From the Improvement Era, 1936 —

Moving Mountains

By Walter L. Bailey

Chapter One

Did you ever have to abandon ship with nowhere to go but on an ice-berg? Bob and Dan did and they had plenty of trouble as they rode their “moving mountains.” All of the boys and many of the girls among our readers wilt enjoy sharing hardships with these two hearty youths and their old friend, Spike. Dad and Mother, too, may find entertainment upon this voyage in the north seas. Begin with this installment and you’ll be there at the end. Happy voyage.

Tragedy stalked in the path of the freighter Banaza.

Beep-beep-beep! B-e-e-p! B-e-e-p! B-e-e-p! Beep-beep-beep!

The SOS sprang again and again from the key under the flying, nervous fingers of the ship’s wireless operator. Out over the trackless Arctic the message went, above icebergs, carrying the story of the Banaza’s plight.

Between the drifting freighter and a school of gigantic icebergs only a scant half-mile of open sea remained. Another half-mile of helpless drifting and then — destruction, complete and final. The hull of the freighter would be crushed between the moving mountains of ice like a berry-crate.

Deep down in the Banaza’s engine-room unknowing hands worked swiftly at the huge, disabled main-engine. The great connecting rods, big-jointed, like skeleton limbs, were motionless and silent. In the deep half-light the usual swift nodding of the crossheads was missing. They too, were motionless — silent.

Eighteen hours before, a crack had developed in the engine’s high-pressure cylinder-head and a piston had been wrenched from a huge connecting-rod. And through the eighteen long hours the two youthful assistants, a veteran engineer, and six negroes had toiled and labored unceasingly with the huge engine.

But a thirty-hour job could not be accomplished in eighteen, despite the skill of the veteran engineer, the speed of his two youthful assistants, and the willingness of the six negroes.

Bob Hamond, oldest of the two youths, was lusty and vigorous. His swift movements about the disabled engine revealed great athletic strength and activity. And even through the coat of black grease and grime which completely covered his face, there shone that thing which cannot be hidden — character.

By his side, and no less speedy and skillful at his chosen trade, worked Dan Bolin. Dan was of slimmer build than his pal, but he possessed all the mental characteristics of his friend. The two boys, having finished school, had taken their first jobs as assistant engineers together aboard the freighter Banaza a week before. It was their first trip out.

Of those working at the huge engine in the bottom of the ship none knew how close destruction had crept up on the doomed freighter. They worked on, knowing only that the ship was steadily drifting into a dangerous region, where icebergs were liable to appear at any moment. They worked with feverish haste, lest some of these mountains of ice should loom in their drifting path before the engine was finished. The faint screeching of a short-wave deck-radio high above, prevented their hearing the mad, plaintive whine of the wireless key, or they might have guessed that trouble was near at hand.

Bob paused, glanced at Dan with red, work-weary eyes. Dan, glancing back, understood. Young though they were, they could not hold out at this strenuous work much longer without sleep.

Quiet but stern orders fell on their ears. Old Spike Ambry, the engineer, was speaking:

“You men, get that extra piston and connecting-rod over there by the hatch-ladder and bring it back here to the engine. You two boys might give them a lift; it’s a heavy piece of iron.”

Bob and Dan obeyed. The great iron rod came up under sixteen bending knees, and was moved slowly backward toward the engine. Then a voice bellowed suddenly, down through the open hatch far above.

“Abandoning ship! Come on! Icebergs! Icebergs directly ahead and close up!”

Jn a single rush the negroes dropped the connecting-rod and made for the ladder, piling over each other toward the deck above.

Bob shook as he saw the huge connecting-rod bowl Dan over, and struggle as he would with its weight, he could not keep the terrible weight from pinning his pal’s legs. Bob heard Old Spike’s voice bellowing after the negroes to stop, but they were gone — vanishing through the hatch-way above like so many shadows.

Bob let out a cry for help. The next instant old Spike was at his side struggling with the giant rod. Dan’s legs were pinned but not crushed; the enlarged piston had saved them.

The engine-room became suddenly as quiet as a tomb as the two bent under the weight. The silent drifting of the ship; the sudden dying of all the deck noises above, all left the place utterly void of sound, save for the faint, far-off whine of the deck-radio. Slowly, with bursting muscles, the two swung one end of the connecting-rod high enough so that Dan was able to drag his legs from under it.

The heavy rod thudded to the floor as they let go of it. Then utter silence again. The slight noise of a rat darting along behind some old boxes in a corner sounded loud.

Dan, struggling to his feet, listened for a split second with the others. Absolute silence reigned. Stark fear shone in the eyes of both youths. But they did not leap for the ladder as the negroes had done. Old Spike Ambry had not leaped for it. He was their boss. They gazed at him steadily, waiting.

“Come on; let’s get out of here. You two stick with me,” yelled old Spike suddenly, darting for the ladder.

With pounding hearts, the two boys followed the old seaman up the ladder and out on the already deserted deck.

Bob and Dan stopped short in wide-eyed, speechless amazement. Directly in the ship’s path, and only a couple of hundred yards distant, was a gigantic mountain of ice. Following close behind and at each side of it, were three others. They were so close together that occasionally they bumped into one another with a grating, grinding noise.

Pis the nearest berg’s appalling, icy grandeur grew slowly upon the senses of the youths, old Spike was busy taking in the situation. For fully a minute Bob and Dan stood speechless, almost fearless, before the overwhelming spectacle.

The nearest berg was looming close, a floating mountain of solid ice. Its glistening spire was as tall as the tallest church steeple. Enormous and of irregular contour, its rough sides glinted and glistened dazzlingly. It had no more symmetry of outline than a huge mass of rock blasted from a stone mountain. There were huge icy shelves, flat places, icy peaks as sharp as needles, with icy valleys between. This was certainly God’s own handiwork. Man could not have built a thing so beautiful and yet so fearful as this.

Old Spike’s voice broke in on the awe-struck boys;

“The blacks took the last lifeboat, boys! We’ll have to stay aboard until she strikes!”

“Stay aboard?” exclaimed Dan.

“We’ll go down like the Titanic,” Bob added, fear written all over his face.

“Maybe not,” returned old Spike. “We’re just drifting into a berg. The Titanic ran full speed into one. The only safe place around here is aboard that iceberg — with plenty of provisions, guns, and clothing. The Bonaza will never drift through that procession of bergs and stay on top. She’d be crushed between them. They’re too close together. She might be pushed along before them for some time, but they will finally get her!”

“But how can we get aboard that slippery, icy mountain?” asked Bob incredulously.

“Come along,” said old Spike; “I’ll show you. We’ve got to work fast. We’ll pile all the things that we want to take with us close up front. Then when she strikes we’ll try to pitch them over on the berg and make them stick on some flat shelf of ice. If the Banaza doesn’t stay close long enough, we might have to swim over.”

Bob and Dan hastily followed him below, and all the needed supplies for several days’ stay on the berg were brought quickly up and piled on the deck as close up front as Old Spike deemed safe. There was plenty of heavy sea-clothing, blankets, canned foods in boxes, rifles, and ammunition.

Meanwhile the mountain of ice was plowing steadily closer.

“Why do we need guns and ammunition?” asked Bob, suddenly puzzled as to what they could shoot.

“Polar bears!” returned the veteran engineer. “They’re found occasionally on icebergs which float Southward from the extreme Arctic regions. And if we happen to run into one, we’ll sure need something to fight with, ’cause the ole boy will most likely be hungry.”

Bob stood watching the rapidly narrowing gap between the mountain of ice and their ship.

“What makes the thing plow through the water as if propelled by hidden machinery, and why doesn’t our ship and it move in the same direction instead of toward each other?” he queried, puzzled.

“There is a deep counter undercurrent in these waters,” explained old Spike. “Nearly seven-eights of every iceberg is under water, extending far down into this undercurrent, which in this case is coming toward us, bringing the berg with it plowing against the weaker top current which is carrying our ship forward.”

The distance between the ship and the berg was rapidly becoming nothing. Bob closed his eyes and waited with clenched teeth for the crash to come. The great mass of ice was looming, seemingly, directly overhead.

There was a resounding reverberation as the handiwork of man met the handiwork of God, and the Bonaza trembled violently from stem to stern. Then, shuddering a moment like a spent horse, the freighter slued around with the rail, where the three were standing, against the berg. Now the iceberg was pushing the heavy freighter sidewise before it much like a tugboat would push a ship.

“Now’s our chance, boys!” shouted old Spike, leaping forward. “Pitch things for that icy shelf there while she’s up close!”

Bob and Dan leaped to obey. The icy shelf was enormous, wide enough for a company of soldiers to camp on, and was almost on a level with the Bonaza’s deck. The outer edge of the shelf was so close that they could have stepped off on it without the least difficulty.

The closeness of the moving mountain caused a feeling akin to terror to take possession of Bob. Glancing about he saw that Dan’s face was as white as a sheet. Bob’s feet and legs cried out to run — to get as far away as possible from this appalling thing of majesty and destruction which towered above them to giddy heights. But a stronger power held him — kept him throwing provisions and clothing across to the icy plateau with trembling hands.

“Careful with the ammunition,” barked old Spike in a steady voice. “Hurl it across with a sliding motion.”

The rifles and cases of canned foods skidded along the slippery plateau in all directions.

“She’s moving away!” Bob shouted, suddenly noticing that the nose of the Banaza was swinging slowly but surely away from the towering berg.

“Quick! Leap for it, boys!” yelled old Spike. “It’s our only chance.”

Bob and Dan needed no urging. They were instantly upon the rail beside old Spike, leaping for the great icy shelf.

(To be continued)