"Running into the line of travel, I suppose," said Eric. "What do you think is the meaning of that call?" he added.
"I think, sir," said the operator, "somebody must have been forgotten and left behind."
"But why doesn't he answer?"
"Maybe the receiving apparatus is broken down. There it is again, sir," the Coast Guard operator paused. "No, sir, it's not the operator. I don't think I could even tell what he means if it hadn't been gone over so often."
"Well," the captain said, when Eric reported the circumstances, "if the Lucania is nearer the boats than we are, and we are nearer the ship, we'd better find out who's sending that call."
"Yes, sir," Eric answered formally.
In the meantime the knowledge of the disaster had spread through the ship, and there was much excitement, when, one point off the port bow, the glare of the burning steamer showed against the murk of midnight.
Every one not on duty, and those on duty who were able, ran to the port rail. As the Itasca steamed on, under forced draught, quivering as her engines throbbed under her, the flare on the bow increased in brightness. In half an hour's time it could be quite clearly made out as a steamer on fire, the dense cloud of smoke being illumined from below by the glare of the flames.
"I hope the operator was wrong. If there is anybody on board," said Eric, in a low voice, to his friend Homer, "they wouldn't have much chance."
"Is the call still coming?" his chum asked.