In frantic haste Joe Dawson fell upon his key once more.
Motor yacht “Restless!” Under no power whatever. Gasoline almost gone—saving the last for any emergency chance that comes to us. All canvas blown overboard. Do you get this?
It seemed to frenzied Joe Dawson as though many minutes passed, yet the response came promptly:
Give us your present position, “Restless,” as best you know it!
Joe obeyed with fingers that seemed themselves to be worked by electricity. The receiver of the message repeated Joe’s response, to make sure that it was correct.
“Who are you?” Joe now broke in to answer.
Havana liner, bound north, and, we believe, within thirty miles of you. Have you been signaling long?
“Seems as though I had been signaling for years,” sent back Joe, laughing nervously to himself. The answer came:
We’d heard you before, then, but there was a little mishap to our installation. You keep at your table to send and receive. I’ll do the same at my end. Keep up your courage until we reach you. Be ready to burn Coston lights when we ask you to.