“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
full speed.” Instantly came the response and the huge liner keeled far over to the thundering of her screw, and wrestled with the sea amid a white lather of foam, as the Captain grabbed the rope and sent the answering warning of the Pavonia across the darkness into the fog.
“H-n-n-n-n!”
She was right upon them! This time to port! Or was it to starboard? Where was it!
“Stop!” The Captain almost yanked the handle off the indicator.
The Pavonia’s engines ceased to throb. Slowly she drifted sideways to the storm, and bellowing like some prehistoric sea-monster in its death agony, began to rise and fall in the hollow of the waves. Again came the snorting of the funnel, deafening, overwhelming.
Micky in the wireless house heard the roar of steam and realized that the Saxonia and Pavonia were almost in collision.
“Do you hear us?” he jerked out, the sweat beading his forehead. “Reverse—for God’s sake!”
“Yes. Cannot see you. We have reversed,” shot the Saxonia.
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