Tom Swift and his Wireless Message

V >> Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and his Wireless Message

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"I haven't much hope of sighting anything," the captain said. "I
know we are off the track of the regular liners, and our only chance
would be that some tramp steamer, or some ship blown off her course,
would see our signal. I tell you, friends, we're in a bad way."

"If money was any object--," began Mr. Jenks.

"What good would money be?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. "What we need to
do is to get a message to some one--some of my friends--to send out
a party to rescue us."

"That's right," chimed in Mr. Parker, the scientist. "And the
message needs to go off soon, if we are to be saved."

"Why so?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Because I think this island will sink inside of a week!"

A scream came from the two ladies.

"Why don't you keep such thoughts to yourself?" demanded the
millionaire yacht owner, indignantly.

"Well, it's true," stubbornly insisted the scientist.

"What if it is? It doesn't do any good to remind us of it."

"Bless my gizzard, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Suppose we have
dinner. I'm hungry."

That seemed to be his remedy for a number of ills.

"If we only could get a message off, summoning help, it WOULD be the
very thing," sighed Mrs. Nestor. "Oh, how I wish I could send my
daughter, Mary, word of where we are. She may hear of the wreck of
the RESOLUTE, and worry herself to death."

"But it is out of the question to send a message for help from
Earthquake Island," added Mrs. Anderson. "We are totally cut off
from the rest of the world here."

"Perhaps not," spoke Tom Swift, quietly. He had come up silently,
and had heard the conversation.

"What's that you said?" cried Mr. Nestor, springing to his feet, and
crossing the sandy beach toward the lad.

"I said perhaps we weren't altogether cut off from the rest of the
world," repeated Tom.

"Why not," demanded Captain Mentor. "You don't mean to say that you
have been building a boat up there in your little shack, do you?"

"Not a boat," replied Tom, "but I think I have a means of sending
out a call for help!"

"Oh, Tom--Mr. Swift--how?" exclaimed Mrs. Nestor. "Do you mean we
can send a message to my Mary?"

"Well, not exactly to her," answered the young inventor, though he
wished that such a thing were possible. "But I think I can summon
help."

"How?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook. "Have you managed to discover some
cable line running past the island, and have you tapped it?"

"Not exactly." was Tom's calm answer, "but I have succeeded, with
the help of Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in building an apparatus that
will send out wireless messages!"

"Wireless messages!" gasped the millionaire. "Are you sure?"

"Wireless messages!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "I'll give--" He paused,
clasped his hands on his belt, and turned away.

"Oh, Tom!" cried Mrs. Nestor, and she went up to the lad, threw her
arms about his neck, and kissed him; whereat Tom blushed.

"Perhaps you'd better explain," suggested Mr. Anderson.

"I will," said the lad. "That is the secret we have been engaged
upon--Mr. Damon, Mr. Fenwick and myself. We did not want to say
anything about it until we were sure we could succeed."

"And are you sure now?" asked Captain Mentor.

"Fairly so."

"How could you build a wireless station?" inquired Mr. Hosbrook.

"From the electrical machinery that was in the wrecked WHIZZER,"
spoke Tom. "Fortunately, that was not damaged by the shock of the
fall, and I have managed to set up the gasolene engine, and attach
the dynamo to it so that we can generate a powerful current. We also
have a fairly good storage battery, though that was slightly damaged
by the fall."

"I have just tested the machinery, and I think we can send out a
strong enough message to carry at least a thousand miles."

"Then that will reach some station, or some passing ship," murmured
Captain Mentor. "There is a chance that we may be saved."

"If it isn't too late," gloomily murmured the scientist. "There is
no telling when the island will disappear beneath the sea."

But they were all so interested in Tom's announcement that they paid
little attention to this dire foreboding.

"Tell us about it," suggested Mr. Nestor. And Tom did.

He related how he had set up the dynamo and gasolene engine, and
how, by means of the proper coils and other electrical apparatus,
all of which, fortunately, was aboard the WHIZZER, he could produce
a powerful spark.

"I had to make a key out of strips of brass, to produce the Morse
characters," the lad said. "This took considerable time, but it
works, though it is rather crude. I can click out a message with
it."

"That may be," said Mr. Hosbrook, who had been considering
installing a wireless plant on his yacht, and who, therefore, knew
something about it, "you may send a message, but can you receive an
answer?"

"I have also provided for that," replied Tom. "I have made a
receiving instrument, though that is even more crude than the
sending plant, for it had to be delicately adjusted, and I did not
have just the magnets, carbons, coherers and needles that I needed.
But I think it will work."

"Did you have a telephone receiver to use?"

"Yes. There was a small interior telephone arrangement on Mr.
Fenwick's airship, and part of that came in handy. Oh, I think I can
hear any messages that may come in answer to ours."

"But what about the aerial wires for sending and receiving
messages?" asked Mr. Nestor.

"Don't you have to have several wires on a tall mast?"

"Yes, and that is the last thing to do," declared Tom. "I need all
your help in putting up those wires. That tall tree on the crest of
the island will do," and he pointed to a dead palm that towered
gaunt and bare like a ship's mast, on a pile of rocks in the centre
of Earthquake Island.

CHAPTER XXI

MESSAGES INTO SPACE

Tom Swift's announcement of the practical completion of his wireless
plant brought hope to the discouraged hearts of the castaways. They
crowded about him, and asked all manner of questions.

Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Damon came in for their share of attention, for
Tom said had it not been for the aid of his friends he never could
have accomplished what he did. Then they all trooped up to the
little shack, and inspected the plant.

As the young inventor had said, it was necessarily crude, but when
he set the gasolene motor going, and the dynamo whizzed and hummed,
sending out great, violet-hued sparks, they were all convinced that
the young inventor had accomplished wonders, considering the
materials at his disposal.

"But it's going to be no easy task to rig up the sending and
receiving wires," declared Tom. "That will take some time."

"Have you got the wire?" asked Mr. Jenks.

"I took it from the stays of the airship," was Tom's reply, and he
recalled the day he was at that work, when the odd man had exhibited
the handful of what he said were diamonds. Tom wondered if they
really were, and he speculated as to what might be the secret of
Phantom Mountain, to which Mr. Jenks had referred.

But now followed a busy time for all. Under the direction of the
young inventor, they began to string the wires from the top of the
dead tree, to a smaller one, some distance away, using five wires,
set parallel, and attached to a wooden spreader, or stay. The wires
were then run to the dynamo, and the receiving coil, and the
necessary ground wires were installed.

"But I can't understand how you are going to do it," said Mrs.
Nestor. "I've read about wireless messages, but I can't get it
through my head. How is it done, Mr. Swift?"

"The theory is very simple," said the young inventor. "To send a
message by wire, over a telegraph system, a battery or dynamo is
used. This establishes a current over wires stretched between two
points. By means of what is called a 'key' this current is
interrupted, or broken, at certain intervals, making the sounding
instrument send out clicks. A short click is called a dot, and a
long click a dash. By combinations of dots, dashes, and spaces
between the dots and dashes, letters are spelled out. For instance,
a dot and a space and a dash, represent the letter 'A' and so on."

"I understand so far," admitted Mrs. Nestor.

"In telegraphing without wires," went on Tom, "the air is used in
place of a metallic conductor, with the help of the earth, which in
itself is a big magnet, or a battery, as you choose to regard it.
The earth helps to establish the connection between places where
there are no wires, when we 'ground' certain conductors."

"To send a wireless message a current is generated by a dynamo. The
current flows along until it gets to the ends of the sending wires,
which we have just strung. Then it leaps off into space, so to
speak, until it reaches the receiving wires, wherever they may be
erected. That is why any wireless receiving station, within a
certain radius, can catch any messages that may be flying through
the air--that is unless certain apparatus is tuned, or adjusted, to
prevent this."

"Well, once the impulses, or electric currents, are sent out into
space, all that is necessary to do is to break, or interrupt them at
certain intervals, to make dots, dashes and spaces. These make
corresponding clicks in the telephone receiver which the operator at
the receiving station wears on his ear. He hears the code of clicks,
and translates them into letters, the letters into words and the
words into sentences. That is how wireless messages are sent."

"And do you propose to send some that way?" asked Mrs. Anderson.

"I do," replied Tom, with a smile.

"Where to?" Mrs. Nestor wanted to know.

"That's what I can't tell," was Tom's reply. "I will have to project
them off into space, and trust to chance that some listening
wireless operator will 'pick them up,' as they call it, and send us
aid."

"But are wireless operators always listening?" asked Mr. Nestor.

"Somewhere, some of them are--I hope," was Tom's quiet answer. "As I
said, we will have to trust much to chance. But other people have
been saved by sending messages off into space; and why not we?
Sinking steamers have had their passengers taken off when the
operator called for help, merely by sending a message into space."

"But how can we tell them where to come for us--on this unknown
island?" inquired Mrs. Anderson.

"I fancy Captain Mentor can supply our longitude and latitude,"
answered Tom. "I will give that with every message I send out, and
help may come--some day."

"It can't come any too quick for me!" declared Mr. Damon. "Bless my
door knob, but my wife must be worrying about my absence!"

"What message for help will you send?" Captain Mentor wanted to
know.

"I am going to use the old call for aid," was the reply of the young
inventor. "I shall flash into space the three letters 'C.Q.D.' They
stand for 'Come Quick--Danger.' A new code call has been instituted
for them, but I am going to rely on the old one, as, in this part of
the world, the new one may not be so well understood. Then I will
follow that by giving our position in the ocean, as nearly as
Captain Mentor can figure it out. I will repeat this call at
intervals until we get help--"

"Or until the island sinks," added the scientist, grimly.

"Here! Don't mention that any more," ordered Mr. Hosbrook. "It's
getting on my nerves! We may be rescued before that awful calamity
overtakes us."

"I don't believe so," was Mr. Parker's reply, and he actually seemed
to derive pleasure from his gloomy prophecy.

"It's lucky you understand wireless telegraphy, Tom Swift," said Mr.
Nestor admiringly, and the other joined in praising the young
inventor, until, blushing, he hurried off to make some adjustments
to his apparatus.

"Can you compute our longitude and latitude, Captain Mentor," asked
the millionaire yacht owner.

"I think so," was the reply. "Not very accurately, of course, for
all my papers and instruments went down in the RESOLUTE. But near
enough for the purpose, I fancy. I'll get right to work at it, and
let Mr. Swift have it."

"I wish you would. The sooner we begin calling for help the better.
I never expected to be in such a predicament as this, but it is
wonderful how that young fellow worked out his plan of rescue. I
hope he succeeds."

It took some little time for the commander to figure their position,
and then it was only approximate. But at length he handed Tom a
piece of paper with the latitude and longitude written on it.

In the meanwhile, the young inventor had been connecting up his
apparatus. The wires were now all strung, and all that was necessary
was to start the motor and dynamo.

A curious throng gathered about the little shack as Tom announced
that he was about to flash into space the first message calling for
help. He took his place at the box, to which had been fastened the
apparatus for clicking off the Morse letters.

"Well, here we go," he said, with a smile.

His fingers clasped the rude key he had fashioned from bits of brass
and hard rubber. The motor was buzzing away, and the electric dynamo
was purring like some big cat.

Just as Tom opened the circuit, to send the current into the
instrument, there came an omnious rumbling of the earth.

"Another quake!" screamed Mrs. Anderson. But it was over in a
second, and calmness succeeded the incipient panic.

Suddenly, overhead, there sounded a queer crackling noise, a
vicious, snapping, as if from some invisible whips.

"Mercy! What's that?" cried Mrs. Nestor.

"The wireless," replied Tom, quietly. "I am going to send a message
for help, off into space. I hope some one receives it--and answers,"
he added, in a low tone.

The crackling increased. While they gathered about him, Tom Swift
pressed the key, making and breaking the current until he had sent
out from Earthquake Island the three letters--"C.Q.D." And he
followed them by giving their latitude and longitude. Over and over
again he flashed out this message.

Would it be answered? Would help come? If so, from where? And if so,
would it be in time? These were questions that the castaways asked
themselves. As for Tom, he sat at the key, clicking away, while,
overhead, from the wires fastened to the dead tree, flashed out the
messages.

CHAPTER XXII

ANXIOUS DAYS

After the first few minutes of watching Tom click out the messages,
the little throng of castaways that had gathered about the shack,
moved away. The matter had lost its novelty for them, though, of
course, they were vitally interested in the success of Tom's
undertaking. Only Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick remained with the young
inventor, for he needed help, occasionally, in operating the dynamo,
or in adjusting the gasolene motor. Mrs. Nestor, who, with Mrs.
Anderson, was looking after the primitive housekeeping arrangements,
occasionally strolled up the hill to the little shed.

"Any answer yet, Mr. Swift?" she would ask.

"No." was the reply. "We can hardly expect any so soon," and Mrs.
Nestor would depart, with a sigh.

Knowing that his supply of gasolene was limited, Tom realized that
he could not run the dynamo steadily, and keep flashing the wireless
messages into space. He consulted with his two friends on the
subject, and Mr. Damon said:

"Well, the best plan, I think, would be only to send out the flashes
over the wires at times when other wireless operators will be on the
lookout, or, rather, listening. There is no use wasting our fuel. We
can't get any more here."

"That's true," admitted Tom, "but how can we pick out any certain
time, when we can be sure that wireless operators, within a zone of
a thousand miles, will be listening to catch clicks which call for
help from the unknown?"

"We can't," decided Mr. Fenwick. "The only thing to do is to trust
to chance. If there was only some way so you would not have to be on
duty all the while, and could send out messages automatically, it
would be good."

Tom shook his head. "I have to stay here to adjust the apparatus,"
he said. "It works none too easily as it is, for I didn't have just
what I needed from which to construct this station. Anyhow, even if
I could rig up something to click out 'C.Q.D.' automatically, I
could hardly arrange to have the answer come that way. And I want to
be here when the answer comes."

"Have you any plan, then?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe laces!
there are enough problems to solve on this earthquake island."

"I thought of this," said Tom. "I'll send out our call for help from
nine to ten in the morning. Then I'll wait, and send out another
call from two to three in the afternoon. Around seven in the evening
I'll try again, and then about ten o'clock at night, before going to
bed."

"That ought to be sufficient," agreed Mr. Fenwick. "Certainly we
must save our gasolene, for there is no telling how long we may have
to stay here, and call for help."

"It won't be long if that scientist Parker has his way," spoke Mr.
Damon, grimly. "Bless my hat band, but he's a MOST uncomfortable man
to have around; always predicting that the island is going to sink!
I hope we are rescued before that happens."

"I guess we all do," remarked Mr. Fenwick. "But, Tom, here is
another matter. Have you thought about getting an answer from the
unknown--from some ship or wireless station, that may reply to your
calls? How can you tell when that will come in?"

"I can't."

"Then won't you or some of us, have to be listening all the while?"

"No, for I think an answer will come only directly after I have sent
cut a call, and it has been picked up by some operator. Still there
is a possibility that some operator might receive my message, and
report to his chief, or some one in authority over him, before
replying. In that time I might go away. But to guard against that I
will sleep with the telephone receiver clamped to my ear. Then I can
hear the answer come over the wires, and can jump up and reply."

"Do you mean you will sleep here?" asked Mr. Damon, indicating the
shack where the wireless apparatus was contained.

"Yes," answered Tom, simply.

"Can't we take turns listening for the answer?" inquired Mr.
Fenwick, "and so relieve you?"

"I'm afraid not, unless you understand the Morse code," replied Tom.
"You see there may be many clicks, which result from wireless
messages flying back and forth in space, and my receiver will pick
them up. But they will mean nothing. Only the answer to our call for
help will be of any service to us."

"Do you mean to say that you can catch messages flying back and
forth between stations now?" asked Mr. Fenwick.

"Yes," replied the young inventor, with a smile. "Here, listen for
yourself," and he passed the head-instrument over to the WHIZZER's
former owner. The latter listened a moment.

"All I can hear are some faint clicks," he said.

"But they are a message," spoke Tom. "Wait, I'll translate," and he
out the receiver to his ear. "'STEAMSHIP "FALCON" REPORTS A SLIGHT
FIRE IN HER FORWARD COMPARTMENT,'" said Tom, slowly. "'IT IS UNDER
CONTROL, AND WE WILL PROCEED.'"

"Do you mean to say that was the message you heard?" cried Mr.
Damon. "Bless my soul, I never can understand it!"

"It was part of a message," answered Tom. "I did not catch it all,
nor to whom it was sent."

"But why can't you send a message to that steamship then, and beg
them to come to our aid?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Even if they have had
a fire, it is out now, and they ought to be glad to save life."

"They would come to our aid. or send," spoke Tom, "but I can not
make their wireless operator pick up our message. Either his
apparatus is not in tune, or in accord with ours, or he is beyond
our zone."

"But you heard him," insisted Mr. Damon.

"Yes, but sometimes it is easier to pick up messages than it is to
send them. However, I will keep on trying."

Putting into operation the plan he had decided on for saving their
supply of gasolene, Tom sent out his messages the remainder of the
day, at the intervals agreed upon. Then the apparatus was shut down,
but the lad paid frequent visits to the shack, and listened to the
clicks of the telephone receiver. He caught several messages, but
they were not in response to his appeals for aid.

That night there was a slight earthquake shock, but no more of the
island fell into the sea, though the castaways were awakened by the
tremors, and were in mortal terror for a while.

Three days passed, days of anxious waiting, during which time Tom
sent out message after message by his wireless, and waited in vain
for an answer. There were three shocks in this interval, two slight,
and one very severe, which last cast into the ocean a great cliff on
the far end of the island. There was a flooding rush of water, but
no harm resulted.

"It is coming nearer," said Mr. Parker.

"What is?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook.

"The destruction of our island. My theory will soon be confirmed,"
and the scientist actually seemed to take pleasure in it.

"Oh, you and your theory!" exclaimed the millionaire in disgust.
"Don't let me hear you mention it again! Haven't we troubles
enough?" whereat Mr. Parker went off by himself, to look at the
place where the cliff had fallen.

Each night Tom slept with the telephone receiver to his ear, but,
though it clicked many times, there was not sounded the call he had
adopted for his station--"E. I."--Earthquake Island. In each appeal
he sent out he had requested that if his message was picked up, that
the answer be preceded by the letters "E.I."

It was on the fourth day after the completion of the wireless
station, that Tom was sending out his morning calls. Mrs. Nestor
came up the little hill to the shack where Tom was clicking away.

"No replies yet, I suppose?" she inquired, and there was a hopeless
note in her voice.

"None yet, but they may come any minute," and Tom tried to speak
cheerfully.

"I certainly hope so," added Mary's mother, "But I came up more
especially now, Mr. Swift, to inquire where you had stored the rest
of the food."

"The rest of the food?"

"Yes, the supply you took from the wrecked airship. We have used up
nearly all that was piled in the improvised kitchen, and we'll have
to draw on the reserve supply."

"The reserve," murmured Tom.

"Yes, there is only enough in the shack where Mrs. Anderson and I do
the cooking, to last for about two days. Isn't there any more?"

Tom did not answer. He saw the drift of the questioning. Their food
was nearly gone, yet the castaways from the RESOLUTE thought there
was still plenty. As a matter of fact there was not another can,
except those in the kitchen shack.

"Get out wherever there is left some time to-day, if you will, Mr.
Swift," went on Mrs. Nestor, as she turned away, "and Mrs. Anderson
and I will see if we can fix up some new dishes for you men-folks."

"Oh--all right," answered Tom, weakly.

His hand dropped from the key of the instrument. He sat staring into
space. Food enough for but two days more, with earthquakes likely to
happen at any moment, and no reply yet to his appeals for aid! Truly
the situation was desperate. Tom shook his head. It was the first
time he had felt like giving up.

CHAPTER XXIII

A REPLY IN THE DARK

The young inventor looked out of the wireless shack. Down on the
beach he saw the little band of castaways. They were gathered in a
group about Mr. Jenks, who seemed to be talking earnestly to them.
The two ladies were over near the small building that served as a
kitchen.

"More food supplies needed, eh?" mused Tom. "Well, I don't know
where any more is to come from. We've stripped the WHIZZER bare." He
glanced toward what remained of the airship. "I guess we'll have to
go on short rations, until help comes," and, wondering what the
group of men could be talking about, Tom resumed his clicking out of
his wireless message.

He continued to send it into space for several minutes after ten
o'clock, the hour at which he usually stopped for the morning, for
he thought there might be a possible chance that the electrical
impulses would be picked up by some vessel far out at sea, or by
some station operator who could send help.

But there came no answering clicks to the "E. I." station--to
Earthquake Island--and, after a little longer working of the key,
Tom shut down the dynamo, and joined the group on the beach.

"I tell you it's our only chance," Mr. Jenks was saying. "I must get
off this island, and that's the only way we can do it. I have large
interests at stake. If we wait for a reply to this wireless message
we may all be killed, though I appreciate that Mr. Swift is doing
his best to aid us. But it is hopeless!"

"What do you think about it, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, turning to the
young inventor.

"Think about what?"

"Why Mr. Jenks has just proposed that we build a big raft, and
launch it. He thinks we should leave the island."

"It might be a good idea," agreed the lad, as he thought of the
scant food supply. "Of course, I can't say when a reply will be
received to my calls for aid, and it is best to be prepared."

"Especially as the island may sink any minute," added Mr. Parker.
"If it does, even a raft will be little good, as it may be swamped
in the vortex. I think it would be a good plan to make one, then
anchor it some distance out from the island. Then we can make a
small raft, and paddle out to the big one in a hurry if need be."

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