The Wireless Officer

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER VI

  A Night of Peril

  Making his way to the chartroom the Third Officer "laid off" theposition of the mines. His rough guess proved to be remarkablyaccurate. According to the position given, the source of danger wasonly a few miles from the Outer Dowsing Lightship, and the _WestBarbican_ had to pass close to the Outer Dowsing on her course toBrocklington.

  Anstey's next step was to inform the Captain. The Old Man, a sailor tothe backbone, was in the chart-house in a trice, where, after a briefbut careful survey of tide-tables and current-drift charts, he was ableto determine the approximate position of the floating mines when theship would be in the immediate vicinity of the light-vessel. Allowingfor 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 assert that, ifthe ship's original course were maintained, she would pass at least tenmiles to the east'ard of those most undesirable derelicts.

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

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

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

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

  Vainly Peter tried to concentrate his thoughts on a book. Yet, inspite of the fact that he was wearing telephones clipped to his ears,the hideous clamour refused to be suppressed. Reading under theseconditions was out of the question. He put away the book and remainedkeeping his weary watch, valiantly combating an almost overwhelmingdesire for sleep.

  Suddenly, with a terrific crash, something hit the deck of theflying-bridge immediately above the wireless-cabin. For a moment Peterwas under the impression that one of the foremost derricks had carriedaway and crashed athwart the roof of the cabin.

  Soon he discovered the actual cause. The stout wire halliard takingthe 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, Mostynwent out into the open, glad of the slight protection from the cuttingwind afforded by the canvas bridge-screens and dodgers. Alreadylascars, in obedience to the shrill shouts of the serang and _tindal_(native petty officer), had swarmed upon the bridge ready to clear awaythe debris.

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

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

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

  It was a hit-or-miss operation. In the circumstances he had no meansof testing the insularity of the aerial. He could only hope that, whenonce more aloft, it would function properly.

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

  "Heave away!" he ordered.

  The man gave a shrill order. Instantly the hitherto passive line oflascars handling the slack of the rope broke into activity. Graduallythe aerial tautened, as a score of brown-faced, thin-limbed nativestailed on to the hauling part of the wire halliard. Quickly at first,then with gradually diminishing speed, the double line of wire rosefrom the deck and disappeared from view in the spray-laden darkness ofthe night, and presently the serang reported that the aerial was closeup.

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

  Hour after hour passed in monotonous inactivity. The appearance of thedevoted Mahmed with a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches--most of thetea was spilt, and the sandwiches were abundantly salted and moistenedin the process of mounting the bridge--proved a welcome diversion.

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

  Repairs, even of a makeshift nature, were for the present out of thequestion. It was impossible to send men aloft to assist in setting upthe wires. No human being could hold on in such a gale, far lessperform the intricate task of reeving fresh halliards and wires. AllMostyn could do was to make all secure in the wireless-cabin. He wasthen free to turn in and enjoy a few hours' rest, until the ship'sarrival at Brocklington Dock should afford an opportunity for repairingthe damage.

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

  "Distress signal!" exclaimed Peter.

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

  Another flash, faintly visible through the murk, interrupted Anstey'swords. For several seconds both men listened intently for the doubledetonation. None was audible. Distance and the howling of theelements had completely deadened the reports.

  Even as they looked a steady pin-prick of reddish light appeared onexactly the same bearing as the previous flashes. For perhaps fifteenseconds it remained constant; then momentarily it grew in volume untila trailing column of ruddy flame, fringed by a wind-torn cloud ofsmoke, illuminated the distant horizon.

  Bringing his night-glasses to bear upon the source of the flames theThird Officer studied the scene. Then, replacing the binoculars, heshouted to his companion:

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

  Captain Bullock was quickly out of his cabin. He had waited merely toput on his bridge-coat over his pyjamas and thrust his bare feet into ahuge pair of sea-boots. He was one of those powerfully framed, toughmen for whom the sudden change of temperature had no terrors and fewdiscomforts.

  Shouting a hoarse yet unmistakable order to the secum at the wheel, andringing down to the engine-room for increased speed, Captain Bullockwaited until the _West Barbican_ had steadied on her new course, thenhe 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'sprecious little chance of using them in this sea. I'm off to shiftinto thicker togs."

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

  Already she was well down by the head,
and blazing furiously from stemto stern. To windward of her the seas were breaking heavily againstthe hull of the burning ship. Already she had lost way and wasdrifting broadside on to the wind. Cascades of water pouring over herlisting deck had no effect in quenching the flames but merely raisedenormous clouds of steam to mingle with the flame-tinged, oily smoke.To leeward the sea was calm for almost a mile, owing to the liberationof the oil. And not only was it calm: it was a placid lake of fire, asthe floating, highly inflammable coating of petroleum burnt furiouslyin half a dozen detached areas.

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

  "No, sir," replied Anstey.

  "Thought not," was the rejoinder. "A boat would be swamped towind'ard, and burnt to a cinder to lee'ard. Doubt even whether thepoor fellows had a chance to lower away---- What's that on our portbow? By heavens, Anstey, it's a boat!"

  Both men levelled their binoculars. Mostyn, keeping discreetly in thebackground, made use of the chartroom telescope.

  Silhouetted against the glare was a ship's boat. There were people inher, but they were making no apparent effort to draw away from thedanger zone. Rising and falling on the long, oily swell, the frailcraft was midway between two patches of fiercely burning oil thatthreatened to converge and destroy the boat and its human freight.

  "We'll have to risk it, Anstey," decided the Old Man, as he rang forhalf speed. "I only hope the lascars'll stick it. I'm going to takethe old hooker between those patches of burning oil. We'll try towingthe boat clear. If that fails we'll have to lower one of our ownboats. Pass the word for the serang to stand by to heave a line, andthen give an eye to the _secuni_. If he runs the ship into either ofthose patches it'll be a serious matter."

  "Ay, ay, sir."

  Ringing for stop, Captain Bullock knew that there was sufficient wayupon the ship to enable her to close the boat without the former beingout of control. Allowance had also to be made for the wind, which,owing to the alteration of course, was now two points on the starboardbow.

  The heat was now quite perceptible, while at intervals wisps of black,suffocating smoke swept to lee'ard, completely enveloping the _WestBarbican_. On either side of her were expanses of burning oil,bubbling and popping in a series of miniature explosions, as the heatedwater beneath the oil vapourized and blew out through the coveringlayer of burning viscous liquid.

  Right in the centre of the steadily decreasing avenue of unlighted oillay the boat. Two cables' lengths beyond, and now a glowing mass ofwhite-hot metal, lay the burning tanker, awash for'ard and with herpropeller showing clear above the agitated water.

  Admirably manoeuvred and conned by the Old Man, the _West Barbican_drew near the tanker's boat. Slowly she passed within heavingdistance. The now excited lascars heaved lines, several of which fellshort. Two at least dropped athwart the boat, but no attempt was madeon the part of her crew to secure them. The luckless men were eitherdead or else rendered insensible by the hot, suffocating air.

  The ship had now lost way. Her head was beginning to pay off. It wasnecessary to go ahead in order to regain steerage way; but, at the sametime, if the work of rescue were to be consummated, it would benecessary to make use of one of the _West Barbican's_ boats.

  "Lower away!" roared the Old Man.

  At that moment the tanker disappeared beneath the surface. The towerof flame that enveloped her died down to a mere flicker, completelyoutclassed by the glare of a dozen distinct patches of fiercely burningoil.

  The lascars manning the falls hesitated, while their comrades in theboat showed signs of panic. In the confusion they noticed that,unaccountably there was no officer on board the lifeboat.

  Mostyn was one of those men who in moments of danger are prone to actindependently--they simply cannot remain passive spectators when thereis work to be done. It was no business of the Wireless Officer to goaway in the boats. His duty was to stay by the wireless gear. But inthis case Peter knew that he could do nothing in the cabin with theaerial out of action. He could be of use in the boat, to take commandand steady the decidedly "jumpy" Asiatics.

  The overwhelming instinct to bear a hand seized him in an instant.Running aft to where the lifeboat swung outboard he leapt into thestern-sheets, grasped the yoke lines, and shouted to the tindal tolower away. The man, seeing that a sahib was in the boat but notrecognizing who he was, gave the word to the lascars manning the falls,and the boat was lowered rapidly and evenly.

  Mostyn had a momentary vision of the lighted scuttles slipping upwardsas the boat dropped down past the ship's side. Then with a sharp flopthe lifeboat struck the oily surface. Simultaneously the lower blocksof the falls disengaged, and the boat began to drift astern.

  "Give way!" ordered Peter.

  The lascars, trained to obey commands issued in English, acted smartly.With the presence of a sahib in the lifeboat their fears, if notentirely banished, were cloaked by the sense of discipline.

  "Pull starboard; back port."

  The lifeboat turned in almost her own length.

  Already the steadily converging patches of flames justified this order.To turn under the use of the helm alone would bring the boat in contactwith the oil-fired water.

  "Together--way 'nough--in bow."

  In five minutes from the time Peter had taken his place in thestern-sheets the two boats were gunwale to gunwale. In the tanker'swhaler were seven human forms huddled in weird postures, either on thebottom-boards or across the thwarts.

  Whether they were dead or alive Mostyn knew not. All he could do wasto have the seemingly inanimate bodies transhipped, and then return tothe _West Barbican_--if he could.

  Working like men possessed, four of the lascars unceremoniously bundledthe bodies into the lifeboat. Then, pushing off, they resumed theiroars, pulling desperately for the ship, which was now gatheringsternway at a distance of a cable's length.

  For the first time Mostyn realized the extreme gravity of thesituation. The ship was now gathering sternway, drifting rapidly tolee'ard the while. The churning of her propeller had caused a largepatch of burning oil to still further contract the narrow fairwaybetween the ship and the boat.

  Peter knew full well that he and the boat's crew stood less than adog's chance should the fiery sea cut them off. He was also aware ofthe great difficulty of being picked up by the ship, since the latterhad herself to be constantly manoeuvring to avoid contact with thefire. Even if the lifeboat escaped the flames, there arose the dangerof her being crushed by her parent. In that case there would be littleor no chance of swimming in the thick layer of oil that had not as yetbecome ignited.

  It was touch and go. Dazzled by the glare, partly stifled by the thicksmoke, and scorched by the hot, raging wind, Peter all but lost hisbearings. A momentary dispersal of the smoke showed him the hull ofthe _West Barbican_ less than four boats' lengths away.

  "Boat oars!"

  The now thoroughly scared lascars obeyed very hurriedly. The bowmangrasped and engaged the for'ard falls, pulping one of his fingers inthe operation. Almost simultaneously the lower block of the afterfalls was hooked on, and with a disconcerting jerk the lifeboat roseclear of the water.

  Only by a few seconds had she won through. Before the boat was hoistedhome the sea beneath her was covered with crackling, spluttering flames.