As I stood speculating upon our chances once we settled into
the frightful Maelstrom beneath us and at the same time
mentally computing the hours which must elapse before aid
could reach us, the wireless operator clambered up the
ladder to the bridge, and, disheveled and breathless, stood
before me at salute. It needed but a glance at him to
assure me that something was amiss.

"What now?" I asked.

"The wireless, sir!" he cried. "My God, sir, I cannot
send."

"But the emergency outfit?" I asked.

"I have tried everything, sir. I have exhausted every
resource. We cannot send," and he drew himself up and
saluted again.

I dismissed him with a few kind words, for I knew that it
was through no fault of his that the mechanism was
antiquated and worthless, in common with the balance of the
Coldwater's equipment. There was no finer operator in Pan-
America than he.

The failure of the wireless did not appear as momentous to
me as to him, which is not unnatural, since it is but human
to feel that when our own little cog slips, the entire
universe must necessarily be put out of gear. I knew that