The little wireless house, on the very top of the ship, caught the full force of wind and rain. Water came under Roy’s door in such a stream that he had to mop it up with a rag. At first he felt little concern. The sea had not yet risen, and the ship was not rolling much, though occasionally it seemed to stagger before a great gust of wind. Having gone through a pretty fair gale, Roy saw by comparison that this storm, at least as yet, was nothing to feel disturbed about.
But when he looked out of his window, and particularly when he opened his door a moment later, he felt instant concern. The ship was literally swallowed up, buried in the densest bank of fog Roy had ever known. He could not see in any direction. He could hardly make out the ship’s nose with distinctness. Under the buffeting of the wind the steamer creaked and groaned. Windows rattled. Everything that was not lashed fast thumped and pounded. The fitful blasts whistled in the rigging and shrieked and howled about the little wireless house, and the roar of the storm almost drowned the sound of the fog-horn. If he could not hear the deep bellow of the Lycoming’s great fog-horn, he asked himself, how could those on other ships hear it? Instantly Roy was alarmed.
Long ago, he knew well enough, the captain had jumped into oilskins and boots and sou’-wester and joined Mr. Young on the bridge. Into Roy’s mind came a picture of the captain at his post, pacing from side to side of the bridge, standing rigid, like a pointing setter, as he listened with cupped hand to his ear, now on the port side, now on the starboard, and all the while seeking to pierce with his eagle eyes that vast, impenetrable, treacherous mass of fog. In his anxiety Roy pulled on his raincoat and stepped to the deck to listen. He was blinded by the torrent of rain and almost bowled over by the blasts of wind. He clung to the hand-rail and listened, peering intently into the mist. He saw nothing but fog and heard only the hoarse shriek of the ship’s whistle and the roar of the wind. He turned back and shut the door. Every moment he felt more fearful, for he knew there must be ships in the vicinity. And now he began to feel grateful that Captain Lansford was on the bridge. Every time he thought of that tall, undaunted figure pacing the bridge, Roy felt safer.
A great desire to help in the battle with the elements came to Roy. But what could he do? He might call other ships and get replies, but how would that help? They could not locate the Lycoming any more than he could locate them. Besides, he didn’t know what ships to call, what vessels were in his vicinity.
“But I can find out,” muttered Roy. “Maybe the captain would like to know.”
When Roy became the Lycoming’s wireless man, he subscribed for the New York Herald. Daily the paper came to the office on the pier, where Roy got it. When he returned from his first voyage, he secured the back numbers that had come during his absence. And from every Issue since he became a subscriber, Roy had clipped the shipping news and carefully filed it away. He had had a vague notion that some day these clippings might be useful. Already the time had come, for his clippings contained very complete shipping news from all parts of the world. They would tell him what ships were on the sea in his vicinity.
Roy wondered what his vicinity was. He had been busy and had not followed the progress of the ship. But he knew she had been running at her usual speed, which was about fifteen knots an hour. They had been at sea but a trifle more than twenty-four hours. A little figuring told Roy that the Lycoming was perhaps 425 miles from New York. Taking a chart from his book rack and a ruler, he calculated the distance according to the scale and made a dot on the map. The Lycoming was off Cape Hatteras, the worst weather-breeder on our coast and the graveyard of so many noble ships!
Then Roy did a little more figuring. He knew the Lycoming was four days from Galveston. At the same rate of speed, he found by measuring his map, the Lycoming was perhaps three and a half days from New Orleans, a little less from Mobile, and not three days from Tampa. Key West was a few hours more than two days distant, and Jacksonville not much more than a day. Savannah, Charleston, and Wilmington were within a day’s sail. Northern Cuba was only a trifle more than two days distant, and various West Indian ports were but a few hours further, while the Bahamas were some hours nearer. From some or all of these ports and a few others besides, ships might have sailed in time to bring them close to the Lycoming now. Roy didn’t know the speed of any of the ships that ply along the coast excepting the Lycoming’s, but the captain would know. From his Herald clippings Roy could learn what ships were on the ocean.
Roy got out his clippings and jotted down the names of coastwise ships sailing from various ports in recent days. He believed most of them would average about the same speed as the Lycoming. Calculating on that basis, he found that El Alba from Galveston, the Antilla from Cuba, the Algonquin from San Domingo, the City of Columbus from Savannah, the Alabama from Port Arthur, and the Merrimack from Jacksonville, all bound north, were now due in the neighborhood of Hatteras, while the Matinicock, bound from Baltimore to Tampico, and the Brunswick, south-bound from Newport News, must be close ahead in the fog. Now he had something to go on.
Taking down his signal book, Roy copied the call signals of each of these vessels. Then he adjusted his receivers, threw over his switch and began to call.