At length a blast on the siren announced that the West Barbican was about to leave the dock. Peter left the cabin to watch the now familiar yet engrossing scene, familiar save for the fact that for the first time he had shipped with a crew of lascars. It was a strange sight to see the natives on the fo'c'sle, carrying out orders under the serang, and to watch a barefooted lascar go aloft, gripping the shrouds with hands and toes with equal facility.
Under the gentle yet firm persuasion of a couple of fussy tugs the West Barbican renewed her acquaintance with London River. There were no demonstrations at her departure. None of the officers had any relations or friends to wish them God-speed from the shore, and, since the passengers had not yet embarked, the usual display of farewells was not in evidence.
It was not until the ship entered Sea Reach that Peter called his assistants.
"You, Partridge, will take on now," he said. "Plover, it's your watch below. You'd better see that you get some sleep. Now, you know your duties, Partridge?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right-o; carry on!"
Partridge sat down and clipped on the telephones. Peter left him, but promised himself to visit the cabin pretty frequently, to see that the Watcher was watching. Meanwhile he had plenty to do in the clerical line, filling up forms and making reports upon various technical matters.
Half an hour later Mostyn returned to the wireless-room. He was not surprised to find that Master Partridge was lying on the floor, having previously "mustered his bag" with the utmost impartiality. Watcher No. 1 was down and out.
"The poor bounder can't help being sea-sick, but he ought to have been a little more considerate," soliloquized Mostyn, after he had told the unhappy Watcher to clear out and turn in. In fact, Partridge was so bad that Peter had to assist him down the ladder until he handed him over to the care of a lascar.
Although the ship had not yet passed the Nore she was rolling considerably, for there was a fresh wind on the starboard beam. Evidently she was doing her best to live up to her reputation. But Peter made light of the motion. With the telephones clipped to his head he sat in the open doorway of his "dog-box", watching the ever-changing seascape so far as a couple of boats in davits permitted.