"I think we're O.K., Mr. Anstey," he remarked. "Besides, for all we know the mines might have been exploded by this time. Those naval Johnnies are pretty smart at that sort of thing. Well, carry on. Let me know if there are any supplementary warnings."
The Old Man returned to his cabin, and was soon deep in the pages of a novel; while Anstey resumed his trick, thanking his lucky stars that, unlike Mostyn's, his watch was not indefinitely prolonged through the shortcomings of two sea-sick "birds".
Just as darkness set in, the gale was at its height. Clouds of spray flew over the bridge as the old hooker wallowed and nosed her way through the steep, crested waves, for the wind had backed still more and was now dead in her teeth.
Even in the wireless-cabin the noise was terrific. The boats in davits were creaking and groaning, as they strained against their gripes with each disconcerting jerk of the ship. Spray in sheets rattled upon the tightly stretched boat-covers like volleys of small shot, while the monotonous clank-clank of the steam steering-gear, as the secuni (native quartermaster) strove to keep the ship within half a degree of her course, added to the turmoil that penetrated the four steel walls of the cabin.
Vainly Peter tried to concentrate his thoughts on a book. Yet, in spite of the fact that he was wearing telephones clipped to his ears, the hideous clamour refused to be suppressed. Reading under these conditions was out of the question. He put away the book and remained keeping his weary watch, valiantly combating an almost overwhelming desire for sleep.
Suddenly, with a terrific crash, something hit the deck of the flying-bridge immediately above the wireless-cabin. For a moment Peter was under the impression that one of the foremost derricks had carried away and crashed athwart the roof of the cabin.
Soon he discovered the actual cause. The stout wire halliard taking the for'ard end of the aerial had parted, and the two wires, spreaders, and insulators had fallen on the boat-deck.
Removing the now useless telephones and donning his pilot coat, Mostyn went out into the open, glad of the slight protection from the cutting wind afforded by the canvas bridge-screens and dodgers. Already lascars, in obedience to the shrill shouts of the serang and tindal (native petty officer), had swarmed upon the bridge ready to clear away the debris.
Accompanied by the bos'un Mostyn made a hasty examination of the damage. The aerials had fortunately fallen clear of the funnel, and, although the for'ard insulators had been shattered, the drag of the wires had kept the after ones from being dashed against the main topmast.
It was "up to" the Wireless Officer to repair and set up the aerials as soon as possible.