The Wireless Officer

  CHAPTER XXII

  A Night of Horror

  Acting Chief Officer Dick Preston, on receiving the Old Man's order toget the boats away, lost no time in getting to the scene of operations.The frantic rush of the lascars to the boat-deck warned him of what toexpect. He had seen the panic-stricken clamour of a crew ofwhite-livered dagoes, had watched them tumble pell-mell into the soleremaining boat, and had witnessed the result--a swamped whaler andtwenty men struggling for dear life, and struggling in vain in the icycold water off the Newfoundland Banks. That was many years ago, butthe lesson had not been lost on Dick Preston.

  Hurriedly loading his revolver, the Acting Chief gained the boat-deck.Already the native crew had swung out one of the boats, and a fiercestruggle was in progress between the lascars and the firemen as to whoshould go away in her.

  There was no love lost between the two classes. They were of differentraces, the lascars hailing from Bombay while the firemen were recruitedfrom the Coromandel coast; they were of different faith, the formerbeing Mahommedans, the latter Buddhists. It needed little to cause arow. When it came to a struggle for life the natives were in a statebordering upon madness.

  "Chup rao!" shouted Preston, levelling his revolver. "Belay there!Stand fast!"

  For a moment the lascars and firemen hesitated. Then, as the shipshook and staggered as the bulkhead of No. 2 hold gave way, they surgedin a living torrent into the out-swung boat, regardless of the revolvershots which the Acting Chief fired over their heads.

  Preston made no further attempt to restore order on the boat-deck. Ifthe men disobeyed orders he was no longer responsible for their safety.

  He passed along until he came to a knot of comparatively amenableMadrasis, who had been gathered together by Anstey and two of theengineers.

  "Right-o, old man!" exclaimed the Acting Chief to the Third Officer."Lower away! You take command, and good luck to you."

  Quickly, yet with good discipline, the boat was manned andlowered--Anstey, the two engineers, and Mr. Shallop in the stern-sheets.

  "Keep in company, Mr. Anstey," shouted Preston, as the falls swung free.

  "Ay, ay, sir," was the reply, followed by the order: "give way."

  Anstey's boat was barely clear of the side when the first boat to beswung out was let go with a run. Greatly overcrowded, it struck thewater with tremendous force. The impact broke her back, and in amoment she filled, leaving the frantic natives floundering in thewater. Some were crushed as the sea flung the waterlogged craftagainst the ship's side. Others strove to clamber into the boat, onlyto destroy her slight buoyancy. In the melee knives were used withdeadly effect, until only half a dozen men, who had swum clear of theboat, were left out of the thirty odd who had crowded into her.

  It had been both Preston's and Anstey's plan to get the women awayfirst; but each had quickly realized that this was out of the question.For one thing, neither Mrs. Shallop nor Olive was on the boat-deck.For another, it was useless to attempt to place them in the boats untilthe panic-stricken mob was effectively dealt with.

  Two more boats, each under the charge of an engineer, and with three orfour stewards, got away with difficulty. The crowd on the boat-deckhad thinned considerably.

  "Now, then, where are the women?" demanded Preston. He was notaltogether certain whether they had already got away, for, save for theless frequent flashes of lightning, the scene was in total darkness.

  "Here you are, Preston!" shouted a voice that the Acting Chiefrecognized as the Purser's.

  A bluish glare, a prolonged flash, enabled Preston to see the missingpassengers. The Purser was literally dragging Mrs. Shallop along thedeck, while Olive was close behind.

  For once Mrs. Shallop was silent. She was unconscious.

  "I wondered why she wasn't complaining that she was not being treatedas a lady," thought Preston grimly. "That accounts for it."

  Together, the Acting Chief and the Purser unceremoniously bundled theinsensible woman into the last boat but one on the port side. Those onthe starboard were useless, for, owing to the excessive heel, theycould not be lowered clear of the sloping side.

  "Now, Miss Baird."

  Guided by Preston the girl entered the boat, in which were threelascars--one of them Mahmed, Peter's boy.

  "Where's Mostyn?" shouted the Acting Chief. "Partridge! Plover!Hurry up, now!"

  He called in vain. The two Watchers had already got clear of the ship.Mostyn was still vainly endeavouring to get the SOS message through.

  Meanwhile the Purser, the Chief Steward, and the remaining natives hadlowered the last available boat. Preston was left alone on theboat-deck--a fact that was revealed to him when the nextlightning-flash rent the sky.

  "Where's the Captain?" he shouted, hailing the boats lying a shortdistance away. "Anyone seen Captain Bullock?"

  By this time the water was washing over the well-deck. At any momentthe _West Barbican_ might turn turtle.

  A voice from one of the boats replied:

  "Here!"

  "What's that?" bawled Preston.

  "All right," answered the voice.

  The Acting Chief was puzzled. It was not the Old Man's voice, butperhaps Captain Bullock had been injured. He had not seen the skippersince he left him on the bridge. Apparently the bridge was deserted.It looked untenable owing to the great list of the ship.

  A muffled explosion, as yet another bulkhead gave way under thepressure of water, warned Preston that it was time for him to go. Itwas his duty to take charge of the boat in which were the two womenpassengers.

  Leaping into the boat, Preston signed to Mahmed to help him with theafter falls, at the same time shouting to the other two lascars tolower away handsomely.

  Although there was no one on deck to man the falls, it was a fairlyeasy matter to lower away the comparatively light boat with only sixpersons on board, the distance from the davit-heads to the water beingonly about ten feet, so deep had the ship settled.

  "Fend off!" ordered Preston, as he jerked the lever of the patentdisengaging gear.

  Even as he spoke the heavy metal block of the lower after falls swungviolently outwards. In the darkness the Acting Chief did not see theimpending danger.

  The next instant the swaying lump of metal struck Preston full on thetemple. Without a groan or a cry he pitched headlong upon thestern-sheet gratings.

  It was Mahmed who discovered the apparently lifeless form of the ChiefOfficer. He communicated his discovery to his compatriots, and anexcited conversation ensued. Meanwhile the boat was drifting aimlesslyat less than ten yards from the _West Barbican's_ port quarter. Untilit occurred to the lascars--who were arguing on a question ofprecedence as to who should now give orders--that there was imminentdanger of the boat being swamped by the suction of the foundering ship,they made no effort to man the oars.

  When about a hundred yards from the ship the lascars ceased rowing andresumed their argument.

  All this time Olive had done what lay in her power to render Mrs.Shallop's plight less painful. She was in utter ignorance of theaccident that had befallen the luckless Acting Chief Officer, althoughshe was rather puzzled at the lack of discipline displayed by thelascars, and the fact that the officer in charge of the boat made noattempt to check the dispute.

  Another vivid sheet of lightning illumined the scene, but Olive was notlooking into the boat. Her attention was attracted by the sight of twomen standing on the listing bridge of the ill-fated _West Barbican_.

  The glare was of sufficient duration to enable her to distinguishCaptain Bullock and Mostyn. She saw the former raise his hand andbeckon the boat to pull clear. He was shouting something, but in theturmoil the words were indistinguishable.

  The long-drawn lightning flash ended, leaving the girl blinking inStygian darkness.

  "There's Captain Bullock and Mostyn still on board, Mr. Preston," sheexclaimed, in anxious tones. "Can't we put back to fetch them?"

  There was no reply.

&
nbsp; In a louder tone Olive repeated the question of entreaty.

  Still there was no answer.

  The lascar bowman resumed his oar, pulling the boat's head round.Finding his companion idle he prodded him in the back with his foot,with the result that the man gave a few desultory strokes. In theutter darkness the lascars had lost all sense of direction, and,instead of pulling away from the ship, they were slightly closing withher.

  Suddenly a hissing sound rent the air. It was the ship plungingbeneath the waves. The boat, caught by the turmoil of the tempestuousseas, was thrown about like a cork. One of the men was hurled off thethwart by the loom of his oar striking him in the face. The oar wasswept from his grasp and lost overboard.

  To Olive, crouching on the bottom-boards, it seemed as if the boat werebeing lifted vertically. The movement reminded her of the sudden andunexpected starting of a lift. Then, heeling terribly, the boat dippedher gunwale under, and a cascade poured into her until Olive wassitting waist deep in water.

  Her first act was to raise Mrs. Shallop's head. The shock of the waterhad caused that lady partly to recover consciousness. She was moaningand coughing.

  The violent motion lasted for quite a minute, then the maelstromsubsided, and the partly waterlogged boat bobbed sluggishly on thewaves. The lascars, now roused to activity, were baling furiously withtheir hands, since in the darkness it was impossible to find the balerwhich was supposed to be in the boat.

  "Mr. Preston!" exclaimed Olive once more.

  "Preston Sahib he dead man," was Mahmed's startling announcement,although the words were delivered with the imperturbability of theAsiatic.

  The horror of the situation gripped the plucky girl. Throughout theperiod between the explosion and the foundering of the _West Barbican_she had been perfectly self-possessed, her chief solicitude being forher tyrannical employer. Now the full magnitude of the disaster becameapparent. She and the unconscious Mrs. Shallop were alone in the boatwith three apparently incapable lascars. Preston was, presumably,dead; Mostyn she had seen standing on the bridge just before the shipsank, keeping up the traditions of the Wireless Service to remain athis post as long as the ship was afloat and the transmitting apparatuswas capable of being worked.

  The other boats were neither to be seen nor heard. Whether they werestill standing by or whether they were making for the nearest land thegirl knew not.

  She would have welcomed another lightning flash, out none came. Theelectrical storm had passed. Rain was now falling heavily, and thetotal absence of wind was ominous. It presaged a hard blow, possibly astorm, at no distant date.

  Olive was thinking deeply. It was "up to her" to show the lascars thata British woman is not helpless in a tight corner.

  "If only it were light," she thought.

  Then she remembered that the boats usually carried an emergencyequipment, an oil lamp amongst other things.

  "Mahmed," she ordered, "get the boat's lamp from the stern-locker andlight it."

  She would have found it herself, but for the fact that Preston's bodylay on the stern-gratings. She frankly admitted to herself thatnothing could induce her to grope her way past that in the darkness.

  The two lascars were still baling in the bows. They too were reluctantto go aft, where, by removing the stern-sheet gratings, they could dealmore effectually with the water in the bilges.

  Mahmed obeyed without protest. Olive could hear the search inprogress; first the clatter of the detached locker-cover, as it slippedupon the stern-sheets, then the rasping of a metal-bound keg, and themetallic clank of the lamp.

  "No can do, memsahib," reported Mahmed. "No light, no match."

  "Look again," commanded the girl. Unless some unprincipled person hadpurloined them, there ought to be matches in a watertight box alongwith the rest of the gear in the after locker.

  A further search proved futile. The boats and their gear had beeninspected by the officer of the watch only that morning, and had beenreported as being in good condition and fully equipped in everyrespect. Either Anstey, as inspecting officer, had shirked his wholeduty or else, which to Olive seemed unlikely, the matches had beenstolen in broad daylight.

  "See if there are matches in Preston Sahib's pocket," said the girl.

  But Mahmed drew the line at that. In his quaint English he explained,giving several reasons that seemed puerile.

  "I suppose it's hardly fair to get him to do what I daren't do myself,"thought the girl. Then, summoning up her resolution, she leant overthe stroke-thwart, and shudderingly groped for the Acting Chief'spockets.

  To her delight she found a box of Swedish matches in the breast pocketof Preston's drill patrol jacket. Before she could withdraw her handthe supposedly dead man moved slightly, but none the less perceptibly.That altered the situation. Olive was no longer dealing with a corpse,but with a living person. Instinctively she placed her hand overPreston's heart. It was beating very feebly.

  "Here are matches, Mahmed!" she exclaimed. "Light the lamp quickly.Preston Sahib is not dead."

  It seemed an interminable delay before Mahmed succeeded in getting thelamp lighted. The matches were damp, the wick wanted trimming, and thecolza oil was a long time before it gave out a flame.

  At length the lamp was lighted, and there was quite a steady light, andthe transition from utter darkness imparted confidence.

  Giving a hasty look at Mrs. Shallop, to see that she was still in therecovering stage, Olive turned to the more important work in hand.

  Preston looked a ghastly sight. One side of his face had been badlyinjured, while the concussion had caused blood to ooze from his eyes,nose, and mouth.

  Olive's first step was to wash the injured man's face and moisten hislips with water. She had the good sense to use salt water for thewashing process, knowing that the contents of the water-beaker werelikely to be more precious than gold before the adventure was over.Then, pillowing the patient's head on a sail and covering him with apiece of tarpaulin, she debated as to what was to be done next.

  Clearly Preston's case required medical aid. Selwyn was in one of theboats, but whether they were in company or not Olive had no idea.

  "Hold up the lamp, Mahmed," she ordered. "High up."

  The boy obeyed, while Olive, shading her eyes from the heavy rain,peered around in case any of the other boats might be displaying alight. It was a doubtful point. Even if they had, the torrentialdownpour would tremendously curtail the range of visibility of thelow-powered light.

  In fact, held high above Mahmed's head, the rays simply illuminated acircular patch of rain-threshed water, a little more than a dozen yardsin radius, Beyond was an impenetrable wall of darkness.

  An involuntary cry came from Olive Baird's lips. She could hardlybelieve the evidence of her eyes, for floating inertly within an oar'slength of the boat was a man--Peter Mostyn.

  Whether he was alive or dead Olive knew not. His usually tannedfeatures looked a ghastly greenish hue, his eyes were closed, and hishead was hanging sideways. His arms were moving slightly, but themovement was purely automatic as the lifebelt-clad figure lifted to thegentle undulations of the sea.

  Startled by Olive's cry, Mahmed looked in the direction to which thegirl was pointing. His fright at seeing, as he thought, the dead bodyof his master, was almost disastrous in its result. The upheld lampslipped from his nerveless fingers and fell clattering upon thegunwale. For an instant it seemed uncertain whether it would drop intothe sea or not, but luckily a movement of the boat slid it inboard.

  But the fall had extinguished the lamp. Mahmed was in too much of ablue funk to relight it. Olive settled the question by taking the boxof matches from him and lighting it herself.

  Neither of the two lascars for'ard would move a finger to row towardsthe Wireless Officer. Superstition akin to panic held them in itsgrip. They would not--they could not--use their oars. Every bit ofcourage seemed to have oozed out of them.

  Seizing one of the spare oars lying
across the thwarts, Olive, usingthe unwieldy ash paddle-wise, slowly brought the boat nearer and nearerthe seemingly inanimate man. Had there been any wind the task wouldhave been almost impossible, owing to the high freeboard of the lightlyladen boat; but in the absence of even a faint breeze Olive was able toaccomplish her aim.

  With a sigh of relief she threw down the oar, and, leaning over thegunwale, grasped Peter by one arm.