Roy rushed after him. “My aerial has carried away, sir,” he shouted. “I
cannot send a message until it is repaired.”
“Fix it,” bellowed the captain, turning to his charts.
Roy fought his way back to the wireless house, pausing on the way to
appraise the damage. The aerial was entirely gone, spreaders and all.
Fortunately the halyards that held them aloft were intact. Roy hurried
on to the wireless house. His closet was full of repair material. He
got out two spreaders, a coil of wire, some insulators, and other
needed materials. With remarkable celerity he attached his wires to the
spreader, united them to a new lead-in wire and spliced them to what
was left of the old wire. It was almost dark by the time he finished
his repairs. When all was ready, he struggled out with his new aerial,
and bent it to the halyards. In a few moments it was swinging aloft.
Roy watched it for a minute as the tempest tore at it, to see if it
would hold. Nothing gave way.
The captain, meantime, had snatched up a chart. “Latitude 28, longitude
96,” he repeated, as he ran his finger over the chart. His ruddy face
whitened as he found the spot. “Only thirty-five miles off a lee
shore,” he muttered, “and one hundred and thirty miles from here. Can I
get to him in time?”
He turned to the man at the wheel and laid a new course for him. Then
he sprang to a speaking-tube and ordered the chief engineer to crowd
on every ounce of steam he could make. As the steersman swung the
_Lycoming_ to her new course she heeled far over. Then she righted and
rode more steadily than before. The tempest had changed from northwest
to west and the _Lycoming_ was racing along almost with it. Though
not directly astern, waves and wind were both driving the _Lycoming_
forward. Soon she was tearing through the water at a rate she had never
known before. Her very speed steadied her.
Roy, meantime, had rushed into the wireless house to test his
apparatus. It appeared to work perfectly. Satisfied, he battled his way
to the bridge again and reported to the captain.
“The damage is repaired, sir.”
The captain showed him the positions on the chart. “Tell Charley we’re
coming,” he roared. “Find out just where he is, how he got there, and
what he’s doing.”
Roy left the bridge and faced toward the wireless house. Now he was
heading almost straight into the wind. It seemed to him the tempest
was worse than ever. He could not advance a step. Desperately he clung
to a stanchion. He dared not try to walk across the few feet of deck
to the hand-rail on the superstructure lest he be picked up bodily and
flung into the sea. He dropped to his knees, and fairly hugging the
deck, crept fearfully over to the rail. There he was partly sheltered
from the direct blasts. Crouching low and pulling himself along with
arms and feet, he fought his way to the wireless house. It did not seem
possible that a wind _could_ be so terrible.
Roy adjusted his receivers, threw over his switch, and sent the
_Empress’_ call signal flashing forth. “KKK--KKK--KKK de WNA.”
Then he waited anxiously. Would he get a reply, or would the
atmospherics trick him again? At one hundred and thirty miles’ distance
he ought to communicate with the _Empress_ easily. He was not long in
suspense. Promptly a wireless signal buzzed in his ears.
“WNA de KKK. Have been calling you steadily.”
“KKK de WNA,” flashed back Roy. “My aerial carried away. Got your
position all right. Tell your captain the _Lycoming_ is rushing to help
you. We are a few hours east of Galveston and one hundred and thirty
miles from the position you signaled. We must be making twenty knots an
hour. Should reach you in five to six hours. Keep us informed of your
position. Are you all right? How did you get there? What are you doing?”
“WNA de KKK,” came back the reply. “_Empress_ reached Galveston early
this morning. Sea too rough to enter port. Headed into Gulf to ride out
storm. Broke rudder six hours ago. Drifted four hours, then put down
anchors, but dragging fast. Captain couldn’t get observation. Position
given obtained by dead-reckoning. Trying to repair damage. Sea too high
to do much. Ship all right so far. No land in sight. Change in wind
helpful. Blowing us toward shore at long angle. Captain reckons six to
eight hours before we ground. Reckons we are dragging straight toward
Corpus Christi.”
“KKK de WNA,” signaled back Roy. “Will report to captain. Will call you
every quarter hour. Good luck.”
Once more Roy made the perilous trip to the bridge. “Come inside,”
shouted the captain, dragging Roy within the wheel-house. Roy delivered
his message and the captain listened without comment.
“Any message, Captain?” asked Roy.
“No. Keep in close touch with them.”
“I have already arranged to call them every quarter hour.”
“Good. Go back to your post.”
“How shall I know if you want me?”
“I’ll send a messenger.”
Roy hurried from the wheel-house and vanished in the dark. Hour
after hour the _Lycoming_ raced toward the _Empress_. The seas were
as mountainous and the winds as fierce as any the _Lycoming_ had
encountered, but the ship was running with them and its passage was
less rough than it had been at any time since the tempest struck her.
Unable to see the waves any longer, Roy almost believed that the storm
was subsiding. Every quarter hour Roy called the _Empress_. At each
call he got back the same reply. The _Empress_ was battered but still
safe. She was dragging her anchors. Every time Roy talked to her, the
signals seemed more distinct. There could be no question that the
_Lycoming_ was getting nearer.
Four hours passed. A terrified darky cabin-boy crept into the wireless
house. “De cap’n say tell de _Empress_ to show her search-light,” he
said.
Roy signaled the _Empress_, “Show your search-light.”
Back came the answer, “Search-light out of commission.”
“Tell the captain the _Empress’_ search-light is broken,” said Roy to
the young darky.
“Does I haf to go back to de cap’n, Mr. Mercer?” cried the colored boy,
shaking with fright.
“No,” said Roy, jumping to his feet. “Stay here,” and he disappeared in
the darkness.
“Tell ’em to burn lights and send up rockets every few minutes,”
ordered the captain, when Roy had delivered his message.
Roy regained the wireless house and signaled the _Empress_.
“We’ve been doing that for hours,” came back the reply. “Supply almost
exhausted.”
Again Roy had to fight his way to the bridge with the message. It might
be important for the captain to know about the lights.
Another hour passed. The _Empress_ was not within sight. For half
an hour longer the captain held to his course. Then he headed the
_Lycoming_ nearer shore. Another half hour passed. The _Empress_ was
still invisible.
Then an able-bodied seaman appeared in the wireless house and said,
“The captain says to see if you can find out anything about the
location of the _Empress_, sir.”
Into Roy’s mind flashed the remembrance of the fog off Hatteras. He had
located the _Merrimack_ in the fog. The captain must believe he could
also find the _Empress_ by wireless. It was a great opportunity.
“Tell him I’ll try,” said Roy.
The seaman started for the bridge. Roy dropped his head in his hands
and began to think. How could he locate the _Empress_? A direction
finder such as they had in the search for the secret wireless would do
the trick at once. But he had no direction finder. Then Roy remembered
how the wireless patrol had improvised a direction finder during
the hunt for the dynamiters at Camp Brady. He had helped make that
instrument. He could make another. Before he began, he decided to call
up the _Empress_ again. Hardly had he adjusted his receivers before a
signal crackled in his ears.
“WNA de KKK. Can see a search-light. Is it yours?”
“Will have the light swung in an arc three times. Watch,” flashed back
Roy.
The seaman had not returned, and again Roy had to go to the bridge.
“Swing the search-light overhead in an arc three times,” shouted Roy.
“The _Empress_ thinks she sees us.” Then Roy added, “Please send a
seaman to carry messages for me.”
The great beam of light that had been boring into the darkness ahead
swung round to starboard, then slowly traveled in an arc directly over
the _Lycoming_ until it came to rest on the seething waters to port.
Then it retraced its path. A third time it circled overhead, lighting
up the heavy canopy of clouds. Meantime Roy had regained the wireless
house. Trembling with eagerness, he clamped his receivers to his ears
and listened.
“WNA de KKK,” presently came a signal. “It’s your light. We saw it
swing overhead three times. Can see its beams now.”
“Get a compass bearing on it and signal me,” flashed Roy.
In a few minutes the answer came. “Almost due east.”
Roy sent the news to the captain. “She’s dragged more than I thought
possible,” muttered the captain as he entered the chart house. Then,
turning to the steersman, he ordered, “Starboard--head her due west.”
Twenty minutes later lights flashed out directly ahead of the
_Lycoming_, then disappeared again. It was the _Empress_ as she rose
and fell with the waves. She was only a few miles distant. A few
minutes later the _Lycoming_ was close to her.
To Roy, watching from the wireless house, it did not seem humanly
possible that the _Lycoming_ could assist the _Empress_. The latter
lay with her nose to the storm, rising and falling with the waves and
rolling violently. Roy could see two great anchor chains leading down
into the water. Most of the time the _Empress_ rode the huge swells
buoyantly. But occasionally the crest of a great wave broke over her
and went rushing aft with an awful roar, smashing woodwork and twisting
iron. As the _Lycoming’s_ search-light played on the _Empress_ Roy
could see that her bulwarks and rails were smashed to pieces. All but
one of her small boats had carried away. Her life-rafts were gone. Part
of the railing about the bridge was smashed. To Roy she seemed all but
battered to pieces. To an experienced sailor like Captain Lansford, she
appeared to be in good shape. The ship herself was intact.
How any earthly power could get lines aboard of her, or how it could
tow her in the teeth of such a gale, even if the lines were got aboard,
was more than Roy could understand. He did not believe it possible.
He did not believe any small boat could exist for one minute in that
raging sea. Yet he knew very well that Captain Lansford intended to
assist the _Empress_. What he would do Roy could not conceive. All he
could do was to watch and learn.
For some time Roy could not see that anything was being done. The
_Lycoming_ reduced her speed, but kept steadily on past the _Empress_.
Then she began to swing around her in a wide arc. Roy believed the
captain meant to approach close to the ship from the leeward side. But
when the _Lycoming_ continued to circle slowly around the _Empress_,
Roy was puzzled.
The _Lycoming_ swung completely round the _Empress_, but not until the
circuit had been completed did Roy get an inkling of what the captain
was doing. The search-light played here and there, now picking out the
path of the _Lycoming_, now illuminating the _Empress_, which tossed
violently at the very centre of the huge circle the _Lycoming_ had just
traced. To his intense surprise Roy saw that the water within this
circle was calming down. It rose and fell as mightily as ever, but no
seas broke. Giant waves mounted higher and higher, gathering volume and
power as they rushed down on the _Empress_, but instead of breaking
with a crash and hurling tons of water at the helpless steamer, they
subsided without foam or fuss. It was as though some invisible hand had
spread a great, elastic blanket over the face of the seething waters.
They billowed and tossed beneath this invisible blanket, but they
billowed and tossed harmlessly. The power of the waves to smash things
was gone. Amazed, incredulous, disbelieving the very thing his eyes
beheld, Roy watched the miracle that was being performed. Finally it
came to him that Captain Lansford was putting oil on the sea.
In the nose of the _Lycoming_ sailors had been at work for hours
preparing to perform the miracle that Roy was watching. Great,
cone-shaped bags had been made of canvas and stuffed with oakum. The
oakum had been saturated with storm oil. The bags had been suspended
over the forward wash-basins so that at the proper time their contents
could drain into the sea. Additional supplies of oil stood at hand in
cans. Long before the _Lycoming_ came abreast of the _Empress_, Captain
Lansford had everything in readiness to spread abroad the oil film
that was now taming the seas before Roy’s astonished vision. At the
proper moment word was passed to start the oil. With coarse sailmakers’
needles the canvas cones were punctured and the oil began to flow.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, it fell into the wash-basins and made its way
down the drain-pipes to the sea, hushing the boisterous breakers even
as Christ stilled the waters with His command, “Peace. Be still.”
Three times the _Lycoming_ circled the _Empress_, each time at a
greater distance, until the waters for a mile about the crippled liner
were coated with oil. Then Captain Lansford brought the _Lycoming_ as
close as he dared to the _Empress_, which lay directly to leeward. A
great life-boat was unlashed and made ready for launching. Up to this
time Roy had remained in the wireless house. Now he made his way to
the deck, where some sailors were gathered beside the life-boat. The
captain stood on the bridge with a megaphone in his hand. He roared out
a call for volunteers to man the boat. There was a rush for the smaller
craft. Without pausing to consider, Roy leaped into the boat. He found
himself seated beside the sailor who had come to the wireless house
with the captain’s message. The boat was manned almost before Roy was
fairly seated. The third officer sat in the stern to steer her.
The captain was scanning the sea critically. “Launch her!” he bellowed
suddenly.
The boat swung outboard and dropped on the smooth crest of a wave.
The tackles were cast loose and all hands gave way with the oars
that their tiny craft might not be smashed against the _Lycoming’s_
side. Before the next wave rose they were at a safe distance from the
_Lycoming_. The lines they were to take to the _Empress_ trailed astern.
From the deck of the _Lycoming_ the oily sea had seemed comparatively
peaceful. Once Roy was on it in a small boat, he found it was terrible.
The little life-boat was tossed about like a cork in a boiling caldron.
Now it shot high in the air, lifted by some mighty roller. Now it
dropped down, down, down, until Roy thought it would surely go to the
bottom. Once away from the protection of the _Lycoming_, the life-boat
felt the full force of the wind. It seemed to Roy the blasts would jerk
him from his seat and throw him into the maelstrom. Now the boat bobbed
this way. Now she ducked the other way. A feather whirling in the
tempest could hardly have been more unstable.
In such a sea none but an expert oarsman could wield a great oar such
as Roy now grasped. Had he been the least bit awkward with it, he might
easily have caused disaster. Roy realized that at once and thanked
his lucky stars that he had learned to row well that first summer in
camp at Fort Brady. Now he gave way smoothly and with power. Through
the darkness he tried to see the stroke oar and pull in unison. The
search-light pointed its powerful ray over their heads, lighting the
way for the steersman. It was useless to call the strokes of the oars.
In the shrieking wind no earthly voice could have been heard. There was
nothing to do but sit tight and pull.
Slowly the boat forged through the seething sea. It neared the
_Empress_, which seemed to bulk as huge as a mountain. Painfully the
little craft fought her way to the leeward side of the _Empress_ and
crept as near as she dared. Lines were flung from the _Empress_. They
were bent to those the life-boat was towing. Slowly these were hauled
to the ship, and the crew began to pull on the heavy hawsers to which
the life-boat lines were attached. The _Lycoming’s_ boat worked its way
along the lee side of the _Empress_, toward the davits that had been
swung outboard to lift it. Suddenly there was a great outcry aboard
the _Empress_. The anchor chains had snapped. At once all hands were
called forward to pull on the hawsers. Unless they were got aboard the
_Empress_ was doomed.
Straightway the wind drove her directly toward the little life-boat.
With all their might the men in the boat pulled away from the ship,
which would have crushed them like an egg-shell.
In a moment they had passed from under her protecting side and found
themselves pitching wildly on the inky waves. To get back to the
_Lycoming_ was impossible. To try to gain the _Empress_ was worse than
useless. To stay where they were was folly. The only hope of safety lay
in scudding before the storm. Instantly the third officer’s decision
was taken.
“Give way,” he roared, and as the crew bent to their oars, he swept
the tiny boat around. In another moment the little craft was racing
before the tempest, tossing wildly, but thanks to the oil film, riding
buoyantly and safely. Rapidly the _Empress_ and the _Lycoming_ fell
astern. Soon they were lost to sight. Above the life-boat the night was
inky black. About her the waters heaved and roared. Ahead of her lay
the wild sea, with its awful waves and its fearful, crashing combers.