The Wireless Officer Part 4

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

The _West Barbican_ was not belying her reputation for rolling. In the wireless cabin, between forty and fifty feet above the sea, everything of a movable nature was slithering to and fro with each long-drawn oscillation of the ship. More than once Peter had to grip the table to prevent his chair sliding bodily across the deck. The wind was thrumming through the shrouds, and whistling through the still open scuttles, while the aerial vibrated like a tuning fork in the shrieking blast.

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 was remarkably free from radio calls. At intervals he could hear a peculiar buzzing in the ear-pieces--a noise that he knew from previous experience to be distant rain.

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

"h.e.l.lo, Sparks!" he exclaimed. "How goes it? Anything doing?"

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

He broke off suddenly.

Anstey made some remark, but the Wireless Officer took not the slightest notice. Already he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up a pencil and was scribbling upon the ever-ready pad.

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

"CQ de GNF--TTT--mine warning--S.S. two-step reports 1630 sighting two mines, lat. 53 20' 15", long. 1 5' 30" east stop mines just awash barnacle 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."

CHAPTER VI

A Night of Peril

Making his way to the chartroom the Third Officer "laid off" the position of the mines. His rough guess proved to be remarkably accurate. According to the position given, the source of danger was only a few miles from the Outer Dowsing Lightship, and the _West Barbican_ had to pa.s.s close to the Outer Dowsing on her course to Brocklington.

Anstey's next step was to inform the Captain. The Old Man, a sailor to the backbone, was in the chart-house in a trice, where, after a brief but careful survey of tide-tables and current-drift charts, he was able to determine the approximate position of the floating mines when the ship would be in the immediate vicinity of the light-vessel. Allowing for the set and strength of the tide and the drift caused by the wind, between the time the mines were first sighted and the time when the _West Barbican_ entered the danger-zone, he was able to a.s.sert that, if the ship's original course were maintained, she would pa.s.s at least ten miles to the east'ard of those most undesirable derelicts.

"I think we're O.K., Mr. Anstey," he remarked. "Besides, for all we know the mines might have been exploded by this time. Those naval Johnnies are pretty smart at that sort of thing. Well, carry on. Let me know if there are any supplementary warnings."

The Old Man returned to his cabin, and was soon deep in the pages of a novel; while Anstey resumed his trick, thanking his lucky stars that, unlike Mostyn's, his watch was not indefinitely prolonged through the shortcomings of two sea-sick "birds".

Just as darkness set in, the gale was at its height. Clouds of spray flew over the bridge as the old hooker wallowed and nosed her way through the steep, crested waves, for the wind had backed still more and was now dead in her teeth.

Even in the wireless-cabin the noise was terrific. The boats in davits were creaking and groaning, as they strained against their gripes with each disconcerting jerk of the ship. Spray in sheets rattled upon the tightly stretched boat-covers like volleys of small shot, while the monotonous clank-clank of the steam steering-gear, as the _secuni_ (native quartermaster) strove to keep the ship within half a degree of her course, added to the turmoil that penetrated the four steel walls of the cabin.

Vainly Peter tried to concentrate his thoughts on a book. Yet, in spite of the fact that he was wearing telephones clipped to his ears, the hideous clamour refused to be suppressed. Reading under these conditions was out of the question. He put away the book and remained keeping his weary watch, valiantly combating an almost overwhelming desire for sleep.

Suddenly, with a terrific crash, something hit the deck of the flying-bridge immediately above the wireless-cabin. For a moment Peter was under the impression that one of the foremost derricks had carried away and crashed athwart the roof of the cabin.

Soon he discovered the actual cause. The stout wire halliard taking the for'ard end of the aerial had parted, and the two wires, spreaders, and insulators had fallen on the boat-deck.

Removing the now useless telephones and donning his pilot coat, Mostyn went out into the open, glad of the slight protection from the cutting wind afforded by the canvas bridge-screens and dodgers. Already lascars, in obedience to the shrill shouts of the serang and _tindal_ (native petty officer), had swarmed upon the bridge ready to clear away the debris.

Accompanied by the bos'un Mostyn made a hasty examination of the damage. The aerials had fortunately fallen clear of the funnel, and, although the for'ard insulators had been shattered, the drag of the wires had kept the after ones from being dashed against the main topmast.

It was "up to" the Wireless Officer to repair and set up the aerials as soon as possible.

While the lascars were clearing away a spare halliard, Peter began to replace the broken spreader and its insulators. Cut by the keen wind, drenched with the rain and spray, and chilled to the bone in spite of his heavy pilot coat, Mostyn struggled with refractory wires until his benumbed hands were almost raw and hardly capable of getting a grip on the pliers.

It was a hit-or-miss operation. In the circ.u.mstances he had no means of testing the insularity of the aerial. He could only hope that, when once more aloft, it would function properly.

With a sigh of relief he completed the final splice and turned to the serang.

"Heave away!" he ordered.

The man gave a shrill order. Instantly the hitherto pa.s.sive line of lascars handling the slack of the rope broke into activity. Gradually the aerial tautened, as a score of brown-faced, thin-limbed natives tailed on to the hauling part of the wire halliard. Quickly at first, then with gradually diminishing speed, the double line of wire rose from the deck and disappeared from view in the spray-laden darkness of the night, and presently the serang reported that the aerial was close up.

Mostyn returned to his post. Glancing at the clock he noted with astonishment that the task had taken him exactly an hour. Then, replacing the telephones to his ears, he endeavoured to thaw his benumbed fingers in front of the electric-light globe.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed in monotonous inactivity. The appearance of the devoted Mahmed with a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches--most of the tea was spilt, and the sandwiches were abundantly salted and moistened in the process of mounting the bridge--proved a welcome diversion.

Just before midnight a second disaster occurred to the aerial. This time the double wires parted, practically simultaneously, about midway between the masts. This point, being almost immediately above the funnel, is always a fruitful source of trouble, owing to the comparatively rapid deterioration set up by the gases from the furnaces.

Repairs, even of a makeshift nature, were for the present out of the question. It was impossible to send men aloft to a.s.sist in setting up the wires. No human being could hold on in such a gale, far less perform the intricate task of reeving fresh halliards and wires. All Mostyn could do was to make all secure in the wireless-cabin. He was then free to turn in and enjoy a few hours' rest, until the ship's arrival at Brocklington Dock should afford an opportunity for repairing the damage.

Peter was exchanging a few words with the officer of the watch when the attention of both was attracted by a flash.

"Distress signal!" exclaimed Peter.

"Not vivid enough," rejoined his companion "Might be a rocket from one of the Dowsings--the Inner, most likely. If----"

Another flash, faintly visible through the murk, interrupted Anstey's words. For several seconds both men listened intently for the double detonation. None was audible. Distance and the howling of the elements had completely deadened the reports.

Even as they looked a steady pin-p.r.i.c.k of reddish light appeared on exactly the same bearing as the previous flashes. For perhaps fifteen seconds it remained constant; then momentarily it grew in volume until a trailing column of ruddy flame, fringed by a wind-torn cloud of smoke, illuminated the distant horizon.

Bringing his night-gla.s.ses to bear upon the source of the flames the Third Officer studied the scene. Then, replacing the binoculars, he shouted to his companion:

"Vessel ablaze from end to end. Tanker, I guess. I'm off to call the Old Man."

Captain Bullock was quickly out of his cabin. He had waited merely to put on his bridge-coat over his pyjamas and thrust his bare feet into a huge pair of sea-boots. He was one of those powerfully framed, tough men for whom the sudden change of temperature had no terrors and few discomforts.

Shouting a hoa.r.s.e yet unmistakable order to the sec.u.m at the wheel, and ringing down to the engine-room for increased speed, Captain Bullock waited until the _West Barbican_ had steadied on her new course, then he turned to the Third Officer.

"She's a tanker, right enough, Anstey. Got it properly in the neck.

See that the boats are cleared away, although I'm afraid there's precious little chance of using them in this sea. I'm off to shift into thicker togs."

In five minutes the Old Man returned. By this time the _West Barbican_, making a good twelve and a half knots against the head wind and sea, had got within a couple of miles of the doomed vessel.

Already she was well down by the head, and blazing furiously from stem to stern. To windward of her the seas were breaking heavily against the hull of the burning ship. Already she had lost way and was drifting broadside on to the wind. Cascades of water pouring over her listing deck had no effect in quenching the flames but merely raised enormous clouds of steam to mingle with the flame-tinged, oily smoke.

To leeward the sea was calm for almost a mile, owing to the liberation of the oil. And not only was it calm: it was a placid lake of fire, as the floating, highly inflammable coating of petroleum burnt furiously in half a dozen detached areas.

"See any signs of a boat?" demanded the Old Man.