“About six hours. Will call her. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye. I’ll be listening in.”
Willie laid down his head ’phone and sought his Chief, who was snuggled down in the cockpit, wrapped in a blanket. “Just been talking to the Morro Castle,” said Willie. “You know the operator. He came to see you about me. The Morro Castle’s just off the Hook now. He says there’s a whole fleet of sailing ships there running without lights. The Morro Castle’s proceeding at half speed. Mr. Reynolds was just warning Roy, on the Lycoming. I got him and asked him to look out for rum runners. He’ll let us know if he spots any.”
“Good for you, Willie. You always seem to do the right thing at the right time. Maybe your message may be of great help to us.”
“I hope so,” replied Willie, as he went back to the wireless.
But for a long time no more friendly voices came hurtling through the air. The night grew darker and rougher. The wind was rising. From the sea the sound of the waves came ever louder. Higher rolled the waters and the little Surveyor rocked ever more violently. But she was a seaworthy craft, and there was as yet not enough sea to drive her to shelter. Back and forth she went, across her beat, and back and forth went her companion ships through the murky night.
Minute followed minute. The patrol continued undisturbed. If possible, the night grew darker and blacker. Wisps of fog began to scud through the Narrows, driven landward by the bellowing wind. The distant lights ashore grew dim. The mist was blotting them out. What the Chief had feared was happening. A fog was rolling in from the sea. But as yet it was not dense. Rather it was shifting, evanescent. Now came a cloud of it, sweeping along before the wind. When it passed, it left a great gulf of darkness. Soon came more fog, to swallow up everything in its concealing embrace. Warm garments were no protection against it. Stout coats could not bar out the cold. The crews of the little fleet could only shiver and wrap themselves the tighter. They could not escape the damp, numbing chill.
With his coat collar pulled high up about his ears, and his hands buried in his pockets, Willie sat at his instrument, listening. His teeth were well-nigh achatter. He was shaking with cold. Little shivers ran up and down his back. Now he would have welcomed a chance to thrash about with his arms, to beat his limbs until the blood was surging through them again. But he could not. His duty was to stay by the wireless. So he sat, shivering, chilled almost to numbness, listening for the message which, it seemed, would never come.
Occasionally the fog lifted for a moment. At such times the watchers could see afar off toward the sea a glow of light. It was the Morro Castle, beating her way in at half speed. Then the fog curtain would drop again, and the night become like a cave for darkness.
Suddenly Willie was startled into activity. His call was sounding in his ear. Reynolds was trying to get him. Willie threw over his switch. “Steamer Morro Castle. Surveyor answering,” he flashed. “All right. Go ahead.”