CHAPTER XIX
Peter's Progress
Peter Mostyn's attack lasted a full twenty-four hours, but at seven thenext evening he felt well enough to go down to dinner in the saloon.
That function had become a mere shadow of its former self. On the runto Cape Town the chairs round the long tables were generally filled,once the passengers had grown accustomed to life afloat and hadregained their temporarily lost appetites.
Now, the saloon looked almost deserted. Captain Bullock was in hiscustomary place at the head of the table, most of the officers not onduty were present--a mere handful all told. Of the passengers onlyeight remained. Of these, five were to be landed at Beira and taken onto their destinations by a "Bullard" boat. The remaining three wereMr. and Mrs. Shallop and Olive Baird.
Since Mrs. Shallop's encounter with the skipper she had fought shy ofthe saloon when the Old Man was present, and was in the habit of havingher evening meal in the seclusion of her cabin. Although thisarrangement was contrary to the Company's rules and regulations CaptainBullock winked at it; the rest of the saloon congratulated themselves,and even Shallop, away from the disturbing influence of his wife'spresence, seemed a different man. In fact, on several occasions hisdry and somewhat humorous remarks set everyone laughing.
The temporary retirement of Mrs. Shallop had given Olive much moreleisure. At first the selfish woman had tried her level best to compelthe girl to share her self-imposed seclusion, but Olive had firmlydeclined to submit. She had already endured considerable discomfort onher employer's behalf, and had borne the almost continuous "nagging"without a murmur; but now the breaking-strain had been exceeded, andthe bullying woman had to admit defeat.
Consequently Peter saw Olive a good deal. They were firm pals. Therewas nothing sloppishly sentimental about the girl. She was merely ajolly little person emerging from the temporary cloud of reserve causedby the depressing influence of the naval captain's daughter.
She had been fully initiated into the mysteries of the wireless-room;she had taken equal interest in the complicated machinery of theengine-room; and, since leaving Cape Town, Captain Bullock had givenher permission to go on the bridge whenever she wished. She had coaxedAnstey into showing her how to "shoot the sun" and to use the _NauticalAlmanac_ in order to work out the ship's position. Even the _secuni_in the wheelhouse so far forgot his duty as to allow the Missie Sahibto take the wheel.
But undoubtedly her interest was keenest in sailing. Both Preston andAnstey had promised to give her a run in one of the _West Barbican's_sailing-boats while the ship was at Durban. This promise theyseverally performed, but to a certain extent the beat to windward andthe run home on the spacious but shallow water of the harbour was adisappointment to Olive--since neither man had offered to let her takethe tiller.
Dinner over--Peter had very little appetite--Olive Baird went on deck,and somehow, whether by accident or design, Mostyn found her standingon the starboard side of the promenade-deck, gazing at the moon as itrose apparently out of the Indian Ocean.
"What a topping evening, Mr. Mostyn," observed the girl. "Just finefor a sail."
She gave a glance at one of the quarter-boats, an eighteen-foot gigfitted with a centre-board.
"'Fraid it can't be done," remarked Peter, with a laugh. "Stoppingvessels in mid-ocean for the purpose of giving lady passengers a spinin one of the boats isn't usual. Might work it when we arrive atBulonga. You're fond of sailing, I notice."
"I love it," declared the girl enthusiastically. "Do you?"
"Yes, rather," agreed Peter; "so long as there's not too much of it."
"There never could be too much as far as I am concerned," protestedOlive. "What do you mean by too much?"
"Well, for instance, a two-hundred mile run in a boat of about thatsize," replied the Wireless Officer, indicating the centre-board gig."I tried that sort of thing once, but the boat never reached herdestination."
"Tell me about it," commanded Miss Baird. "Were you single-handed?"
"No," replied Peter. "There were three fellows and a girl. We gotwrecked."
For nearly three-quarters of an hour Olive listened intently toMostyn's account of the escape from the pirate island in the NorthPacific; the narrator with his natural modesty touching but lightlyupon his share of the desperate enterprise.
"And where is the girl now?" inquired Olive.
"She married my chum Burgoyne," replied Peter. "I had a letter fromhim when we were at Cape Town. Burgoyne is a jolly lucky fellow."
"We had a sailing-boat of our own once," said Olive, her mind goingback to those far-off days before she had a stepmother to make thingsunpleasant for her. "I used to sail quite a lot on the Tamar when welived at Saltash."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Peter to himself. "I felt certain I'd seenher before, but I couldn't for the life of me say where."
For a few moments he remained silent, making a mental calculation.
"Was it in 1913?" he inquired. "Didn't you have a bright, varnishedboat with a teak topstrake and a red standing lugsail? And you wereabout eight or nine then. You used to have your hair bobbed, and worea white jersey and a scarlet stocking cap?"
"However did you know that?" asked Olive in astonishment.
"Because we had a yacht moored just above the red powder hulks. Myfather held an appointment at Keyham Dockyard, you see; and whenever hehad a home billet he kept a yacht or boat of some sort. Sailing washis favourite pastime."
But Olive was paying scant heed to the description of Mostyn _pere_ asset forth by Mostyn _fils_. Her thoughts too were flying back to thosehalcyon days before the war.
"I believe I remember you," she said at length. "Weren't you on boarda white yawl of about six tons, with a green boot-top and rather a highcabin top?"
"That was the _Spindrift_, my pater's yacht," declared Peter. "And----"
"And you were about ten or eleven, with a freckly face," pursued MissBaird calmly. "You were a horrid little wretch in those days, becauseI distinctly remember you laughing at me when the halliard jammed and Icouldn't get the sail either up or down."
"Guilty, Miss Baird," said Peter. "I apologize. Give me a chance tomake amends and I'll be all over it."
"I will," agreed the girl. "You may take me for a sail in BulongaHarbour; but you mustn't be selfish, like Mr. Preston and Mr. Anstey.You will let me take the tiller, won't you?"
Peter gave the required promise. He felt highly pleased with himself.Anstey was evidently in disfavour because he had underrated Olive'scapabilities as a helmswoman. In addition, the Third Officer would befairly busy while the _West Barbican_ was in harbour, as the steelworkhad to be taken out of the hold. Reminiscences of youth spent in theWest Country, too, were mutual and sympathetic bonds between theWireless Officer and the girl. No wonder he was feeling highly elated.
"What sort of a place is Bulonga?" asked Olive.
"Haven't the faintest idea," replied Peter. "Never heard of the showuntil a day or two ago. Don't expect a second Durban, Miss Baird. Ifyou do you'll be disappointed. I shouldn't be at all surprised if it'sa pestilential mud-hole. By Jove, it's close on eight bells, and it'smy watch."
Half an hour later Mostyn "took in" a message from Durban addressed toMiss Baird. It contained the brief announcement that Mr. and Mrs.Gregory--Olive's relations to whom she was on her way--were returningto England in three days' time, and that Olive's passage-money home waslying at the Company's offices at Durban.