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.

While the lascars were clearing away a spare halliard, Peter began to replace the broken spreader and its insulators. Cut by the keen wind, drenched with the rain and spray, and chilled to the bone in spite of his heavy pilot coat, Mostyn struggled with refractory wires until his benumbed hands were almost raw and hardly capable of getting a grip on the pliers.

It was a hit-or-miss operation. In the circumstances he had no means of testing the insularity of the aerial. He could only hope that, when once more aloft, it would function properly.

With a sigh of relief he completed the final splice and turned to the serang.

"Heave away!" he ordered.

The man gave a shrill order. Instantly the hitherto passive line of lascars handling the slack of the rope broke into activity. Gradually the aerial tautened, as a score of brown-faced, thin-limbed natives tailed on to the hauling part of the wire halliard. Quickly at first, then with gradually diminishing speed, the double line of wire rose from the deck and disappeared from view in the spray-laden darkness of the night, and presently the serang reported that the aerial was close up.

Mostyn returned to his post. Glancing at the clock he noted with astonishment that the task had taken him exactly an hour. Then, replacing the telephones to his ears, he endeavoured to thaw his benumbed fingers in front of the electric-light globe.

Hour after hour passed in monotonous inactivity. The appearance of the devoted Mahmed with a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches—most of the tea was spilt, and the sandwiches were abundantly salted and moistened in the process of mounting the bridge—proved a welcome diversion.

Just before midnight a second disaster occurred to the aerial. This time the double wires parted, practically simultaneously, about midway between the masts. This point, being almost immediately above the funnel, is always a fruitful source of trouble, owing to the comparatively rapid deterioration set up by the gases from the furnaces.

Repairs, even of a makeshift nature, were for the present out of the question. It was impossible to send men aloft to assist in setting up the wires. No human being could hold on in such a gale, far less perform the intricate task of reeving fresh halliards and wires. All Mostyn could do was to make all secure in the wireless-cabin. He was then free to turn in and enjoy a few hours' rest, until the ship's arrival at Brocklington Dock should afford an opportunity for repairing the damage.

Peter was exchanging a few words with the officer of the watch when the attention of both was attracted by a flash.

"Distress signal!" exclaimed Peter.

"Not vivid enough," rejoined his companion "Might be a rocket from one of the Dowsings—the Inner, most likely. If——"

Another flash, faintly visible through the murk, interrupted Anstey's words. For several seconds both men listened intently for the double detonation. None was audible. Distance and the howling of the elements had completely deadened the reports.

Even as they looked a steady pin-prick of reddish light appeared on exactly the same bearing as the previous flashes. For perhaps fifteen seconds it remained constant; then momentarily it grew in volume until a trailing column of ruddy flame, fringed by a wind-torn cloud of smoke, illuminated the distant horizon.

Bringing his night-glasses to bear upon the source of the flames the Third Officer studied the scene. Then, replacing the binoculars, he shouted to his companion:

"Vessel ablaze from end to end. Tanker, I guess. I'm off to call the Old Man."