veiled by shifting, swirling curtains of snow, but the fog had lifted. The waves were tremendous, but as the Iroquois was no longer bucking them, they did not seem so terrifying. Yet the sea was appalling enough to one so little accustomed to it as Henry was.
Suddenly the captain spoke. “Henry,” he directed, “tell the Rayolite that her signals are getting weaker, and that her battery is evidently going bad. Tell her to save her battery. I’m going to fire a gun every twenty minutes. Tell her to indicate whether or not she hears it. A single word will answer.”
Henry returned to the radio shack and flashed the message to the tanker. A moment later there was a terrific explosion that made him fairly jump in his chair. He began to make the sparks fly under his key. “Iroquois just fired gun,” he flashed. “Did you hear? ”
A long pause followed. Then came the faint reply, “No.”
Twenty minutes later another shot was fired. Once more Henry called the Rayolite and asked if she had heard it. And again came the answer, “No.”
Three times every hour the Iroquois fired a shot, but for a long time the sound of the reports did not reach the struggling ship. Meantime the day was passing fast. Late afternoon came,