"Shall I turn in all standing?" he asked himself, as he switched on the light and surveyed his bunk. It was a bitterly cold night, for, with the partial dispersal of the fog, a cold nor'easter had sprung up. "A hundred to one I'll be routed out. Thank goodness we'll soon be in the Tropics!"
It did not take Peter long to turn in. For some minutes he lay awake thinking. He was far from easy in his mind concerning the Watcher on duty. In a congested waterway like the Straits of Dover and the English Channel—particularly in the vicinity of the Downs and off St. Catherine's—wireless messages of great importance to the safety of the ship and her passengers and crew might be sent; but would Partridge be alert enough to warn the West Barbican's operator? Supposing the bird fell asleep on watch? It was all very well for Mostyn to say that if a disaster should occur it would be put down to the fault of the system. That was not good enough for a conscientious fellow like Peter.
He resolved, in spite of his weariness, to make periodical visits to the wireless-cabin.
At 10.30 p.m. he cautiously approached the cabin; not with the idea of eavesdropping but merely to see if Watcher Partridge were on the alert. If he were, Peter meant to withdraw without disturbing him. If he were not—Peter smiled grimly.
Thrusting his feet into his rubber boots (on principle Mostyn always had sea-boots a size larger than he wore with shore-going kit) the Wireless Officer made his way to the cabin. A glance through the closed scuttle showed him that Partridge was wide awake, and that he still wore the telephones. Satisfied, he began to retrace his steps and encountered Preston tracking along the alleyway.
Dick Preston was still Acting Chief, the Chief Officer having failed to join the ship at Gravesend. Consequently the West Barbican was one executive officer short.
"Hello there!" exclaimed Preston. "Thought it was your watch below, Sparks. What's up: developed insomnia?"
Mostyn told him the reason for his visit to the bridge.
"That's all right, young fellah-me-lad," declared the Acting Chief. "You turn in. I know you've had a pretty sticky time. I'll keep an eye on yon greenhorn and see that he doesn't drop asleep on his perch. Trust me for that."
Five minutes later Peter was sound asleep.