Radio broadcast .. (1922-30)

Adventures of a Wireless Free-Lance 27 The report in question had to do with the operation of the Imperial Wireless Communications, and suggested the limitation of private enterprise in the radio field to such an extent that Marconi felt that its development would be much hampered. This is of especial importance to Marconi as he feels about ready to go ahead with his directive radio, on a large scale. He feels that suitable radio mirrors can now be constructed, that beams of radiations can be thrown across the Atlantic or even to South Africa, with a resultant diminution in interference between stations and a very considerable saving in the power required. — J.H.M. Adventures of a Wireless Free-Lance My First SOS— A Farce Comedy By GEORGE F. WORTS THERE was nothing in the least amusing about it when it was happening. We were soberly and solemnly aware that the most dramatic situation that can arise in the life of a ship confronted us. The North American was fast aground and lost in a heavy fog. Five hundred passengers, mostly women and children, were endangered. Responsibility for all these lives had been suddenly dropped upon our shoulders. A heavy swell — the aftermath of a gale — was lifting us and dropping us with great thumps upon a rocky shoal somewhere in the Strait of Mackinac; and the ship was canting dismayingly to starboard. it was a tremendous moment. I had been "pounding brass" for two years, and here at last was the opportunity for which 1 had been secretly and shamefully hoping — the opportunity, I suspect, for which every youthful wireless operator secretly and shamefully hopes — of sitting down at the key and rapping out the three most electrifying letters in the alphabet — SOS! 1 had retired to my stateroom a little after six o'clock from the midnight-to-six watch, and was asleep when it happened. A sudden jar, a deep banging, startled me awake. We had, I learned later, taken the wrong bearing on a certain light during the night, and were a mile or two off our course. 1 sprang from my bunk and put my head out of the porthole. Cold white fog streamed past my face. We had been creeping through fog when 1 had turned in, and it seemed to me that the fog had become thicker. It was impossible to see farther than twenty portholes in either direction and the white hull above me vanished into creamy nothingness. From every porthole within range a head protruded, nose down. Some were men's heads and some were women's heads adorned with braids, kid-curlers and lace caps. Every one was gazing at the water, and no one said a word. The engine had stopped and the ship was as still, as peaceful as though we were at anchor in some snug, quiet harbor. Then a long wave rolled out of the fog and lifted us. We settled down again with a harsh scraping sound and the whole ship seemed to shiver as we listed to starboard. A woman at a porthole above me said, in an amazed voice, "Why! we're aground!" She did not seem alarmed. In fact, no one seemed alarmed. That, to me, was astonishing. 1 had heard that in moments such as this every one became panic-stricken. The excitement came later. We all stared with fascination at the water. It was pale blue and so clear that we could easily see the stones on the bottom. They were of all sizes, some as small as golf-balls, some as large as basket-balls. My stateroom door opened and Kenneth Little, the junior operator, burst in with a white face and excited eyes. He was grinning nervously. "Well!" he got out breathlessly. "We're on!"