shipped on an ocean steamer bound for Europe. They were to be
released out of sight of land, but a heavy fog set in and forbade
the start. The steamer took them onward, the intention being to
send them back with the next vessel. When ten hours out the
engine broke down, the fog settled dense over the sea, and the
vessel was adrift and helpless as a log. She could only whistle
for assistance, and so far as results were concerned, the captain
might as well have wigwagged. Then the Pigeons were thought of.
Starback, 2592 C, was first selected. A message for help was
written on waterproof paper, rolled up, and lashed to his
tail-feathers on the under side. He was thrown into the air and
disappeared. Half an hour later, a second, the Big Blue
Corner-box, 2600 C, was freighted with a letter. He flew up, but
almost immediately returned and alighted on the rigging. He was a
picture of pigeon fear; nothing could induce him to leave the
ship. He was so terrorized that he was easily caught and
ignominiously thrust back into the coop.

Now the third was brought out, a small, chunky bird. The shipmen
did not know him, but they noted down from his anklet his name
and number, Arnaux, 2590 C. It meant nothing to them. But the
officer who held him noted that his heart did not beat so wildly
as that of the last bird. The message was taken from the Big
Blue. It ran:

10 A.M., Tuesday.
We broke our shaft two hundred and ten miles out from New York;
we are drifting helplessly in the fog. Send out a tug as soon as
possible. We are whistling one long, followed at once by one
short, every sixty seconds.