FOG LANGUAGE

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 6 March 1926, Page 11

FOG LANGUAGE

WARNING SIGNALS AT SEA

INTERNATIONAL CODE OF HUSKY MOANS

Bl LOWING huge horns made like megaphones was once the only means bv ' which ships conld communicate on

the syren means "I am heading my ship to starboard”; two blasts " I am turning to port”; while three means "My engines are full astern.” Misunderstandings are less likely to occur using this simple universal code. In one ambitious attempt of years gone by all the common questions were allotted a particular number, and captains had to look them up in key books. When safety depended upon an instantaneous grasp of another man’s purpose this method was useless. Nor was it understood universally.

foggy nights. That was before the invention of the foghorn. To-day mariners convey messages to each other by an international code of husky moans, which the law compels all ships to use, writes "Second Officer,” in the Daily Chronicle.

Landsmen in England are often puzzled by the melodious tolling of bells that drifts elusively shorewards from somewhere out at sea. They grow loud, soft, then finally fade as the fog * banks drift higher and away. These sounds come from a ship an anchor, probably some fishing boat with cumbrous nets hanging Y overside, carrying on the night’s work as though no hidden death lay blanketed from sight. When the master of a nearby ship hears the wailing of a foghorn, followed by the muffled tones of a bell, he knows the kind of vessel that lies ahead. It is stationary, and the task of avoiding collision devolves upon him.

Vessels engaged in towing- disabled craft or a string of barges, in picking up or laying telegraph cables, and those that are under way but out of control, broadcast their condition by sending out three blasts in succession, with intervals of two minutes between each. Drifting ships whose engines have broken down are a great danger to navigation. Like stationary ships, their warning signal is two long blasts of the syren. Sailing ships may be distinguished from steam vessels by their language on foggy nights. The nervous impatience of the steam syren cannot be confused with the lostsoul wail of the ancient foghorn, which is usually worked by compressed air. To the landsman these sounds are hideous, but the sailor gives them a kindly welcome. They stand between him and the unseen perils of the sea.

Captains cannot exchange definite messages until their ships are actually in sight of each other. When two huge shadows loom out of the fog, at a distance of perhaps two ships’ lengths, there is danger of colliding unless the men at the wheel have exact knowledge of each other’s intentions. For such occasions there are three very definite signals. One blast of