The Wireless Officer Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  A Quiet Trick

  Some of the incidents in this chapter are based upon actual factsrecorded in _The Signal_. The author takes this opportunity to expresshis thanks to the editor of that journal for permission, readilygranted, to make use of certain incidents here recorded.

  Mostyn made his way to the wireless-cabin to find his two satellitesstanding by according to orders.

  "Well, all right now?" asked Peter solicitously.

  "Yes, sir," was the reply in unison.

  "What did you have for dinner in your mess?" pursued Mostyn, addressingPartridge.

  "B'iled mutton, sir; and it weren't 'arf good."

  "Not 'arf," corroborated the other bird. "An' b'iled peas an'dumplin's an' orl that."

  "Right-o!" rejoined Peter briskly. "That shows you're both as fit asfiddles. We start sea routine at 10 p.m. You'll take on till fourbells, Partridge----"

  "Say, wot about my dinner?" objected the Watcher.

  "Dinner?" repeated Mostyn, failing to grasp the reason of hissubordinate's objection. "What's that got to do with it?"

  "Dinner's at two bells, sir."

  The Wireless Officer suppressed a desire to laugh.

  "Four bells in the middle watch," explained Peter.

  "That's 2 a.m. Surely to goodness you didn't expect to do a fourteenhours' trick? Plover, you relieve Partridge at four bells and carry ontill I take over at eight bells--that's eight o'clock in the morning,not noon or four in the afternoon," he added caustically. "Got that?"

  Yes, Messrs. Partridge and Plover had got that part all right.

  "Now," continued Peter, "you know your duties. On no account touch thetransmitter. Call me if there's any real need for it; and, don'tforget, if you fall asleep on watch there'll be trouble."

  Mostyn dismissed his assistants and donned the telephones. The _WestBarbican_ had weighed and was creeping cautiously down London River,over which the fog still hung as thickly as ever.

  He anticipated a busy time. There were sure to be passengers whowanted to send messages at belated hours; urgent radiograms from shorestations, and radiograms that weren't urgent, were bound to be comingin; while, in addition, he had to deal with calls from ships andstations in the vicinity, and look out for time signals, weatherreports, and possibly SOS and TTT warnings. Otherwise, save onapproaching or departing from a port, the operator's work is light andat sea often approaching boredom.

  Ten p.m. found the _West Barbican_ rounding the North Foreland. Shehad now increased speed to nine knots, the weather becoming clearer.Hitherto, her passage down the river as far as the Edinburgh Lightshiphad been perforce at a painful crawl of four to five knots, with hersiren blaring incessantly.

  Mostyn had seen nothing of the passengers after their arrival. Beingon duty he had missed dinner in the saloon. Not that he had missedmuch from a spectacular point of view, for most of the passengers wereabsent from that meal. A good many, in fact, would fail to put in anappearance at meals for several days, giving the hard-worked stewardsand stewardesses a strenuous time in consequence. The latter were atit already, judging by the frequent popping of soda-water-bottle corksand cries of varying intensity and vehemence for "steward".

  The tindal had gone for'ard and rung four bells. Peter, with thetelephones still on, waited for his relief. Five minutes passed. Hewas beginning to think that the bird had played him false again, whenMaster Partridge's hobnailed boots were heard clattering on thebrass-treaded ladder.

  "Quite ready, boss," he observed genially.

  Mostyn, without a word, handed him the telephones, repressing thedesire to tick him off for unpunctuality. Then, waiting until theWatcher had adjusted the ear-pieces to his broad head, he wishedPartridge "good night".

  "Shall I turn in all standing?" he asked himself, as he switched on thelight and surveyed his bunk. It was a bitterly cold night, for, withthe partial dispersal of the fog, a cold nor'easter had sprung up. "Ahundred to one I'll be routed out. Thank goodness we'll soon be in theTropics!"

  It did not take Peter long to turn in. For some minutes he lay awakethinking. He was far from easy in his mind concerning the Watcher onduty. In a congested waterway like the Straits of Dover and theEnglish Channel--particularly in the vicinity of the Downs and off St.Catherine's--wireless messages of great importance to the safety of theship and her passengers and crew might be sent; but would Partridge bealert enough to warn the _West Barbican's_ operator? Supposing thebird fell asleep on watch? It was all very well for Mostyn to say thatif a disaster should occur it would be put down to the fault of thesystem. That was not good enough for a conscientious fellow like Peter.

  He resolved, in spite of his weariness, to make periodical visits tothe wireless-cabin.

  At 10.30 p.m. he cautiously approached the cabin; not with the idea ofeavesdropping but merely to see if Watcher Partridge were on the alert.If he were, Peter meant to withdraw without disturbing him. If he werenot--Peter smiled grimly.

  Thrusting his feet into his rubber boots (on principle Mostyn alwayshad sea-boots a size larger than he wore with shore-going kit) theWireless Officer made his way to the cabin. A glance through theclosed scuttle showed him that Partridge was wide awake, and that hestill wore the telephones. Satisfied, he began to retrace his stepsand encountered Preston tracking along the alleyway.

  Dick Preston was still Acting Chief, the Chief Officer having failed tojoin the ship at Gravesend. Consequently the _West Barbican_ was oneexecutive officer short.

  "Hello there!" exclaimed Preston. "Thought it was your watch below,Sparks. What's up: developed insomnia?"

  Mostyn told him the reason for his visit to the bridge.

  "That's all right, young fellah-me-lad," declared the Acting Chief."You turn in. I know you've had a pretty sticky time. I'll keep aneye on yon greenhorn and see that he doesn't drop asleep on his perch.Trust me for that."

  Five minutes later Peter was sound asleep.

  Suddenly he was aroused by a hand grasping his shoulder. Only halfawake the Wireless Officer sat up in his bunk, narrowly avoidingcollision with the cork-cemented beam overhead.

  "TTT, sir!" bellowed an excited voice.

  For the present Peter was still hovering on the border-line 'twixtslumber and wakefulness. Somehow he had the idea in his brain that hewas once more on board the S.S. _Donibristle_, and the officers'steward had brought him a cup of tea before going on watch.

  "No, dash it all!" he expostulated. "I don't want tea now."

  "TTT, sir! TTT!" repeated the disturber of Mostyn's peace.

  Then Peter realized the situation. It was Watcher Partridge, almostfalling over himself in his anxiety to proclaim the fact that at lasthe had had a call through of an important nature.

  Tumbling out of his bunk, Peter slipped into his bridge coat, andhurried to the wireless-cabin, the Watcher, puffing and blowing,following hard on his heels.

  Picking up the 'phones, Mostyn listened for a few seconds. Then hereplaced the ear-pieces on the table.

  "You'll have to do better than that next time," he observedcaustically. "That's not TTT--nothing like it. It's North Foreland onour starboard quarter calling CQ. Tuning in, most likely."

  Returning to his bunk, Peter noticed that it was now 11.15 p.m. Therewas still a chance of a good night's rest, he reflected.

  At a quarter to twelve he was called again to receive time signals.Forty-five minutes later he was aroused to call for wireless orders forthe ship. On this occasion nothing was forthcoming, so back along thenow familiar alleyway he hurried to his sleeping-cabin.

  It seemed as if Peter had been asleep only a few minutes when there wasa terrific hammering at his door. Sitting up, Mostyn felt for theelectric light switch. He found it easily enough. There was ametallic snap--but the cabin was not flooded with light. Something hadgone wrong with the bulb, he reflected, as he shouted to the disturberwithout to come in.

  The door opened. There appeared the pe
rspiring face of Crawford, theengineer of the watch, his features thrown into weird relief by theguttering gleam of an oil hand-lamp.

  "Hey, laddie!" he exclaimed in sepulchral tones. "Yon Watcher,he's----"

  Words failed the Second Engineer.

  "I'm awa' to sort yon," he added, and, as if no further explanationwere necessary, bolted precipitately.

  Imagining that nothing short of a vision of Partridge grilling on themain switch would meet his gaze, Peter doubled to the wireless-cabin.The alleyway was in pitch darkness. He collided violently with theThird Engineer, who, summoned from his slumbers, was making tracks forthe engine-room.

  On the bridge the officer of the watch was shouting to the serang tobring up the emergency oil-lamps. Every fuse in the ship had beenblown out, and consequently not only the internal lighting had failedbut the electric masthead and side lights had refused duty. With the_West Barbican_ proceeding down Channel at fifteen knots on a darknight the possibilities of a disastrous collision were great, until theemergency lights were rigged up and the ship brought back on hercourse, since the binnacle lamp had failed with the other electriclights.

  A strong smell of burning gutta-percha and ebonite greeted Peter as hegained the vicinity of the wireless-cabin. Outside stood Partridge andPlover, the latter about to take over the watch. Both were horriblyscared, and no wonder, for upon striking a match Mostyn found thereason for all the trouble.

  Watcher Partridge, on turning over to his opposite number, had hung thetelephones on the main switch. He was deeply surprised and not alittle pained when there was a miniature Brocks' display inside thecabin, both ear-pieces of the 'phones burning out and emitting mostnauseating fumes, while every fuse on board had been blown out, causinga complete breakdown of the electric-light system.

  After explaining matters to the angry Old Man, who was, figuratively,hunting for the scalp of the luckless Partridge, Mostyn set to work torectify the share of the damage that came within his province. It tookhim the best part of an hour to replace the defective main switch by anew one, connect new telephones, and overhaul the set.

  Then, back once more to his bunk, Peter realized that less than fivehours remained before he took over the watch. It was now 3.15 p.m.

  At 4.45 the engineer of the watch interrupted Mostyn's dreams. Onceagain the fuses had blown out, the cause being traced to thewireless-cabin.

  The Wireless Officer stumbled across Master Plover at the foot of thebridge ladder. The Watcher was nursing his foot, and makinginarticulate noises that denoted pain. The sole of his left boot wasmissing, together with the fearsome array of hobnails that used to playa tattoo upon the brass treads of the ladders.

  Master Plover could give no coherent account of what had happened.

  "I was sittin' there as quiet as a mouse a-listenin' in," he whimpered,"when I found myself chucked orf me chair right through the blinkin'door. S'elp me, I didn't do nothin' to the gadgets."

  Peter guessed rightly as to what had actually happened. The Watcherwasn't watching. In other words, he had been dozing, and in asomnolent state had unconsciously placed his iron-shod boot upon thelong-suffering main switch.

  Making good defects, Mostyn managed to soothe the still highly nervousPlover into a state of tractability. Till a quarter to eight the jadedWireless Officer did enjoy an uninterrupted sleep, then to be awakenedby Mahmed's cheerful announcement: "Char, sahib."

  Ten minutes later Peter took on. As he heard the dot-and-carry-onepatter of the relieved Watcher's solitary boot, he smiled to himselfand reflected that, although the work of a wireless officer is at timesa strenuous one, it has its humorous side and is not withoutcompensations.