On the previous voyage such an incident had actually occurred. Captain Bullock had given an impossible order--impossible according to the wireless operator's reading of the regulations. The Old Man lost his temper and told the operator to work double watches for the rest of the voyage; the latter retaliated by "logging" the skipper. This drastic step rather frightened the choleric Bullock, especially when, on further consideration, he found that he was in the wrong. Before the _West Barbican_ arrived in London River, skipper and wireless operator had a private and amicable conversation, with the result that the latter expunged the offending record from the log. But the matter still rankled in Captain Antonius Bullock's broad bosom, and, since he could not consign the system to perdition, he vented his resentment upon the wireless officers under his command. There was no denying Captain Bullock's qualifications as a seaman. He was courageous, resourceful, skilful, and, withal, cautious. He had been at sea for more than thirty-five years, having served his apprenticeship in a square-rigged ship and worked his way up through that roughest of rough schools--the South American cattle-boats--to his present responsible position of senior captain of the Blue Crescent Line. Outside the captain's cabin Peter was met by a tall, slim Hindustani wearing a blue dungaree suit, a pair of straw-plaited shoes, and a red "pill-box" hat. With Oriental obeisance, yet not without a certain display of dignity, the "boy" salaamed. "Me Mahmed, sahib. Me you boy," he announced. Peter regarded his new acquaintance critically. Mahmed was a Madrasi of about twenty years of age, with features handsome in an Oriental way. In spite of his weird attire--for during coaling operations the native crew had discarded their smart but serviceable uniforms--there was something about the youth that impressed his new master favourably. "Want _char_, sahib?" The word "char" was not a stranger to Peter Mostyn. Of Eastern derivation, and meaning "tea", it has been adopted by Britons in all quarters of the globe; and even in Flanders and the north of France peasants have learned the word. Receiving an affirmative reply, Mahmed glided noiselessly away, while Peter set out to find the Acting Chief Officer and obtain the keys of the wireless room. "So the Old Man hasn't chawed you up?" remarked Preston, with a broad grin. "He's not a bad old lad when you know him. What's your name?" Peter enlightened him. "Dash it all!" exclaimed the Acting Chief. "I've heard of you, young fellah-me-lad! Weren't you in that _Donibristle_ stunt? We've shipped a _pukka_ hero this trip." "Don't know about that," protested Peter. "The Old Man has just told me I'm a Jonah." CHAPTER IV The Greenhorns Armed with a bunch of keys, Peter made his way up several ladders until he gained the box-like structure bearing a brass plate inscribed "Wireless Cabin".