The man at the instrument tore off the duplicate of the strip and pasted it on the bulletin, touched the button of an electric bell and handed the message to the signalman who answered the ring. The telephone bell rang directly afterwards and from the bridge came the order: "Magdalen Bay to establish immediate connection by wireless with cruiser and torpedoes; ascertain whether they belong to blue or yellow party."
The officer ticked off the message at great speed.
"This looks like bad weather," he said to himself, while waiting for the answer. The increased rocking of the ship showed that the sea was getting rougher. A black pencil, which had been lying in the corner between the wall and the edge of the table, suddenly came to life and began rolling aimlessly about. The officer picked it up and drew a map of the location of Magdalen Bay as far as he could remember it. "Four miles," he murmured, "they ought to be able to identify the ships at that distance with the aid of a glass."
Suddenly the instrument began to buzz and rattle and amidst a discharge of little electric sparks the strip of white paper began to move out slowly from beneath the letter roller.
"Magdalen Bay to Commander-in-chief of Squadron, May 7, 8 h. 53: Approaching cruiser, probably yellow armored cruiser New York; does not answer call. Captain Pancoast."
The officer hadn't had time to get the message ready for the bridge, when the instrument again began to rattle madly:
"Take care of Kxj31mpTwB8d—951SR7—J," warned the strip in its mute language; then nothing further; complete silence reigned. "What does this mean?" said the officer, "this can't be all."
He knocked on the coherer, then put in a new one: not a sign. He took a third, a fourth, he knocked and shook the instrument, but it remained dumb. With his Morse-key he asked back:
"Magdalen Bay, repeat message!"
No answer.