The wind had risen to a gale, and was driving before it big rolling seas crested with foam. The vessel plowed into these, at times plunging her bows completely under and sending a flood of green water back over her decks as she rose and shook herself free of the weight of water. Life lines had been rigged about the decks, and without these it would have been almost impossible to get about at all. The doctor and Mr. Layton and a few other men sought the lee of a deck house, where they gazed out over the wild waste of waters with astonishment not unmixed with alarm. Still, they knew that their ship was a staunch one and that they had little to fear unless some unforeseen accident took place.
All that afternoon the ship wallowed and plunged through the angry seas, her speed reduced until she had only enough to keep her head into the wind. At times the stern would rise high in the air, until the propeller was lifted clear of the water, whereupon the engines would race madly for a few seconds before the stern went down and the propeller bit into the water once more. Everything moveable about the decks had been lashed down, or it would have been over the side long ago.
Darkness came early over the tossing waste of waters, and the men retired to the snug smoking room, where they discussed the storm in a desultory manner.
Those who felt so inclined had just risen to go to the dining room for supper when they were thrown back into their chairs by a shock that caused the vessel to shiver from stem to stern. It seemed to hesitate and stand still for a moment, and then started on again as though nothing had happened. Excited voices and footsteps were heard all over the ship, and those in the smoking room gazed at one another in consternation.
A few minutes later the engines stopped, and as her steerage-way slackened the great vessel fell into the trough of the waves, where she rolled and wallowed in a helpless manner.
“We’d better go and look after the ladies,” said Dr. Dale. “I’m afraid something serious has happened.”
Dr. Dale and Mr. Layton made their way with all possible speed to the staterooms occupied by the ladies, whom they found grouped together in the corridor anxiously awaiting their arrival.
Meanwhile events were moving quickly on the ship’s bridge and in her wireless room. The Horolusa had struck a derelict, floating awash with the surface of the sea, and a big rent had been torn in her bows. The ship’s officers realized at once the serious nature of the accident. The pumps were set going and the wireless man was instructed to send a call for assistance. For what seemed an age he repeated the S. O. S. call without receiving any answer, but at last his receiver buzzed, and he listened eagerly for the answer. But at once a puzzled look came over his face, and he turned to his fellow wireless man.
“Whoever’s answering our message gives the call of the Ocean Point station, and yet it can’t be either of the regular radio men there,” he said. “This message is being sent by an amateur, I’ll swear to that.”
“Sounds that way,” the other agreed, after listening to the head set a moment. “But you can tell by the strength of the signals that it can’t be just an amateur station. Possibly the regular operator is away or sick, and some amateur has taken his place.”