CHAPTER X
The Unheeded SOS
During the rest of the day the _West Barbican_ rolled before thefollowing wind, to the no small discomfort of the majority of thepassengers. It was a cold wind, too, and few of the passengers who hadwithstood the attacks of _mal de mer_ ventured on deck.
"Have you found out who that loud-voiced female passenger is?" inquiredPeter of Anstey, as the two paced the almost deserted boat-deck.
He put the question with ulterior motives, masking the main point ofhis curiosity.
"That queer specimen?" rejoined the Third Officer. "No, I haven't,beyond the fact that she's a Mrs. Shallop, and her husband, thatred-faced man, is a horse-dealer, who made a pile in the war bystopping at home and selling broken-down hacks to Government inspectorswho hardly knew the bow of a gee-gee from the stern. Yes, we're goingto have some fun out of Mrs. Shallop before long, old son. She's had arow with the purser, two with the chief stewardess, and a few with thestewards thrown in as make-weights."
"What about?' asked Mostyn.
"Goodness knows," replied Anstey. "The purser was talking to the OldMan about it after breakfast. She's rather got on the poor chap'snerves. Apparently she's an imaginary grievance that they don't treather like a 'lydy', so she's been ramming it down their throats thatshe's a naval officer's daughter--a captain's daughter."
"Well, isn't she?" asked Peter.
The Third Officer sniffed scornfully. Evidently Mrs. Shallop hadfallen foul of him already.
"Naval captain's daughter!" he exclaimed. "Might be. Sub-lieutenantsbecome captains, or at least some of them do; and subs have been knownto 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 assertthat she's a naval officer's daughter, well then, snap goes the lastthread of your credulity. My dear old thing, we're going to have somefun this trip, so get busy."
"Who is the girl--the girl who was almost the last on board?" askedMostyn, broaching the long-deferred question at last. "Has she nofriends on the ship?"
"Goodness only knows!" ejaculated the Third Officer fervently. "She'sa Miss Baird, and I think she's by herself. We'll find out in duecourse. Hark! Yes, at it again! It's poor old Selwyn getting it thistime."
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 tohold his own.
"At it again," reiterated Anstey. "She's trying the naval captainstunt on the doc. I guess--by Jove! Wait till she tackles the OldMan."
Just then Dr. Selwyn appeared on the boat-deck. He was a dapper littleman with the reputation of being a skilful and rapid surgeon. He couldhave commanded a large practice in town, but, preferring the country tocity life, was content with a moderate income and plenty of hard workin congenial surroundings. In manner he was affable, and possessed anold-world courtesy that made him extremely popular. He was mild inspeech, and rarely lost his temper; but when he came on deck it wasobvious to both Peter and Anstey that he was labouring under suppressedanger.
"Morning, Doc," was the Third Officer's greeting. "Up for a breather?"
Selwyn braced his shoulders and gazed out to starboard. Nine miles tothe nor'ard the white cliffs of the Isle of Wight stood out clearlyagainst the dark grey clouds.
"Yes," he agreed. "A breather. Had a fairly stiff time with sundrypatients. 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 sightthe Isle of Purbeck, but I doubt it. So take your last look at OldEngland for a while, Doctor."
The three men remained in conversation for several minutes, but Ansteyfailed hopelessly in his attempt to "draw" Selwyn with reference to hisencounter 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 takeover the watch."
Anstey, to whom the wireless-room was no novelty, "sheered off" andshaped a course for the smoking-room, while Peter and the doctor madetheir way for'ard to the former's post of duty.
Suddenly Peter stopped. From the open door of the wireless-cabin camethe deep bass voice of Captain Antonius Bullock. He was "letting rip"vigorously, and there was anger in his tone. Then, trembling like aleaf, Watcher Plover appeared.
The Old Man, paying an unexpected visit, had found the Watcher fastasleep.
Already the skipper was "fed up to the back teeth" (to use his ownwords) with the two birds. Coming on top of the disconcertingincidents of the night, when both Watchers had severally dislocated theelectric-lighting service, Plover's delinquency, serious enough in anycircumstances, completely upset the Old Man's equilibrium.
By this time he was fully convinced that the Watcher system was rottento the core. On his previous voyage Captain Bullock had fallen foul ofhis wireless officers, but that was over technical matters. Otherwisehe had had no cause for complaint, and, generally speaking, therelations between skipper and radiographers were harmonious if notexactly cordial. Now, thanks to a misguided attempt at economy, theOld Man could put no dependence upon Mostyn's assistants, and, in fact,he was inclined to blame Peter for not exercising more supervision overhis subordinates.
Which was rough on Peter. In Captain Bullock's present mood it wasuseless to point out how many times during his "watch below" Mostyn hadbeen called to the wireless-cabin. The fact remained that Partridgeand Plover had been signed on for the trip. Even if the Old Man wishedhe could not land them this side of Las Palmas, and so for the presentPeter must make the best of things, trusting that in due course the twoincompetents might be "licked into shape".
As soon as Captain Bullock had retired to his cabin, Peter took overthe watch, Selwyn standing by as the Wireless Officer made the usualtests.
"Now you can listen in, Doctor," announced Mostyn, after he hadproduced and connected up a supplementary pair of 'phones. "There'snot much doing, I fancy."
Selwyn adjusted the ear-pieces, while Peter, similarly equipped, stoodby pencil in hand in order to give his companion some inkling of anystray message.
"There's something!" exclaimed the doctor. He was excited. As cool asthe proverbial cucumber when he was performing a deft and rapidoperation upon which human life depended, he was now as delighted as achild with a new toy, when he heard the high-pitched buzzing sound thatindicated a message in transit.
"Niton," explained Peter. "Isle of Wight station. She's callingup--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 amessage from Niton. Part of it she had received, but her operator wasdoubtful about the preamble and the words following overcoat. It was apurely private message, of no interest to anyone save the sender.Niton was trying to make the operator stop sending, as there was an SOSmessage coming from somewhere. The ship's operator for some reason waspersisting in his inquiries for the words following overcoat. Inaddition a distant high-power station was chipping in, and there werealso "atmospherics" of high frequency.
Out of this chaotic "jam" Mostyn was trying to isolate the urgentwireless call for aid.
Almost deafened by the exaggerated reverberations of the ear-pieces asMostyn pursued his efforts to tune in, Selwyn watched with unabatedinterest the Wireless Officer's deft manipulations of the set. Greekthe doctor understood, but t
his was something far beyond his ken.
At last. Faintly, almost indistinguishable from the cackling of theatmospherics, came the despairing SOS. It emanated from a vessel indire distress. Peter knew that she was using her comparatively lowemergency set. That indicated the fact that her ordinary sendingapparatus had broken down.
"SOS. S.S. _Passionflower_ 17 miles s. by w. of Owers. Boilerexplosion, ship making water rapidly; pumps inadequate."
"Message received," sent Mostyn, then handing Selwyn the paper on whichhe 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 vicinityreplying to the general and urgent call for aid.
In the chartroom the Old Man and Preston held a hasty conference. Onlyan hour previously the _West Barbican_ must have crossed the track ofthe disabled _Passionflower_, within a few miles of her. Now adistance of between fifteen and twenty miles separated the two vessels,and to render assistance the former vessel would have to retrace hercourse. At fifteen or fifteen and a half knots it would take her morethan an hour to close with the _Passionflower_. If she did, would shebe the first on the scene?
Both the Old Man and the Acting Chief Officer doubted it. This part ofthe Channel was a busy one. Not only was there the "up and down"traffic, but a large number of vessels was plying between Southamptonand the Normandy ports. In addition, the _Passionflower_ was within anhour's run of Portsmouth, where there were Government tugs anddestroyers ready to render aid.
The navigating officer's doubts were confirmed when Mostyn appearedwith a report that already five vessels were proceeding to the rescueof the _Passionflower_. So the _West Barbican_ held on her course.
A little later Peter, who had contrived to "cut out" the plaintive andpersistent inquiry as to the words following overcoat, got into touchwith 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 beingawakened by the skipper, or else his untrained ear had failed to detectthe low notes of the distressed vessel's emergency set. The actualresult was the same. The _West Barbican_, although nearest to the_Passionflower_ when she first began the call for aid, had passed byunheedingly. Had she proceeded to the spot she could have towed thecrippled vessel into Portsmouth or Southampton with very littledifficulty.
This is what the Portsmouth tug _Sampson_ did, the _Passionflower_being dry-docked just in time to save her from foundering. In theAdmiralty courts the salvage earned the _Sampson_ L11,000, and this the_West Barbican_ lost simply and solely through Watcher Plover'sincapacity.