A MATTER OF HOURS
The darkness of night was again upon them, for although they had now
been gone from Halifax a matter of some twenty-seven or eight hours, the
reader will keep in mind that they were, so to speak, traveling ever
eastward, and therefore toward constantly changing time conditions.
It was well into this second night, when they were rather feeling their
way, and at materially reduced speed, and their calculations put them at
between four and five hundred miles off the Irish coast, when all of
them, now desperately feeling the need of sleep, were aroused by Fred's
announcement that they were again receiving a call, this time no doubt
genuine.
"It is being relayed by some vessel," he said, "and is in our code."
He picked up the ever-ready pad and pencil and listened intently.
Finally he began to write. Three words were jotted down, when he
reached for the switch and took the sending key, interrupting the
operator on the vessel. There was a lengthy sending and receiving back
and forth, and then Fred began writing again. He added two more words
and there was another interruption.
"Somebody breaking in," he informed Don, who was leaning eagerly over
his shoulder, the code book already in his hand, the first steps taken
toward translating the message.
But before Don could get further with that interesting work a word from
Jack put him back to the duties of navigator, and he had to give
detailed information concerning wind retardment, speed, course, etc.
Fred by now was receiving again, and apparently had succeeded in
silencing whoever it was who had been interrupting with impertinent
queries about the apparently bad grammar of the message.
Don again took up his position behind Fred, the code book handy.
The first word on Fred's sheet was "How." This Don knew from memory was
the code word for "Give," so he jotted that down. The next was "paper."
He looked this up and added "location."
Fred had now concluded talking with the relaying vessel and was able to
aid him by reading from his own memo. "Invent," he called out. The code
book revealed the translation as "situation."
Next came "burst," and both smiled at the very logical reason that an
outsider had for inquiring what it was all about. Don found it in the
"b's" and wrote down "critical."
No doubt about the authenticity of the message now: "Give
location--situation critical--"
"Ship," Fred gave the next word.
Twice Don missed the right page in his nervous thumbing of the book, but
finally he got it, and found opposite, "when."
The next word was "settled"; and here again in the strange code was a
combination to make a seafaring man think something serious had
happened. In the code, however, it stood for "will." And the next word,
"bring," was found to mean "you."
"Last one," said Fred, encouragingly, "'bounty.'"
At last Don found it and wrote it down--"arrive."
Here, then, was the message complete: "R-S-7: Give location--situation
critical--when will you arrive?"
It was read off to Jack and Andy. The former turned it over in his mind
for a moment. "Who signed it?" he asked--the inevitable query.
"P.S.Q.J." answered Fred, reserving his greatest surprise for the last.
There was a sudden lifting of brows, the men gazing about at each other
and for the moment even forgetting the course of their flight. The
message was a direct inquiry on behalf of the President of the United
States, then attending the Peace Conference!
"What about it, Don?" Jack asked.
"Well," the navigator replied, making mental calculations and regarding
his charts, "we ought to make Ireland in six hours."
"Send that, then," Jack told Fred, "and ask if there are any
instructions. But send it in code," he added.
Fred jotted down, "Ireland probably in six hours," laboriously found the
code equivalent of each word and wrote it over the top, and then opened
up his call again.
The vessel operator soon responded and wanted to know if he couldn't be
let in on the secret.
"Picked this up and relayed it," he radiographed, "but where's it come
from, and who are you?"
"Let you know later, and obliged for your trouble," Fred wirelessed
back. "Tell me who you are and you'll get suitable reward."
With lightning-like speed the distant operator gave his name, ship and
home port.
"Right," Fred flashed back. "Now please relay this."
And he gave the code reply and had it repeated to make certain there was
no error in the taking of the odd mixture of words.
"New code on me," the taking operator finally commented, when his repeat
had been approved as correct. "Whose is it?"
"Your Uncle Samuel's," Fred radioed back, and opened his switch against
further inquiries.
"Well, I guess the situation's clear enough," he said, getting up to
stretch himself as best he could in their small quarters. Try as he
would, he could not repress a yawn.
"If the President of the United States goes to those lengths to try to
learn when we will get on European soil, I guess it's a mighty important
mission we've been called on to handle," Andy opined.
"Yes," added Jack, "and from what I can make of that message, it's
becoming a question of hours as to how the situation will turn."
"That seems to state it," Don agreed. "A matter of hours."
"Well, we've done our best, and against mighty unpleasant obstacles, but
of course they won't figure very largely if, after all, we're too late."
"We're heading for Ireland about as fast as anything ever did," Jack
informed them, and it required but a glance at the air-speed indicator
to prove this. For there was scarcely a perceptible adverse wind, as
these experienced aviators could discern by opening up part of the
enclosed nacelle, and the indicator registered just a fraction above one
hundred and twenty-two miles an hour.
"Coming, Mr. President," Andy muttered. "Coming, sir, like greased
lightning."