“KKK de WNA,” flashed back Roy. “My aerial carried away. Got your position all right. Tell your captain the Lycoming is rushing to help you. We are a few hours east of Galveston and one hundred and thirty miles from the position you signaled. We must be making twenty knots an hour. Should reach you in five to six hours. Keep us informed of your position. Are you all right? How did you get there? What are you doing?”
“WNA de KKK,” came back the reply. “Empress reached Galveston early this morning. Sea too rough to enter port. Headed into Gulf to ride out storm. Broke rudder six hours ago. Drifted four hours, then put down anchors, but dragging fast. Captain couldn’t get observation. Position given obtained by dead-reckoning. Trying to repair damage. Sea too high to do much. Ship all right so far. No land in sight. Change in wind helpful. Blowing us toward shore at long angle. Captain reckons six to eight hours before we ground. Reckons we are dragging straight toward Corpus Christi.”
“KKK de WNA,” signaled back Roy. “Will report to captain. Will call you every quarter hour. Good luck.”
Once more Roy made the perilous trip to the bridge. “Come inside,” shouted the captain, dragging Roy within the wheel-house. Roy delivered his message and the captain listened without comment.
“Any message, Captain?” asked Roy.
“No. Keep in close touch with them.”
“I have already arranged to call them every quarter hour.”
“Good. Go back to your post.”
“How shall I know if you want me?”
“I’ll send a messenger.”