Meanwhile the skipper had his hands full. In the absence of a doctor he and the purser were attending to the helpless survivors of the tanker. Of the seven removed from the boat only two were conscious, and one of the pair had a compound fracture of the right leg.
His companion was able to give an account of the disaster. The vessel was the American-owned oil-tanker Bivalve of and from New York for Hull. She had struck the two drifting mines, concerning the presence of which a general wireless message had been sent out. Both exploded amidships, one on either side, about fifty feet for'ard of the engine-room, which in vessels of the Bivalve's type are well aft. Within a few minutes the petroleum tanks exploded, and the sinking ship became a raging furnace. Two boats were lowered, but of the fate of the second the narrator had no knowledge. He remembered pulling desperately at an oar until the smoke cloud overwhelmed the boat. Then, gasping frantically for breath, he lost consciousness until he found himself on board the West Barbican.
At eight bells (8 a.m.) Peter was roused from his slumbers. A glance through the now open scuttle showed him that the ship was berthed alongside a wharf, and that the stevedores were already getting busy. A huge crane was transporting long, timber-protected pieces of steelwork into the West Barbican's No. 1 hold.
Peter regarded the steelwork with interest. It was the material on which rested the reputation and success of the Brocklington Ironworks Company, of which his father was managing director.
But other matters quickly demanded his attention. There was the damaged aerial. That had to be replaced under the direction of the Acting Chief Officer, but upon Mostyn's shoulders depended the responsibility of the perfect insulating of the wires. Already the necessary material had been "marked off", and the serang and his party were engaged in making eye-splices in the wire rope. At the mast-head of both fore and main, men were reeving fresh halliards for the purpose of sending the aerials aloft.
Captain Bullock was standing on the bridge watching the cargo being shipped, when he caught sight of the Wireless Officer. He beckoned Peter to approach. The officer of the watch was at the other side of the bridge superintending the securing of an additional spring; otherwise the bridge was deserted.
"Mr. Mostyn," began the Old Man abruptly, "I want you to understand clearly that there is only one captain on board this hooker, and he alone gives permission for officers to leave the ship. Who, might I ask, ordered you away in the lifeboat last night?"
"No one, sir," replied Peter.
"Then please remember that in future you are not to act on your own initiative except in matters directly concerning your duties as Wireless Officer. You were guilty of a grave breach of discipline. Don't let it occur again."
Mostyn smarted under this unexpected rap over the knuckles. He realized upon consideration that the rebuke was well merited. His offence was a technical breach of discipline. It was of no use telling this bluff old skipper his reasons. Yarns about "impulses of the moment" would elicit little sympathy. So he kept silent.