CHAPTER X
A LESSON IN DIPLOMACY
A few minutes later the purser stepped quietly into the wireless house. Roy sat before his operating table, his head bowed on his extended arms.
“Cheer up!” called the purser. “This won’t do at all. Tell me what has happened.”
Roy recounted the entire incident. As the recital continued, the purser’s face became as sober as Roy’s had been.
“I don’t know a thing about electricity,” he commented, when Roy had concluded his brief description of what had occurred. “Are you very sure that you are correct?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Robbins. You see, the belt on the donkey-engine was slipping. I noticed that at the start. The slipping of the belt produced undue friction and that, in turn, developed frictional or static electricity. The more the belt slipped, the more it became charged with electricity. Finally the belt became so highly charged that the electricity jumped to the swaying end of the broken bale strap. This bale strap was broken into two pieces. The end swaying caught the charge as it leaped from the belt and a second spark occurred when the charge leaped the other gap in the strap. This last part of the strap was grounded by the chain that ran down to the metal frame of the ship. So there was a perfect mechanism for making and discharging electricity. As long as the belt continued to slip, electricity would have been generated. And every time the current was discharged, there would have been a spark right in that loose cotton where the bale was broken open.”
“I don’t know a thing about electricity, as I told you. But if you say it was so, I have no doubt it was.”
“It’s just like electricity in the skies,” explained Roy. “You have often seen lightning, Mr. Robbins. Lightning is only electricity leaping from a cloud to the earth or to another cloud. We usually have lightning in hot weather. Then the heated air from the earth rushes upward with such velocity that it generates electricity, charging the clouds with it, just as that whirling belt was charged by the friction of the wheel. That electricity has to reach the earth. When the potential is high enough, the current leaps from the cloud to the earth and a spark occurs which we call lightning. Sparks are made only when an electric current is interrupted in its flow and has to jump a gap. Electricity is flowing through a telegraph-wire all the time, but there is no spark because there is no break in the wire. But if the wire should be cut and the ends held near together, the current would jump the gap, making a spark as it leaped. That’s the thing that makes it possible to have automobiles. Electric currents run from the magneto, which generates them, to the spark-plugs in the cylinders. There the currents have to leap tiny gaps and sparks result, which explode the gasoline vapor. There are several ways to generate electricity, but the current, once generated, always follows the same laws. Yet I couldn’t make the captain understand. In fact he wouldn’t give me an opportunity to explain. I tried to do my duty by the ship, and now I’m worse off than ever. The captain will never have a bit of use for me after this. I suppose I’ll not only lose my berth at the end of my three months, but he’ll make such an unfavorable report about me that I’ll never have another chance.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Roy. Leave it to me. I know the captain like a book and I know how to fix things up. I don’t wonder you feel as you do about Captain Lansford, but when you really know him, you’ll feel differently. He has his peculiarities, like the rest of us, and one of them is his utter hatred of what he terms newfangled ideas. The greatest pride of his life is the fact that in thirty years at sea he has never lost a man or a ship. If some one can show him that you probably saved his ship from destruction, he’ll have a very different idea of both you and wireless telegraphy.”
“But he won’t listen to any explanation,” said Roy, mournfully.
“Leave that to me. I know how to fix him. Meantime, continue to do your work as faithfully as you know how. Forget that you are working under Captain Lansford and remember that you are working for the welfare of the Lycoming. If you do that, you can’t fail in time to win the captain’s good-will. That’s his test of every soul aboard—whether or not they are working for the good of the ship.
“When you threw off the engine belt and the engine was broken, you hit the captain harder than you understood. He has a wonderful record for sailing on time. We’re behind with our loading now. When that cotton train does arrive, the captain will drive every soul like mad. We were short-handed when we left New York. The captain has taken on four men here at Galveston, but he doesn’t like their looks. If they aren’t any better than they appear, he might as well not have hired them. But what is most likely to delay us is the relative scarcity of roustabouts. But if it’s humanly possible, he’ll be loaded on time. The loss of the donkey-engine may interfere very seriously with loading operations. You never can tell when you are going to need it. The thought of that and not the mere injury to the engine is what made him so angry. But remember this, Roy. Everything considered, the captain handled you very gently. I know it was because he realized that you were sincere in your belief that you were acting for the good of the ship. He didn’t believe a word you said about the electricity. He thought you imagined that you saw sparks. But whether you believe it or not, he gave you full credit for trying to do your duty.”
“He took a mighty queer way of showing it,” said Roy, ruefully.
“He’s a queer man, Roy. But he’s absolutely honest and absolutely just. His trouble is to see past his prejudices.”
“Then how are you ever going to make him understand about the donkey-engine?”
“Leave that to me, Roy. I know how to manage it.”
But if the purser did know, he apparently forgot all about the matter. At least so it seemed to Roy. Hours and even days passed with no further reference to the affair by the purser, who was again busy, and with no change in Captain Lansford’s grim attitude toward Roy. It even seemed to Roy as though the captain avoided meeting him, and Roy could interpret that only as meaning that the captain was still angry with him and was annoyed at the sight of him. In consequence, Roy was miserable, particularly because he thought the purser had failed him. That hurt, for Roy still suffered from boyish impatience. He thought that the purser, if he could remedy the matter at all, should be able to fix it overnight.
Meantime, the process of loading went on apace. The warehouse was emptied and every possible preparation made to rush the loading when finally the belated cotton train arrived. Roy had watched with wonder the way the ship was loaded in New York, but he was simply astounded at the way the work went here. He had always heard that southern darkies were indolent; but there was nothing indolent about these strapping, dusky roustabouts. They seemed as tireless and tough as army mules. Hour after hour they worked at top speed, shooting the cotton bales into the Lycoming’s hold in an uninterrupted stream and at a pace that was past belief. Extra pay was offered them to work over-hours, and by the aid of numerous electric lights the work continued until well into the night. Very early in the morning work was resumed. So it went until the last bale was aboard. The cargo was safely stowed and the hatches battened down before the sailing hour had arrived.
Again Roy had to admit to himself that what seemed impossible had once more been achieved and that it had been accomplished by the captain. Lovable he was not. But something about him was so big and strong, so dominating, so overpowering, that his spirit seemed to communicate itself to those around him. Roy had often heard of magnetism, without exactly understanding what it was. Now that he actually saw it, he did not recognize it as magnetism. All he knew was that the captain, when aroused, seemed so utterly to dominate those about him that they became for the time being infused with his own spirit. And that spirit simply would not admit the possibility of failure. To Captain Lansford the word “if” was unknown.
Long before the loading was completed the last passenger was aboard, and there was nothing to prevent the Lycoming from casting off on the stroke of the hour. As sailing time approached, Roy once more found himself busy. As usual, there were messages to send for passengers and more or less routine work to be done in connection with the departure of the ship itself.
By this time Roy’s shyness was beginning to wear off. On the trip down he had purposely kept aloof from passengers, and except for the first officer, the chief engineer, and the purser, he had made few friends. Now he felt more at home. He had become familiar with his duties and his position. He knew what was expected of him. Naturally of a friendly disposition, he was glad that his position permitted him to know the various members of the crew and the passengers. Of the men in the fire-room and the sailors he saw little; but he now tried to cultivate the acquaintance of the other officers and of some of the passengers. His sunny disposition and natural brightness soon made him a general favorite. Had it not been for the captain’s uncompromising attitude toward him, Roy would have been quite happy. He felt that he was succeeding in his work, and he could feel that those about him liked him. But it still hurt him to think that the purser had failed him.
On the first day out Roy was late in answering the dinner call. As he passed the captain’s table, on the way to his own, some one whispered audibly, “There he is now.” A score of persons looked around as Roy made his way to his own seat. Hardly had he settled himself in his chair before the purser’s voice rang out from a near-by table. It was so unlike the pleasant-mannered purser thus to talk in loud tones that Roy was astonished. He paused to listen, as everybody else seemed to be doing.
Distinctly he heard the purser saying, “Yes, sir, saved the ship by his quick wit. The donkey-engine belt was slipping and creating electricity by friction. The broken end of a metal cotton bale strap swaying close to the belt became electrified, and the charge leaped across a break in the strap, like a spark jumping the gap in a spark-plug. There was no end of cotton and hemp fibres swirling about in the wind, and the spark itself occurred in some loose cotton that had bulged out of the bale when the metal strap broke. It was broad daylight and nobody saw the spark but the wireless man. He was watching for it. He knew that sparks would continue to flash as long as the belt kept on generating electricity and that another spark might set the cotton afire. The chief engineer says it’s a miracle that the cotton didn’t catch. If it had, the flames would have spread like lightning with all that loose stuff about and the wind blowing half a gale. Fire would have been in the hold before anybody could have said Jack Robinson, and nothing short of a miracle could have saved the ship. For there was no steam up to fight the flames with. The chief engineer says that if Mr. Mercer hadn’t acted so promptly, the Lycoming would certainly not have been sailing to-day, to say the least.”
During this recital the dining-saloon had become as still as death. Not a knife clinked or a glass tinkled. Every other voice was hushed. The waiters paused in the aisles, trays held aloft, until the purser concluded his recital. Speaking as though to his own table only, the purser was really addressing everybody in the dining-saloon. Every one could hear him plainly and distinctly, including Captain Lansford. Like everybody else he listened carefully, but his face was inscrutable.
When Roy realized that the purser was talking about him his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He bent his head and kept his eyes fastened on his plate. As the purser continued his story, hot anger came into Roy’s heart. It was quite bad enough for the purser to fail to make an effort to straighten out the matter with Captain Lansford. But for the purser to humiliate him merely for the sake of making a telling story was unforgivable. For Roy could not conceive why the purser should mention the matter before the entire company of passengers unless it were that he wanted to tell a striking story. Angry, confused, embarrassed, Roy wanted to flee from the dining-saloon. But he could not do so without making himself conspicuous. There was nothing to do but go on with his dinner. So angry and confused that he hardly knew what he was putting into his mouth, Roy tried to eat. But no sooner had the purser stopped speaking than scores of eyes were focused on Roy, and from every part of the room complimentary remarks were flung at him. Then somebody cried, “Speech! Let’s hear from Mr. Mercer himself!” The cry was taken up and the dining-saloon rang with the summons, “Speech! Speech! Tell us more about it, Mr. Mercer.”
Roy was paralyzed with embarrassment. He had done nothing remarkable, nothing out of the ordinary, and to be made a hero under such circumstances was humiliating. In fact, in his worriment, Roy had almost come to the conclusion that the captain must be right and that far from being a hero he was only a troublesome meddler.
“Speech! Speech!” continued the cries.
But Roy was dumb to all appeal. He looked at his plate in silence and his face flamed like fire.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried the purser, springing to his feet when he saw Roy’s embarrassment, “Mr. Mercer is a man of deeds, not words. Every one of us from the captain down will feel safer because he is aboard. He evidently does not want to talk and we shall not make him. I owe him an apology for putting him in such an embarrassing position. I’ll punish myself by making a speech for him.”
The purser was both a ready and a witty speaker and for several minutes he kept the diners laughing at his good jokes. That gave Roy time to regain his composure. By the time the purser’s little speech was ended Roy was quite himself again. When those seated at his table turned to congratulate him he talked to them frankly and without embarrassment, but refused to discuss the incident the purser had described. Numbers of people spoke to him when the dinner was ended. Roy was glad when he could escape and seek the seclusion of the wireless house.
Yet he felt far from being hurt or mortified, as he considered the matter calmly in the seclusion of his own room. Every word that the purser had said was true. The engine belt was generating electricity. He had prevented a fire by his action. Of that he had not the slightest doubt. But there was nothing in what he had done that was in any sense heroic or that deserved especial mention.
Any one else, seeing the danger, would have acted to save the ship. The sole difference between himself and others who were on the scene was that he had realized the danger and they had not. But he could claim no credit for that. He was trained in electrical matters and would have been a poor wireless man, indeed, if he had not detected the danger.
The only question was whether or not he had done his part well after discovering the danger. Roy thought the matter over carefully. He could not see that there was anything else he could have done. And that belief made him feel better pleased about the matter.
He didn’t want the passengers to consider him a hero when he wasn’t a hero. But, on the whole, Roy was glad the passengers knew about the matter. He wanted to get acquainted with some of them and the incident would make that an easy matter. But most of all he was glad that the story had been told before the captain. It was worth the embarrassment he had suffered to know that the captain had had to listen to the story whether he wanted to or not, and to hear what some of the ship’s officers, including the chief engineer, thought about the matter. Yes, that certainly was worth while. Roy felt that he could almost forgive the purser for telling the story, since the captain had had to listen to it.
Suddenly a thought came to Roy. He pondered a moment over it, then called out in astonishment and mortification. “Why, you old chump!” he said to himself, “that’s the very reason the purser told the story—so that the captain would have to listen to it. If the purser had gone to him with an explanation, the captain would have shut him off as he did me when I tried to explain. All done for your own good, and here you were doubting the purser and feeling angry at him for trying to help you. I guess the captain was right when he called you a wireless infant. Thank goodness, I haven’t had a chance to say anything to the purser, or I’d probably have proved to him that I was a wireless fool as well. You bet I won’t forget this lesson—or the purser’s kindness, either.”
Presently the sober look disappeared from Roy’s face and he began to chuckle. “Slick, wasn’t it?” he muttered. “I wonder if the old dragon realizes that the purser put one over on him.”
If the captain did realize it, he gave no hint of the fact. His treatment of both the purser and Roy altered not a whit. But Roy was interested to note that before they had been afloat twenty-four hours the captain’s steward stepped into the wireless house again, and after some conversation casually asked for any news Roy had picked up.
Roy had plenty of news to give him. The Gulf coast was fairly dotted with wireless stations. Brownsville, Port Arthur, Galveston, New Orleans, Savannah, Key West, Pensacola, Fort Crockett, Fort Dodd, and numerous other Marconi or government stations fringed the great body of water, some of which would always be within reach of the Lycoming. The United States Navy station at Guantanamo, the Marconi stations at Miami, Jacksonville, Cape Hatteras, and Virginia Beach, the navy stations at Charleston and the Diamond Shoals light off Hatteras, and the army stations at Fort Moultrie and Fortress Monroe, were only a few of the land stations that would likewise be within communicating distance at some period of the journey. Ship stations by the dozen would be within call during the voyage, for there was a constant procession of ships up and down the Atlantic coast—ships sailing to or from home ports along the ocean and the Gulf, vessels for Mexico, and Central America, and Cuba, and steamers bound for South American ports or destinations on the Pacific via the Panama Canal.
Some of the stations would always be within reach even though two hundred and fifty to three hundred miles was about the limit of Roy’s calling distance by day. When the atmosphere interfered or thunder-storms were kicking up an aerial disturbance, he was sometimes unable to talk more than half that distance. Even the slightest things made a difference—the temperature, the nocturnal dampness, the contour of the earth when talking to land stations, the level spaces over the ocean. At the outside he could not talk more than three hundred miles by day. But at night, when he got “freak” workings, he could sometimes send a thousand miles and receive twice that distance. On more than one occasion Roy had already distinctly caught the Arlington weather signals, here in the Gulf, and once he had picked up messages sent by the Tropical Radio Telegraph Company, from its station on the Metropolitan tower in New York to its station in New Orleans.
On the second night out Roy sat at his post, listening in. Voices were coming through the air from every direction. It was a wonderful night for radio communication and Roy could hear farther than he had ever heard before. Behind him he could distinguish both the Marconi stations at Galveston and at Fort Crockett, farther up the island. The army post at Brownsville was relaying a message from El Paso to the Panama Canal. Roy wondered if it would carry successfully over that great stretch of land and water. The Charleston Navy Yard was flinging out a call for the destroyer Mills, and finally an answer came back from a point near Key West. The Mills was ordered to proceed to Guantanamo to coal. The navy operator at Key West was talking to Havana. Behind him Roy could hear the Mallory liner Lampasas sending private messages for passengers. The Ward liner Morro Castle was talking somewhere in the mist to the eastward. The Clyde liner Cherokee, off to the southeast, was calling for her sister ship Comanche. Along the South Atlantic coast regular processions of ships were moving in two lines, some going north, others coming south, and all talking at once. Distinctly Roy heard the call signals and answers of the Ward liner Monterey, the Mallory liner Comal, the Standard Oil boat Caloria, the Red D liner Caracas, the Savannah liners City of Atlanta and City of Augusta, and the Florida of the Texas Company. He could even hear, far to the north, the Old Dominion liner Jamestown, and the Merritt-Chapman Wrecking Company’s Rescue.
But what most interested Roy was the nightly news-letter flung abroad at the usual hour by the New York Marconi station. It was easily twelve hundred miles away, yet Roy could hear every word distinctly. The captain would be interested in this, and Roy picked up a pencil and jotted down the night’s news: “Three-thousand-peasants-are-massacred-by-Hungarian-Reds—stop—Soviet-guard-shoots-and-hangs-revolters-at-Oldenburg—stop—Hungarian-Reds-beat-back-Czechs—stop—Pressburg-threatened—stop—Wilson-may-sail-in-ten-days—stop—Premiers-near-agreement—stop—Wilhelm-likely-to-escape-trial-envoys-think—stop—Punishment-of-ex-Kaiser-is-dead-issue—stop—French-will-try-Cavell—betrayer—stop—Hurley-asks-six-hundred-millions-to-finish-ships—stop—Says-Burleson-makes-United-States-pay-for-strike—stop—Telegraphers’-leader-says-people-must-stand-cost—stop—Victor-Berger-says-chaos-ahead—stop—Prosecution-of-socialists-will-bring-direct-action—stop—Britain-stirred-by-rumors-of-modified-peace—stop—Nicaraguans-ask-United-States-to-send-troops-to-prevent-threatened-invasion-from-Costa-Rica-by-army-now-massed-on-border—stop—First-state-will-ratify-national-suffrage-amendment-this-week—stop.” Then came the stock-market report and the baseball scores.
Roy took down every word. Hardly had he finished writing when a sound struck his ears that momentarily stopped his heart.
“SOS,” came the signal, clear and distinct. “SOS, SOS.” It was the international signal of distress.
Other ears than Roy’s caught the cry for help and in a second a hundred operators were fairly yelling encouragement through the air.
“Who are you? Where are you? Give us your location? What is the matter?”
It was a ship Roy did not know. She lay well out in the Atlantic, and not in the usual steamship lanes. She had broken her shaft and was wallowing helplessly, unable to make repairs. The barometer was going down and she wanted to be helped to port. The nearest ships were those in the west-bound lanes for transatlantic liners. Presently Roy heard the navy station at Arlington asking a west-bound liner to go to the ship’s assistance.
Just as Roy was about to lay aside his receivers for the night he heard the Lycoming’s call, clear as a bell. It was Reynolds, the wireless man he had met in Galveston. Reynolds’ ship was off Jacksonville. He reported the weather as threatening and the sea rising, with a storm coming from the north.
“Where are you?” asked Reynolds.
“In the Florida Straits,” replied Roy.
“You’ll catch it sometime to-morrow probably,” flashed back Reynolds. “Good luck to you. Look me up when you reach New York. Good-night.”
It was now quite late. Unless the captain was on watch, he was doubtless asleep. Roy was in doubt as to what he should do, but finally decided to take the news to the officer in charge. He was the proper official to know about the approaching storm. Roy copied down his weather-report and the night’s news-letter, and made a note of the SOS call and the communication from Reynolds. Then he sought the bridge.
Mr. Young was in charge, the captain having retired for the night. “Thank you, Mr. Mercer,” he said, as Roy gave him the despatches. Then, glancing them over, he went on, “So it’s getting rough off Jacksonville, eh? I knew we were heading into a storm. The barometer has been falling steadily. It probably won’t be anything more than a gale at this season. We’ll be in it by noon and perhaps earlier. I am glad to know about it, and I thank you for troubling to inform me.”
“It’s no trouble,” said Roy. “I should think every navigator would be more than glad to have wireless service on his ship. Think of that helpless liner out in the Atlantic with a storm coming up. Where would she be if she couldn’t have summoned help? I can’t understand how anybody can feel the way Captain Lansford does.”
“There are some things past understanding, Mr. Mercer. But perhaps things may happen that will change the captain’s mind about wireless telegraphy. Good-night.”
Roy went to his room and to bed, wondering if he would ever have the chance suggested by Mr. Young, of changing the captain’s attitude toward him and his work. He thought of the ship out on the ocean, lying helpless in the path of the coming storm, and wondered if the opportunity he longed for would come with that same storm. He was a long time getting to sleep. Finally his eyelids closed, but before they did Roy was dimly conscious that the ship was rolling more than she had since he had been a member of her crew.