“Why, we wanted to find out if there was any news of the Horolusa, the steamer that our folks are coming home on,” explained Bob. “We’ve been listening at our set all the afternoon for word from her, but haven’t heard anything. We thought that perhaps you had caught something that got past us.”
“No, I haven’t heard a thing from that particular ship,” said Harvey, shaking his head. “There are plenty of others, though, having a hard time of it. This is the worst storm on record for this time of year. I don’t remember—ah! there’s a distress signal now. I’ll have to answer it,” and he attempted to get to his feet, but fell back on the couch with a face as white as chalk.
The boys looked at each other in dismay, for while they had been practicing sending and receiving in the international code, they hardly felt competent to take an important message like this. But after a second’s hesitation, Bob jumped to the big table.
“I’ve got to try, anyhow,” he muttered, grimly. He snatched the head phones and fastened them over his ears. At first he was so excited that he could make nothing of the jumble of buzzings in the receiver that sounded like a gigantic swarm of hornets. But in a few seconds he began to catch words here and there, and, seizing a pencil, he began feverishly jotting them down.
“Steamer Horolusa,” he wrote. “Have struck derelict—sinking—help—quick—are about five miles—Barnegat shoals.”
Bob reached for the sending key, while the other boys, their faces white, read the message that he had just written down.
Outside the wind roared and howled, the rain dashed against the windows in sheets, and, although they were quite a way from the beach, the boys could hear above everything else the angry roar of the breakers. They could envision the ill-fated vessel fighting a losing battle with the elements, and their hearts stood still as they thought of the terrible peril in which their dear ones stood.
Bob manipulated the sending key slowly and no doubt made more than one mistake, but nevertheless succeeded in making himself understood by the operator on board the Horolusa.
“Message received at Station YS,” he sent. “Will relay to all ships. How are things with you now?”
“Lifeboats smashed as soon as put overboard,” came back the answer. “Only chance is to be picked up by other vessel. For God’s sake, do your best.”
“They’re in a pretty bad fix,” said Bob, turning a tragic face to his friends, “I’ll relay the S. O. S. call, and probably we’ll reach ships that the Horolusa’s wireless couldn’t, as this station is so much more powerful. While I’m doing that, why don’t you fellows call up the life saving station at Barnegat, and tell them to be on the lookout.”