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.