Both the Old Man and the Acting Chief Officer doubted it. This part of the Channel was a busy one. Not only was there the "up and down" traffic, but a large number of vessels was plying between Southampton and the Normandy ports. In addition, the _Passionflower_ was within an hour's run of Portsmouth, where there were Government tugs and destroyers ready to render aid.
The navigating officer's doubts were confirmed when Mostyn appeared with a report that already five vessels were proceeding to the rescue of the _Passionflower_. So the _West Barbican_ held on her course.
A little later Peter, who had contrived to "cut out" the plaintive and persistent inquiry as to the words following overcoat, got into touch with the P. & O. liner _Nowabunda_. From her he learnt that the _Passionflower_ had been sending out her SOS for an hour before the _West Barbican_ had picked up the distress call.
Either Watcher Plover had been asleep for some time before being awakened by the skipper, or else his untrained ear had failed to detect the low notes of the distressed vessel's emergency set. The actual result was the same. The _West Barbican_, although nearest to the _Passionflower_ when she first began the call for aid, had passed by unheedingly. Had she proceeded to the spot she could have towed the crippled vessel into Portsmouth or Southampton with very little difficulty.
This is what the Portsmouth tug _Sampson_ did, the _Passionflower_ being dry-docked just in time to save her from foundering. In the Admiralty courts the salvage earned the _Sampson_ £11,000, and this the _West Barbican_ lost simply and solely through Watcher Plover's incapacity.
Captain Antonius Bullock had turned in for the night. He had received the reports of the officer of the watch and the engineer of the watch, the time signals and weather reports from the Wireless Officer, and was now free from the cares of command until such time as his steward called him. He might be called within the next minute; but with luck he hoped to remain undisturbed until six bells in the morning watch.
It was now 1 a.m. The _West Barbican_ had passed Ushant twenty miles to port, and was entering the Bay of Biscay.
The weather was still cold, but the wind had moderated considerably, coming off the land. The Bay was on its best behaviour, and consequently the passengers, who were beginning to find their sea-legs, were wandering farther afield than the limited expanse between the saloon and their respective cabins.