“Good!” muttered Roy. “That’s another one out of the road.”
Again he consulted his list and sent forth a call. “KFA—KFA—KFA de WNA.”
The answer came sharp and clear. “WNA de KFA. Go ahead.”
“Where are you?” asked Roy.
“Lost in the fog,” replied the operator on the City of Columbus. “I don’t know where we are. We ought to be off Hatteras. Where are you?”
“Off Hatteras. Are my signals clear?”
“Very sharp.”
“We must be near each other.”
The Alabama did not answer Roy’s call, and he could get neither of the south-bound ships ahead of the Lycoming. But the Merrimack replied so sharply that she was quite evidently near at hand.
Roy picked up his telephone and called the captain. No answer came. Again and again Roy called. Evidently the telephone was out of order. Roy snatched on his raincoat and cap and rushed through the rain for the bridge. Both the captain and Mr. Young were on duty. Roy thanked his lucky stars that the first officer was there. Going close to him and cupping his hands about his mouth, Roy shouted in the big mate’s ear, “City of Columbus and Merrimack near us. Been talking to both. They’re looking for us.”