The Wireless Officer Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  Under Way

  Mostyn awoke soon after daybreak, or rather was aroused by theappearance of Mahmed with a cup of _char_ in one hand and a copper jugfull of hot water in the other.

  It was a novel experience for Peter to watch the deft movements of hisservant, who seemed to possess an uncanny knowledge of where hismaster's personal belongings were stowed. Mostyn's safety-razor,strop, shaving-pot, and soap were placed ready for use; his boots wereshining with unusual brilliancy, even in the comparatively feeble raysof the electric lamp. His clothes, folded and pressed, were placedready to put on. How and when Mahmed had contrived to make thesepreparations without disturbing his master rather puzzled the WirelessOfficer, for he considered himself a light sleeper.

  Breakfast was more or less a scrambled affair, many of the officershaving to gulp down a cup of hot tea and hurry off to their appointedtasks, for the _West Barbican_ was sailing at noon, and there weremultitudinous duties to be seen to before the ship was actually underway.

  Directly after breakfast Peter hastened to the wireless cabin in orderto put in an hour's uninterrupted work before the appearance of his twoinefficient assistants. Not that they would have worried him by askingquestions, intelligent or otherwise. It was their wooden-facedpassivity that Peter found disturbing. He wondered by what manner ofmeans such a quaint pair of birds was taken into the Company's service.

  At four bells--ten o'clock--Mostyn had got his set into working order,and a quarter of an hour later the wireless inspector came on board toreceive the radio-officer's report, and to satisfy himself that theinstallation was in every way efficient.

  "I can give your little outfit a clean bill of health pretty quickly,Mr. Mostyn," remarked the inspector. "Evidently your predecessor leftyou very little to do. Once you've broken in your two Watchers youought to have a very soft time."

  "I hope so," rejoined Peter guardedly, but he had grave doubts on thesubject. Not that he wanted a "very soft time"--he was far tooenergetic for that--but because he felt convinced that his assistantswere not cut out for the job.

  At length a blast on the siren announced that the _West Barbican_ wasabout to leave the dock. Peter left the cabin to watch the nowfamiliar yet engrossing scene, familiar save for the fact that for thefirst time he had shipped with a crew of lascars. It was a strangesight to see the natives on the fo'c'sle, carrying out orders under the_serang_, and to watch a barefooted lascar go aloft, gripping theshrouds with hands and toes with equal facility.

  Under the gentle yet firm persuasion of a couple of fussy tugs the_West Barbican_ renewed her acquaintance with London River. There wereno demonstrations at her departure. None of the officers had anyrelations or friends to wish them God-speed from the shore, and, sincethe passengers had not yet embarked, the usual display of farewells wasnot in evidence.

  It was not until the ship entered Sea Reach that Peter called hisassistants.

  "You, Partridge, will take on now," he said. "Plover, it's your watchbelow. You'd better see that you get some sleep. Now, you know yourduties, Partridge?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Right-o; carry on!"

  Partridge sat down and clipped on the telephones. Peter left him, butpromised himself to visit the cabin pretty frequently, to see that theWatcher was watching. Meanwhile he had plenty to do in the clericalline, filling up forms and making reports upon various technicalmatters.

  Half an hour later Mostyn returned to the wireless-room. He was notsurprised to find that Master Partridge was lying on the floor, havingpreviously "mustered his bag" with the utmost impartiality. WatcherNo. 1 was down and out.

  "The poor bounder can't help being sea-sick, but he ought to have beena little more considerate," soliloquized Mostyn, after he had told theunhappy Watcher to clear out and turn in. In fact, Partridge was sobad that Peter had to assist him down the ladder until he handed himover to the care of a lascar.

  Although the ship had not yet passed the Nore she was rollingconsiderably, for there was a fresh wind on the starboard beam.Evidently she was doing her best to live up to her reputation. ButPeter made light of the motion. With the telephones clipped to hishead he sat in the open doorway of his "dog-box", watching theever-changing seascape so far as a couple of boats in davits permitted.

  When the hour arrived for Watcher Plover to take over the watch, thatindividual was not forthcoming. Peter waited a full ten minutes andthen told a _seedee-boy_ to warn the absentee.

  Presently the Indian messenger returned with a faint trace of a smileon his olivine features.

  "No go, sahib," he announced. "He ill--very sick like to die."

  Mostyn shrugged his shoulders and "carried on". Fortunately he had hada fairly good night's rest. The treble trick he could endure withequanimity, buoyed up by the hope that the indisposition of his twoinefficient assistants would be of short duration, especially as the_West Barbican_ was due to berth in Brocklington Dock by six the nextmorning.

  Before long the weather began to get decidedly dirty. The haze thathad been hanging over the coast had vanished, but to the east'ard banksof ragged-edged indigo-coloured clouds betokened a hard blow beforevery long. The wind, too, had backed from sou'-sou'-east tonor'-nor'-east, and was rapidly increasing in force.

  The _West Barbican_ was not belying her reputation for rolling. In thewireless cabin, between forty and fifty feet above the sea, everythingof a movable nature was slithering to and fro with each long-drawnoscillation of the ship. More than once Peter had to grip the table toprevent his chair sliding bodily across the deck. The wind wasthrumming through the shrouds, and whistling through the still openscuttles, while the aerial vibrated like a tuning fork in the shriekingblast.

  It was one of those sudden gales that play havoc with small craft,especially in the comparatively shallow waters of the North Sea; but,although Peter kept a vigilant look out for SOS signals, the air wasremarkably free from radio calls. At intervals he could hear apeculiar buzzing in the ear-pieces--a noise that he knew from previousexperience to be distant rain.

  A shadow darkened the cabin. Peter turned his head and saw Anstey, theThird Officer, standing in the doorway. He was prepared for the storm,his head being partly concealed by a sou'wester, while a long oilskincoat and a pair of india-rubber boots completed the visible portion ofhis rig-out.

  "Hello, Sparks!" he exclaimed. "How goes it? Anything doing?"

  "Absolutely nothing," replied Mostyn. "Everything's as quiet as theproverbial lamb. I suppose----"

  He broke off suddenly.

  Anstey made some remark, but the Wireless Officer took not theslightest notice. Already he had snatched up a pencil and wasscribbling upon the ever-ready pad.

  It was a TTT or urgent warning signal. Mostyn wrote it downmechanically without knowing its import, but the Third Officer, lookingover Peter's shoulder, made a grimace as he deciphered the other'sscrawl:

  "CQ de GNF--TTT--mine warning--S.S. two-step reports 1630 sighting twomines, lat. 53 deg. 20' 15", long. 1 deg. 5' 30" east stop mines just awashbarnacle covered apparently connected by hawser--end of message."

  "By Jove!" exclaimed Anstey. "Just our luck. Right in our course, an'it's my blessed watch."