Again Roy sat tense, listening for the voice that meant so much. Again time seemed to stand still. The wind roared so loud Roy feared he might not be able to hear the Merrimack’s whistle. The rain was beating on the roof like the crashing of a thousand drums. His own door was banging as the ship swayed and lurched, and the rain drove in in torrents, but Roy dared not close it. All he could do was to stare at his watch and listen, listen, listen. He hardly dared breathe. He was even afraid that the pounding of his heart would drown out the sounds he was straining every sense to catch.
Suddenly something snapped in his ear. It was the Merrimack’s signal, loud as a thunderclap. Roy jumped in his seat, but kept his eyes on his watch.
“One second—two——”
“Boom!” shrieked the Merrimack’s whistle.
“KQM,” flashed Roy with trembling fingers. “Reverse. You’re almost on us.” Then he dropped his receivers and darted into the storm. Fearlessly he raced across the slippery deck.
“Reverse,” he cried, rushing up to the first mate. “The Merrimack is almost on us. A minute ago she was a mile away. Now she’s less than two thousand feet.”
As though to verify Roy’s words, the hoarse bellowing roar of the Merrimack’s whistle rang out deafeningly. The first mate sprang to the indicator and signaled to the engine room, “Reverse—full speed.” The captain leaped for the whistle cord and the Lycoming shrieked her warning. As her propeller reversed, the Lycoming shivered from stem to stern, heeling far over, while the water about her was churned into yeasty foam. She lost headway and began to wallow in the waves. The captain signaled for the engines to stop.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” roared the Lycoming’s whistle as she rolled from side to side.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” came back the awful echo from the Merrimack.
The two ships were almost on top of each other, yet neither was visible to the other.