If the captain did realize it, he gave no hint of the fact. His treatment of both the purser and Roy altered not a whit. But Roy was interested to note that before they had been afloat twenty-four hours the captain’s steward stepped into the wireless house again, and after some conversation casually asked for any news Roy had picked up.
Roy had plenty of news to give him. The Gulf coast was fairly dotted with wireless stations. Brownsville, Port Arthur, Galveston, New Orleans, Savannah, Key West, Pensacola, Fort Crockett, Fort Dodd, and numerous other Marconi or government stations fringed the great body of water, some of which would always be within reach of the Lycoming. The United States Navy station at Guantanamo, the Marconi stations at Miami, Jacksonville, Cape Hatteras, and Virginia Beach, the navy stations at Charleston and the Diamond Shoals light off Hatteras, and the army stations at Fort Moultrie and Fortress Monroe, were only a few of the land stations that would likewise be within communicating distance at some period of the journey. Ship stations by the dozen would be within call during the voyage, for there was a constant procession of ships up and down the Atlantic coast—ships sailing to or from home ports along the ocean and the Gulf, vessels for Mexico, and Central America, and Cuba, and steamers bound for South American ports or destinations on the Pacific via the Panama Canal.
Some of the stations would always be within reach even though two hundred and fifty to three hundred miles was about the limit of Roy’s calling distance by day. When the atmosphere interfered or thunder-storms were kicking up an aerial disturbance, he was sometimes unable to talk more than half that distance. Even the slightest things made a difference—the temperature, the nocturnal dampness, the contour of the earth when talking to land stations, the level spaces over the ocean. At the outside he could not talk more than three hundred miles by day. But at night, when he got “freak” workings, he could sometimes send a thousand miles and receive twice that distance. On more than one occasion Roy had already distinctly caught the Arlington weather signals, here in the Gulf, and once he had picked up messages sent by the Tropical Radio Telegraph Company, from its station on the Metropolitan tower in New York to its station in New Orleans.
On the second night out Roy sat at his post, listening in. Voices were coming through the air from every direction. It was a wonderful night for radio communication and Roy could hear farther than he had ever heard before. Behind him he could distinguish both the Marconi stations at Galveston and at Fort Crockett, farther up the island. The army post at Brownsville was relaying a message from El Paso to the Panama Canal. Roy wondered if it would carry successfully over that great stretch of land and water. The Charleston Navy Yard was flinging out a call for the destroyer Mills, and finally an answer came back from a point near Key West. The Mills was ordered to proceed to Guantanamo to coal. The navy operator at Key West was talking to Havana. Behind him Roy could hear the Mallory liner Lampasas sending private messages for passengers. The Ward liner Morro Castle was talking somewhere in the mist to the eastward. The Clyde liner Cherokee, off to the southeast, was calling for her sister ship Comanche. Along the South Atlantic coast regular processions of ships were moving in two lines, some going north, others coming south, and all talking at once. Distinctly Roy heard the call signals and answers of the Ward liner Monterey, the Mallory liner Comal, the Standard Oil boat Caloria, the Red D liner Caracas, the Savannah liners City of Atlanta and City of Augusta, and the Florida of the Texas Company. He could even hear, far to the north, the Old Dominion liner Jamestown, and the Merritt-Chapman Wrecking Company’s Rescue.
But what most interested Roy was the nightly news-letter flung abroad at the usual hour by the New York Marconi station. It was easily twelve hundred miles away, yet Roy could hear every word distinctly. The captain would be interested in this, and Roy picked up a pencil and jotted down the night’s news: “Three-thousand-peasants-are-massacred-by-Hungarian-Reds—stop—Soviet-guard-shoots-and-hangs-revolters-at-Oldenburg—stop—Hungarian-Reds-beat-back-Czechs—stop—Pressburg-threatened—stop—Wilson-may-sail-in-ten-days—stop—Premiers-near-agreement—stop—Wilhelm-likely-to-escape-trial-envoys-think—stop—Punishment-of-ex-Kaiser-is-dead-issue—stop—French-will-try-Cavell—betrayer—stop—Hurley-asks-six-hundred-millions-to-finish-ships—stop—Says-Burleson-makes-United-States-pay-for-strike—stop—Telegraphers’-leader-says-people-must-stand-cost—stop—Victor-Berger-says-chaos-ahead—stop—Prosecution-of-socialists-will-bring-direct-action—stop—Britain-stirred-by-rumors-of-modified-peace—stop—Nicaraguans-ask-United-States-to-send-troops-to-prevent-threatened-invasion-from-Costa-Rica-by-army-now-massed-on-border—stop—First-state-will-ratify-national-suffrage-amendment-this-week—stop.” Then came the stock-market report and the baseball scores.
Roy took down every word. Hardly had he finished writing when a sound struck his ears that momentarily stopped his heart.
“SOS,” came the signal, clear and distinct. “SOS, SOS.” It was the international signal of distress.
Other ears than Roy’s caught the cry for help and in a second a hundred operators were fairly yelling encouragement through the air.
“Who are you? Where are you? Give us your location? What is the matter?”
It was a ship Roy did not know. She lay well out in the Atlantic, and not in the usual steamship lanes. She had broken her shaft and was wallowing helplessly, unable to make repairs. The barometer was going down and she wanted to be helped to port. The nearest ships were those in the west-bound lanes for transatlantic liners. Presently Roy heard the navy station at Arlington asking a west-bound liner to go to the ship’s assistance.