at that, her speed was nothing like what it had been at the beginning of the voyage.

“I guess we had the wrong dope, Ned,” remarked Jerry, as the three chums discussed the situation. “It couldn’t have been a bomb explosion after all, or they couldn’t have fixed up the engines.”

“Well, I don’t know that I’ll go so far as to admit that. There may have been a bomb explosion all right, but, even then, they might have been able to make repairs. Anyhow, we’re moving.”

“But we haven’t heard anything about the information we gave,” said Bob; “and the marines are still on guard at that cabin--at least some sentries are there. I passed the door a little while ago.”

“And we haven’t had a sight of our pepper-pot friend since that guard was stationed,” added Ned. “I feel sure he’s in there, and that he tried to blow up the ship.”

“Well, he didn’t make out very well, for we’re on our way once more,” went on Bob. “And now I feel like eating again! Come on, fellows, let’s scout around and see if there’s a chance to get some extra grub.”

Bob’s face, that had been gloomy all day (an unusual thing for him) cleared now. He was leading the way to the galley, followed by Ned and Jerry, when the throbbing and vibration of the craft, which unmistakably told of engines working, suddenly ceased.

The three chums gazed blankly at one another, and all about them other soldiers looked alarmed.

“What’s that?” cried Ned.

“Don’t tell me she’s stopping again!” exclaimed Bob.

“She certainly has stopped, but she may start up again,” voiced Jerry.

But as the minutes passed and the _Sherman_ continued to lose headway in the smooth sea, the fears of the three chums and their companions became confirmed.

A little later word was circulated about the ship that the engines had broken down again. And this time more completely than before. The temporary repairs that had been made only caused a worse break in the machinery when the second accident happened.

“Well, it wasn’t a bomb explosion this time,” said Jerry, when it was ascertained for certain that the transport could not possibly proceed under her own power.

“But that isn’t saying it wasn’t the original cause of the accident,” declared Ned. “I’d like to get hold of that pepper-pot and tell him what I think of him.”

“They’ll do more than tell him, provided they can prove that he had anything to do with it,” commented Jerry.

“And it certainly looks as if he had--the way they’re keeping him a prisoner in that cabin,” asserted Ned.

“We aren’t sure he is there,” answered the tall lad.

“I’m pretty sure,” Ned asserted. “Well, there’s no hope for it. All we can do now is to drift around, wait for a wireless message, or----”

“Sail home!” interrupted Bob. “Look, here come some sailors now, getting ready to put up some sort of sail.”

This, indeed, seemed to be the case. A number of men came on deck, and then an effort began to have sails take the place of steam power. There were two masts on the craft, used, ordinarily, to support the wireless apparatus. It was determined, now, to fasten sails on these sticks of steel.

True not much speed could be hoped for, as the _Sherman_ was a big craft and powerful engines were required to move her. But it was hoped that such sails as could be rigged would at least give her steerage way, and this would be needed, in case of a storm, to keep her head on to the waves. Though there was bitter disappointment over the failure of the repairs to the engines, there was hope in the sails.

So interested were the three chums in this that, for the time, they forgot about the mysterious cabin and its occupant, guarded by two marines.

Rumor had it that the engine room was a wreck, but whether this was because of the explosion of the steam pipe, which had caused injuries to a number of men, or to the explosion of a bomb, no one seemed to know for certain. All that was sure was that the engines were out of commission.

And if the tedious hours got on the nerves of the soldiers who had their health and strength, how much more so did they get on the nerves of the wounded in the hospital wards? So over-wrought were some of the casuals that it was necessary to organize squads of the sound men to visit in relays and cheer up their unfortunate comrades.

This worked well, and it not only brightened the wounded, but it gave the unoccupied well lads a chance to do something to vary the monotony.

This, what might be termed a crisis, occurred after it became known that the engines had broken down for the second time. This news had brought a reaction to the sick and wounded.

Meanwhile the men were working hard to get the sails rigged; but finally this was accomplished. It was a makeshift, to be sure, but every one was thankful even for that.

And then, as if Fate was determined to make a plaything of the troopship and desired to show what she could do when she tried, there came a dead calm. There had been a fairly good wind all the while the men were rigging the sails, and it was thought, with the expanse of canvas spread to the breeze, that progress could be made--perhaps enough even to bring the ship back to port, or at least in the path of some other craft.

But no sooner had the last rope been made fast and word given to bring the ship around, with the wind as near astern as would serve the purpose, than every breath of air died out.

“Dead calm!” muttered one of the sailors. “Dead as a mackerel!”

“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Bob, when it became evident that the transport could only drift helplessly about.

“Whistle for a breeze!” some one suggested.

The idea was taken in good part, and it had one effect--that of bringing forth a flood of--well, not exactly melody, for too many were off-key. But it brought forth laughs, and this was something, considering the gloom that seemed overpowering all on board.

All that could be done was to wait--wait for the wind, wait for an answer on the wireless, wait for the sight of some craft to aid them, either by providing a tow or sending word of their plight to those that could help.

Slowly the hours passed. Even the serving of meals brought little relaxation or enjoyment, and Ned and Jerry noticed, not without alarm, that Bob’s appetite was very poor.

“Come on, let’s start something!” proposed Jerry, after a bit.

“Start what?” asked Ned.

“Oh, a game, or something. We’ll go woozy if we stand about waiting for something to happen. Let’s go below, get some of the fellows we know, and see what we can dig up.”

As the three chums started for a companionway they noticed an old sailor gazing out across the ocean, which was as calm as the oft-spoken-of “mill pond.”

“See anything?” asked Jerry, as he paused to speak to the old salt.

“Not much,” was the answer.

“What’s the weather going to do?” asked Ned.

“Ha! I wish I knew!” was the retort. “Looked like a storm this morning--red sun and everything. Now I’ll be jiggered if I don’t think we’re in for the doldrums!”

“What’s he saying?” asked another soldier lad of Jerry. “Does he mean some disease may break out?”

“No,” answered the tall lad, with a smile. “Doldrum means a calm--a dead calm. Ships often run into the doldrums near the equator.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind what we ran into, if we could only move,” was the dismal retort.

“That’s the trouble,” voiced Ned. “The doldrums are the worst calms ever--no motion at all.”

“Good-night!” cried the seeker after information.

Passing through a corridor below decks on their way to seek some of their friends to try to organize something that would while away the dreary monotony, the three chums approached a closed cabin door.

And Bob remarked:

“Why, they’ve taken the marine guards away! I wonder what that means?”

Before his companions could join in his speculation the door of the cabin opened, and through the opening the lads caught sight of a figure. It was the figure of a little bald-headed man, and he wore large spectacles. He was bending over a mass of papers on a table in front of him, and, at the sight of this individual, Ned, Bob, and Jerry, as if in the same voice, exclaimed:

“Professor Snodgrass!”