The Wireless Officer

  CHAPTER XX

  An Eventful River Trip

  "What a one-eyed crib!" exclaimed Anstey, as the _West Barbican_ slowlyapproached the low-lying coast in the neighbourhood of Bulonga.

  Mostyn nodded in concurrence.

  The outlook was dreary in the extreme. All there was to be seen was asqualid collection of galvanized-iron huts rising above a low, sandyspit; a few gaunt palms; a line of surf--not milk-white, butcoffee-coloured--and a background of sun-dried hills.

  The whole coast seemed to have been scorched up by the sun. Brown anddrab colours predominated. The foliage was of a sombre drab-greennarrowly approaching a dull copper colour. Even the sea in thevicinity of the harbour had lost its usual clearness and appeared to becharged with a muddy sediment.

  "Any sign of the pilot, Mr. Anstey?" inquired Captain Bullock.

  The "S International", the signal for a pilot, had been flying from thetopmast-head for the last hour, as the _West Barbican_ cautiouslyclosed with the inhospitable-looking coast, but there were no signs ofactivity ashore.

  In ordinary circumstances it was customary for the ship to wireless heragents, asking them to make arrangements for a pilot; but, since therewere no agents at Bulonga, nor even a wireless station, that procedurewas put out of court. There remained only the old-time flag signal tosummon a pilot from shore.

  "No sign yet, sir," replied the officer of the watch. He had beenscanning the shore through a telescope until his eyes smarted. Theglare form those "tin" huts seemed to be reflected through the lensesof the telescope to his optic nerve. He was literally seeing red.

  "All asleep, I suppose," commented the Old Man. "It beats me why we'vebeen ordered to this rotten hole. Try 'em with the siren, Mr. Anstey."

  The echoes of the powerful whistle had hardly died away when a hoist ofbunting rose slowly in the humid air. Until a faint zephyr caught theflags it was impossible for the _West Barbican_ to understand theimport of the signal.

  "FWE," sang out Anstey. "That reports that there's not enough water onthe bar, sir."

  "Not enough fiddlesticks!" snapped the Old Man. "It's within half anhour of high water. We'll lose the flood if they don't get busy.Besides, how the blazes do they know our draught? For two pins I'dtake her in myself."

  No doubt the skipper, with the aid of chart, compass, and lead-line,could have navigated the ship across the bar with complete success. Hehad worked his way into uncharted harbours before to-day. But shouldthe vessel ground he would be in a very difficult position with theBoard of Trade. Even if he were successful in getting the ship safelyalongside the quay there might be trouble with the Portuguese officialsfor not complying with the port regulations.

  "That chap who wrote something about those serving who only stand andwait didn't know much about the tides," fumed the Old Man. "Here's theblessed tide serving, but it won't stand and it won't wait, and time'sprecious."

  Nevertheless the skipper had to wait, impatiently and irritably, untilsuch times as the easy-going officials sent out a pilot.

  It was more than an hour later before a white motor-boat with an awningfore and aft was seen approaching the ship.

  As the boat drew nearer its ugliness became apparent. The paint wasdirty, and in places rubbed away to the bare planking. The awning hadseen better days, and had been roughly patched in a dozen places. Acouple of coir fenders trailed drunkenly over the side, while thepainter was dragging through the water. The motor was wheezing like aworn-out animal and emitting smoke from numerous leaky joints, whilethe clutch, slipping badly, was rasping like a rusty file.

  A Zanzibari native was "tending" the engine, and a half-castePortuguese was at the wheel. In the stern-sheets was a short and verystout man puffing at an enormous cigar. He wore a dirty white uniformwith a lavish display of tarnished gilt braid, while set at an angle onhis bushy hair was a peaked cap with the Mozambique arms.

  "Goo' mornin', Senhor Capitano!" he exclaimed, when the boat rangedawkwardly alongside. "Me pilot. Get you in in shake o'brace--no--brace o' shake."