The Wireless Officer Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  The Greenhorns

  Armed with a bunch of keys, Peter made his way up several ladders untilhe gained the box-like structure bearing a brass plate inscribed"Wireless Cabin".

  The erection was of solid construction, lighted by six brass-rimmedscuttles. The door, opening aft, was affording support to a couple ofpale-faced, weedy-looking youths, who, on seeing Mostyn appear, made noattempt to shift their position, not even to the extent of removingtheir hands from their pockets.

  The Wireless Officer realized at once who these lads were. Already hehad had his suspicions on the point. The fact that he had received nointimation of the presence of a junior wireless operator ratherprepared him for the discovery.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  The taller of the two boys glanced at his companion as if urging him toreply. Receiving no encouragement from that direction he gazedvacantly into space.

  "Bloke dahn there told us to 'ang on 'ere," he announced, in thesing-song voice of a city-bred, elementary schoolboy.

  "We're Watchers," added his companion.

  "Oh, are you?" rejoined Peter. "Then please to remember that when youare spoken to by an officer you will address him as 'sir'."

  Mostyn was not snobbish--far from it, but the attitude and tone of thepair went against the grain. It was the first time that he had foundhimself "up against" the genus Watcher, and the impression served tosupport the adverse reports he had heard of the general incompetenceand uselessness of the class.

  "Watchers" were the outcome of an ill-advised step on the part ofshipowners towards economy. A second-class ship, such as the _WestBarbican_, might carry either two trained and Government-certificatedoperators--men who were qualified in both the practical and technicalside of radiography--or she might carry one operator and two Watchers.

  The latter were simply and solely unskilled youths who were sent onboard ship to "listen-in" for wireless messages. They took turns inputting on the telephones and waiting for wireless calls. All theycould do--or were expected to do--was to recognize two call signals:the SOS and TTT, the latter an urgent general signal of lesserimportance than the well-known call for aid. To the Watchers the MorseCode was a sealed book. Their occupation was of a blind-alley nature.They could hardly hope to qualify as operators, lacking the aptitude,intelligence, and opportunities for gaining their wireless ticket. Inshort, they were a cheap product whereby their employers sought to cutdown expenses by dispensing with one of two wireless officers,regardless of the grave risk that an error on the part of thesehalf-baked dabblers in radiography might endanger the ship.

  As a class, too, they were resented by the wireless staff proper. Notonly would the employment of Watchers tend to diminish the numbers of_pukka_ wireless officers serving afloat; but the wireless officer on aship carrying Watchers would be always on duty although not actually inthe cabin. Instead of taking "tricks" with his "opposite number" hewould be liable to be summoned by the Watchers on duty at any hour ofthe day or night, simply because his assistant could not, and would notbe allowed to, receive or send out messages.

  "Is this your first voyage?" asked Peter, addressing the taller Watcher.

  "Yes," was the reply.

  "Yes, what?" demanded Mostyn sharply.

  "Yes, sir."

  "That's better," continued Peter, as he unlocked the door, the two ladshaving summoned up enough physical energy to stand aside. "What's yourname?"

  "Partridge,"--pause--"sir."

  "And yours?"

  "Plover, sir."

  "Weird birds," soliloquized Mostyn; "but perhaps they'll lick intoshape."

  His first impression of the interior of the cabin was not a good one.The _West Barbican_ had been laid up for nearly four months, and,although her late Sparks had conscientiously carried out his writteninstructions as to the precautions to be taken when "packing up", theprolonged period of idleness had not improved the appearance of theapparatus. In spite of a liberal coating of vaseline the brasswork wasmottled with verdigris; moisture covered the ebonite and vulcanitekeys; the roof had been leaking, the course of the water beingindicated by a trail of iron rust upon the white paint.

  Dust covered everything, while the absence of fresh air, owing to thescuttles having been secured for months, was distressingly noticeable.

  "Phew! What a reek!" exclaimed Peter, stepping backwards into the openand nearly colliding with the impassive Mahmed.

  "Char, sahib."

  Mostyn gulped down the hot beverage, and literally girded up his loinsfor direct action.

  "Nip below," he ordered, addressing the still torpid Partridge. "Gethold of a bucket of hot water, a squeegee, and some swabs. Looklively, Plover; get busy with those scuttles. Open all of them.Scuttles, man; those round glass windows, if you like."

  Watcher Plover tackled his allotted task with a zest that rathersurprised his superior officer, but it was not until five minutes laterthat Peter found the Watcher trying to unbolt the brass rims instead ofunthreading the locking screw.

  "Belay there," exclaimed Mostyn. "Don't take the whole of the cabindown. Let me show----"

  His words were interrupted by a metallic clatter followed by sounds offalling water. Watcher Partridge's hob-nailed boots had slipped on thebrass treads of the ladder, and he had finished up ingloriously uponthe deck, sprawling upon his back in a puddle of coal-grimed water.

  While the unlucky Partridge was making a prolonged change and refit,Mostyn with his other assistant tackled the demon dirt in his lair.Not until the dust was removed and the paint-work and floor wellscrubbed and dried did Peter begin to overhaul the "set".

  The dull daylight faded and gave place to night, but still theindefatigable wireless operator carried on, until the bell summoningthe officers to dinner warned him that it was time to knock off.

  "Not so bad," he conceded modestly, as he surveyed the array ofglittering brasswork and polished vulcanite. "I'll leave the actualtuning up and testing till to-morrow. Buzz off, you fellows. Youwon't be wanted until two bells in the forenoon watch."

  Locking the door, Mostyn made his way to his own quarters. His cabinwas of the usual double-berth type, one bunk being superimposedimmediately above the other. In this instance he was the sole occupantof the cabin, and rather grimly he commented upon the saying that it'san ill wind that blows nobody any good. Had he not been called upon toendure Messrs. Partridge and Plover, he would have had to the sharecramped quarters with another wireless officer.

  In the adjoining cabins the jaded occupants were busily engaged inremoving the traces left by their arduous labours. The coalingoperation had been completed. The bunkers had been trimmed, deckswashed down, and the hideous but necessary coaling-screens stowed away.Yet the ship reeked of coal-dust. The alleyways seemed stiff with it.It penetrated even into the locked and carefully curtained cabins andsaloons.

  On board the S.S. _West Barbican_ there was nothing in the way offormal introduction. A newly joined officer simply "blew in" and madehimself at home. When off duty the fellows were more like a pack ofjolly schoolboys than men on whose shoulders rested a tremendous weightof responsibility. They accepted a newcomer as one of themselves, and,unless he were an out-and-out bounder, soon set him entirely at hisease.

  In vain Peter scanned the features of his new shipmates in the hope ofrecognizing a familiar face. For the most part the officers had beenon board for lengthy periods, the interval of idleness notwithstanding.They were a conservative crowd in the Blue Crescent Line, and, sinceMostyn had served on vessels plying between Vancouver, Japan, andChina, he was not surprised, although disappointed, to find that hishopes were not realized.

  "Have we got our orders yet?" inquired the Chief Engineer, addressingthe Acting Chief Officer, who, in the absence of the skipper, wassitting at the head of the long table.

  "Yes," replied Preston. "We're off to a place called Brocklington, onthe East Coast, to pick up the bulk of our cargo--steelw
ork, worseluck. Next to iron ore I know of nothing worse. It'll make the oldhooker roll like a barrel. After that we return to Gravesend onMonday, pick up our passengers, and then away down Channel. Let's hopewe don't see London River again until shipping looks up considerably.I've had enough of kicking my heels on the beach, and I guess you havetoo. Once we go East the owners aren't likely to send us home inballast."

  "Dull times these, especially after the war," remarked Anstey, theThird Officer. "Even those pirate stunts in the Atlantic and Pacificare a wash-out."

  "Which reminds me," added Preston, indicating the modest Mostyn. "OurSparks here was in the _Donibristle_ when that Porfirio blightercollared her. For first-hand information apply to our young friendhere."

  So Peter had to relate briefly the hazardous adventures of the crew ofhis former ship, after they had been taken into captivity by theswashbuckling pirate Ramon Porfirio. Before the evening was over hefelt as if he had known his new messmates for ages.