Unaccountably the consumption was much above the average, with the awkward result that the bunkers were nearly empty.

"Pangawani ain't Barry Roads," remarked the Old Man to his charterer.

"There isn't a tug at Pangawani; but I'd bet my bottom dollar that, if we were this distance from Cardiff, there'd be a round dozen o' tugs buzzing round an' clamouring to give us a pluck in. No, laddie, we'll have to do it on our own, and we'll jolly well do it, too!"

"Evidently the Old Man's got a 'do or die' spasm," thought Peter, bearing in mind his previous experience with the weak-willed master of the S.S. _Quilboma_. "Let's hope it will last."

By four in the afternoon the Old Man sang to a different tune. The _Quilboma_ was now within ten miles of Pangawani; but so low was the pressure in her steam-gauges that she was making a bare five knots.

"I'll signal the first old hooker we fall in with and get her to give us a tow," he decided.

"Not much chance of sighting a vessel off Pangawani, is there?" asked Mostyn.

"You never know your luck," quoted the Old Man sententiously, as he stared apprehensively at the storm clouds banking up to wind'ard.

A few minutes later the skipper of the S.S. _Quilboma_ underwent another change of character.

He blew the whistle of the engine-room voice-tube.

"How goes it, Jackson? Last shovelful out of the bunker? How are you off for oil? Yes, any sort. Fair amount--good. Well, stand by: I'll fix you up."

The threatening storm had completely roused the Old Man to definite, practical action. He surpa.s.sed himself, and, incidentally, surprised himself and others into the bargain.

Shouting to some of the hands he ordered them to bring axes and to smash up one of the quarter-boats.

"Don't stand there lookin' into the air," he bawled angrily. "Lay aft and do what you're told. I know what I'm doin'. Carve up that blank boat and pa.s.s the dunnage down to the stokehold, and be mighty slick about it."

The men, realizing the object of what had previously seemed to be a wanton act of destruction, set to work with a will. In a very few minutes the quarter-davits on the port side were looking very gaunt and forlorn, while a good five hundredweights of wood soaked in crude oil helped to feed the ravenous furnaces.

Half an hour later another boat shared the fate of the first, while, in addition, the crew collected various inflammable gear and pa.s.sed it below, where sweating firemen threw the impromptu fuel into the furnaces. Bales of cotton waste soaked in oil were added to leaven the whole lump, until the _Quilboma's_ stumpy, salt-rimed funnel threw out volumes of smoke that spread for miles astern like a grimy, evil-smelling pall.

The _Quilboma_ was now within sight of her goal. Broad on the port bow could be discerned the long, low beach fringed with a quavering line of milk-white foam and backed by the waving coco-palms and the picturesque bungalows of Kilba's princ.i.p.al port.

"How long will that little lot last you, Mr. Jackson?" inquired the Old Man per voice-tube. "Forty minutes? Ay, I'll see to that."

He pointed to one of the lifeboats. The deck-hands, grasping the significance of this display of dumb-show, threw themselves upon the boat. Axes gleamed and fell with a succession of mingled thuds and crashes. Planks, timbers, knees, breast-hooks, thwarts, masts, and oars--all went below to the still insatiable maw of the devouring element.

The skipper of the _Quilboma_ made no attempt to signal for a pilot.

For one reason, he knew the dangerous entrance intimately; for another, it was doubtful whether the pilot could come out and board the vessel.

Yet another: the ship could not afford to wait, with her steam pressure falling and the storm perilously close.

"Starboard--meet her--at that--steady!"

The skipper, standing beside the two quartermasters at the helm, was about to take his sorely tried craft over the dangerous bar. It required pluck, but there was no option if she were to make port at all. It had to be now or never, for, if the _Quilboma_ failed to make the bar, she would either be dashed to pieces on the reef or drift helplessly at the mercy of the gale.

With the wind now broad on the starboard beam the old tramp rolled horribly. Peter, hanging on to the bridge-rail, fancied that every piece of steelwork in the hold had broken adrift. Groaning, thudding, quivering, swept by sheets of blinding spray, the _Quilboma_ staggered towards the danger-zone. At one moment her propeller was almost clear of the water; at the next the labouring engines seemed to be pulled up, as the madly racing blades sank deep beneath the surface of the broiling sea.

Now she was in the thick of it. Tossed about like a cork, wallowing like a barrel, the old tramp was almost unmanageable. One of the quartermasters was juggling with the wheel of the steam steering-gear like a man possessed, as he strove to keep the old hooker on her course. To port and starboard the ugly reef was showing its teeth, as the remorseless breakers crashed and receded with a continual roar of thunder.

Suddenly a thud, different from the rest of the hideous noises, shook the ship from stem to stern. For a moment--to Peter the pause seemed interminable--she seemed to hang up. Then, with a sickening, sideways lurch she dragged over the hard sand into the comparatively deep and sheltered waters beyond.

"Done it, by Jove!" exclaimed the Old Man, as he rang down for half-speed ahead. "We're in."

But he was trembling like a person in a fit.

Twenty minutes later the S.S. _Quilboma_ berthed alongside the quay.

The order to draw fires was a superfluous one. The furnaces had burned themselves out.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

The Completion of the Contract

It was too late to commence unloading that day. Peter, having notified the authorities of the arrival of the consignment, and having arranged for the Government surveyor to inspect the steelwork on the following afternoon, made his way to the Davis's bungalow.

So far all was well. The time-limit fixed for the delivery of the Brocklington Ironworks Company's contract was still forty-eight hours off, and there was no apparent reason why the stipulated conditions should not be complied with.

Olive greeted him warmly. Mr. and Mrs. Davis made him welcome with typical overseas sincerity, and he spent a most enjoyable evening.

At daybreak gangs of natives were set to work to clear the _Quilboma's_ hold. By noon the bulk of the steelwork lay upon the quayside. At four in the afternoon the material was examined, tested, and pa.s.sed by the representative of the Kilba Protectorate Government, and an hour later Peter sent another cablegram to his father:

"Contract completed O.K. Official confirmation follows."

This pleasurable duty performed, Mostyn went to pay Mahmed a visit. He found his boy progressing favourably, his many wounds having healed without any sign of complications.

"We'll soon be able to send you back to India, Mahmed," said Peter.

"Me no want go India, sahib," protested Mahmed. "Me stay all one-time with you. Me good cook, me wash-brush sahib's clothes. Me do eb'rything."

"But I'm going back to England," announced his master. "There I don't know what will happen. I may not get another ship for a very long time."

"No matter," rejoined Mahmed, with sublime optimism. "Me stay with sahib. Me make _char_ for sahib."

Peter left it at that. He little knew that Mahmed spoke with the tongue of prophecy.

Later on in the evening the Head Commissioner sent for him.

"Are you in a pressing hurry to get home, Mr. Mostyn?" he inquired, after congratulating him upon the successful voyage and happy termination of his trip on the S.S. _Quilboma_.

Peter thought not. Providing that he was not detained to give evidence in the Skeets case, he was in no immediate hurry. Apart from the pleasure of meeting his parents again, he was not particularly keen upon returning to England.

He was well aware of the state of affairs in the wireless service at home; how hundreds of skilled operators were "on the beach" through no fault of their own, and that the prospect of immediate re-engagement was very remote. Wireless officers were just now much in the same position as Tommy Atkins. While there was a war on, and wireless men were in great demand for sea-service, the various shipping companies were almost falling over each other and themselves in their efforts to secure skilled operators. Now that the war is ancient history, and sea risks are falling to pre-1914 level, the services of wireless officers are no longer in great demand. The slump in shipping has dealt a severe blow to radio-telegraphists.

"Quite so," agreed the Head Commissioner, when Mostyn had stated his views. "As a matter of fact we are developing wireless communication in the Protectorate as we find it far cheaper than and quite as efficient as ordinary telegraphy. Setting up telegraph posts for elephants and rhinos to b.u.t.t into is an expensive game. So I sent for you. I can offer you a really good Government appointment, with free quarters, and splendid prospects of rapid promotion. You're just the type of fellow I want; so what do you say?"

Peter did not reply. He was thinking deeply, struggling with a very complex proposition.

"And six months leave in England on full pay every two years, with free pa.s.sage out and back," added the Head Commissioner, as an extra inducement--a bait that had often beforetimes turned the scale.