during the rest of the day the west barbican rolled before the following wind, to the no small discomfort of the majority of the passengers. it was a cold wind, too, and few of the passengers who had withstood the attacks of mal de mer ventured on deck.
"have you found out who that loud-voiced female passenger is?" inquired peter of anstey, as the two paced the almost deserted boat-deck.
he put the question with ulterior motives, masking the main point of his curiosity.
"that queer specimen?" rejoined the third officer. "no, i haven't, beyond the fact that she's a mrs. shallop, and her husband, that red-faced man, is a horse-dealer, who made a pile in the war by stopping at home and selling broken-down hacks to government inspectors who hardly knew the bow of a gee-gee from the stern. yes, we're going to have some fun out of mrs. shallop before long, old son. she's had a row with the purser, two with the chief stewardess, and a few with the stewards thrown in as make-weights."
"what about?' asked mostyn.
"goodness knows," replied anstey. "the purser was talking to the old man about it after breakfast. she's rather got on the poor chap's nerves. apparently she's an imaginary grievance that they don't treat her like a 'lydy', so she's been ramming it down their throats that she's a naval officer's daughter—a captain's daughter."
"well, isn't she?" asked peter.
the third officer sniffed scornfully. evidently mrs. shallop had fallen foul of him already.
"naval captain's daughter!" he exclaimed. "might be. sub-lieutenants become captains, or at least some of them do; and subs have been known to do rash acts when they are young. but when a woman, whose accent, manners, and grammar are decidedly rocky, goes out of her way to assert that she's a naval officer's daughter, well then, snap goes the last thread of your credulity. my dear old thing, we're going to have some fun this trip, so get busy."
"who is the girl—the girl who was almost the last on board?" asked mostyn, broaching the long-deferred question at last. "has she no friends on the ship?"
"goodness only knows!" ejaculated the third officer fervently. "she's a miss baird, and i think she's by herself. we'll find out in due course. hark! yes, at it again! it's poor old selwyn getting it this time."
through a partly open skylight came the now familiar voice of mrs. shallop, almost ear-piercing in its intensity and raucous in its tone. mingled with the strident outbursts of the woman came short, incompleted protests from the doctor, who apparently was not able to hold his own.
"at it again," reiterated anstey. "she's trying the naval captain stunt on the doc. i guess—by jove! wait till she tackles the old man."
just then dr. selwyn appeared on the boat-deck. he was a dapper little man with the reputation of being a skilful and rapid surgeon. he could have commanded a large practice in town, but, preferring the country to city life, was content with a moderate income and plenty of hard work in congenial surroundings. in manner he was affable, and possessed an old-world courtesy that made him extremely popular. he was mild in speech, and rarely lost his temper; but when he came on deck it was obvious to both peter and anstey that he was labouring under suppressed anger.
"morning, doc," was the third officer's greeting. "up for a breather?"
selwyn braced his shoulders and gazed out to starboard. nine miles to the nor'ard the white cliffs of the isle of wight stood out clearly against the dark grey clouds.
"yes," he agreed. "a breather. had a fairly stiff time with sundry patients. sort of thing one must expect in the early days of a voyage. what's that land over there?"
"st. catherine's," replied anstey. "if it's clear enough we may sight the isle of purbeck, but i doubt it. so take your last look at old england for a while, doctor."
the three men remained in conversation for several minutes, but anstey failed hopelessly in his attempt to "draw" selwyn with reference to his encounter with the "tartar".
"i'd like to see your wireless-cabin," remarked the doctor.
"certainly," agreed mostyn. "as a matter of fact i'm about to take over the watch."
anstey, to whom the wireless-room was no novelty, "sheered off" and shaped a course for the smoking-room, while peter and the doctor made their way for'ard to the former's post of duty.
suddenly peter stopped. from the open door of the wireless-cabin came the deep bass voice of captain antonius bullock. he was "letting rip" vigorously, and there was anger in his tone. then, trembling like a leaf, watcher plover appeared.
the old man, paying an unexpected visit, had found the watcher fast asleep.
already the skipper was "fed up to the back teeth" (to use his own words) with the two birds. coming on top of the disconcerting incidents of the night, when both watchers had severally dislocated the electric-lighting service, plover's delinquency, serious enough in any circumstances, completely upset the old man's equilibrium.
by this time he was fully convinced that the watcher system was rotten to the core. on his previous voyage captain bullock had fallen foul of his wireless officers, but that was over technical matters. otherwise he had had no cause for complaint, and, generally speaking, the relations between skipper and radiographers were harmonious if not exactly cordial. now, thanks to a misguided attempt at economy, the old man could put no dependence upon mostyn's assistants, and, in fact, he was inclined to blame peter for not exercising more supervision over his subordinates.
which was rough on peter. in captain bullock's present mood it was useless to point out how many times during his "watch below" mostyn had been called to the wireless-cabin. the fact remained that partridge and plover had been signed on for the trip. even if the old man wished he could not land them this side of las palmas, and so for the present peter must make the best of things, trusting that in due course the two incompetents might be "licked into shape".
as soon as captain bullock had retired to his cabin, peter took over the watch, selwyn standing by as the wireless officer made the usual tests.
"now you can listen in, doctor," announced mostyn, after he had produced and connected up a supplementary pair of 'phones. "there's not much doing, i fancy."
selwyn adjusted the ear-pieces, while peter, similarly equipped, stood by pencil in hand in order to give his companion some inkling of any stray message.
"there's something!" exclaimed the doctor. he was excited. as cool as the proverbial cucumber when he was performing a deft and rapid operation upon which human life depended, he was now as delighted as a child with a new toy, when he heard the high-pitched buzzing sound that indicated a message in transit.
"niton," explained peter. "isle of wight station. she's calling up—no—half a minute."
mostyn's pencil was moving rapidly as he recorded the message.
"cut out o.m. sos signals out: stop sending."
then almost immediately after came a plaintive wail from a ship:
"please repeat whole of preamble and words after 'overcoat'."
"explain, please," asked selwyn.
mostyn, busy altering the wave length in an attempt to pick up the sos, did not reply. explanations could come later.
a vessel fifty miles away was trying to obtain a repetition of a message from niton. part of it she had received, but her operator was doubtful about the preamble and the words following overcoat. it was a purely private message, of no interest to anyone save the sender. niton was trying to make the operator stop sending, as there was an sos message coming from somewhere. the ship's operator for some reason was persisting in his inquiries for the words following overcoat. in addition a distant high-power station was chipping in, and there were also "atmospherics" of high frequency.
out of this chaotic "jam" mostyn was trying to isolate the urgent wireless call for aid.
almost deafened by the exaggerated reverberations of the ear-pieces as mostyn pursued his efforts to tune in, selwyn watched with unabated interest the wireless officer's deft manipulations of the set. greek the doctor understood, but this was something far beyond his ken.
at last. faintly, almost indistinguishable from the cackling of the atmospherics, came the despairing sos. it emanated from a vessel in dire distress. peter knew that she was using her comparatively low emergency set. that indicated the fact that her ordinary sending apparatus had broken down.
"sos. s.s. passionflower 17 miles s. by w. of owers. boiler explosion, ship making water rapidly; pumps inadequate."
"message received," sent mostyn, then handing selwyn the paper on which he had written the fateful message, "captain, please," he said.
the doctor removed his telephones and departed on his errand. meanwhile mostyn was listening in for other vessels in the vicinity replying to the general and urgent call for aid.
in the chartroom the old man and preston held a hasty conference. only an hour previously the west barbican must have crossed the track of the disabled passionflower, within a few miles of her. now a distance of between fifteen and twenty miles separated the two vessels, and to render assistance the former vessel would have to retrace her course. at fifteen or fifteen and a half knots it would take her more than an hour to close with the passionflower. if she did, would she be the first on the scene?
both the old man and the acting chief officer doubted it. this part of the channel was a busy one. not only was there the "up and down" traffic, but a large number of vessels was plying between southampton and the normandy ports. in addition, the passionflower was within an hour's run of portsmouth, where there were government tugs and destroyers ready to render aid.
the navigating officer's doubts were confirmed when mostyn appeared with a report that already five vessels were proceeding to the rescue of the passionflower. so the west barbican held on her course.
a little later peter, who had contrived to "cut out" the plaintive and persistent inquiry as to the words following overcoat, got into touch with the p. & o. liner nowabunda. from her he learnt that the passionflower had been sending out her sos for an hour before the west barbican had picked up the distress call.
either watcher plover had been asleep for some time before being awakened by the skipper, or else his untrained ear had failed to detect the low notes of the distressed vessel's emergency set. the actual result was the same. the west barbican, although nearest to the passionflower when she first began the call for aid, had passed by unheedingly. had she proceeded to the spot she could have towed the crippled vessel into portsmouth or southampton with very little difficulty.
this is what the portsmouth tug sampson did, the passionflower being dry-docked just in time to save her from foundering. in the admiralty courts the salvage earned the sampson ￡11,000, and this the west barbican lost simply and solely through watcher plover's incapacity.
