The Battery and the Boiler: Adventures in Laying of Submarine Electric Cables by - (top 100 novels TXT) 📕

causes and nature of the fact, but not as to the fact itself.”

It was evident that Robin looked upon this as an unanswerable argument, and his friend seemed perplexed.

“Well, I don’ know how it is,” he said, after a pause, “but I do believe that this here wonderful electricity is fit for a’most anything, an’ that we’ll have it revoloosionising everything afore long—I do indeed.”

The intelligent reader who has noted the gigantic strides which we have recently made in electric lighting of late will observe that Slagg, unwittingly, had become almost prophetic at this time.

“We’re going along splendidly now,” said Mr Smith, coming up to Robin that evening while he was conversing with Slagg, who immediately retired.—“Who is that youth? He seems very fond of you; I’ve observed that he makes up to you whenever you chance to be on deck together.”

“He is one of the steward’s lads, sir; I met him accidentally in the train; but I suspect the fondness is chiefly on my side. He was very kind to me when I first came on board, and I really think he is an intelligent, good fellow—a strange mixture of self-confidence and humility. Sometimes, to hear him speak, you would think he knew everything; but at the same time he is always willing—indeed anxious—to listen and learn. He is a capital fighter too.”

Here Robin related the battle in the boys’ berth, when Slagg thrashed Stumps, whereat Mr Smith was much amused.

“So he seems a peculiar lad—modest, impudent, teachable, kindly, and warlike! Come below now, Robin, I have some work for you. Did you make the calculations I gave you yesterday?”

“Yes, sir, and they corresponded exactly with your own.”

“Good. Go fetch my little note-book: I left it in the grand saloon on the furthest aft seat, port side.”

Robin found the magnificent saloon of the big ship ringing with music and conversation. Joy over the recent restoration to health of the ailing cable, the comfortable stability of the ship in rough weather, and the satisfactory progress then being made, all contributed to raise the spirits of every one connected with the great work, so that, while some were amusing themselves at the piano, others were scattered about in little groups, discussing the profounder mysteries of electric science, or prophesying the speedy completion of the enterprise, while a few were speculating on the probability of sport in Newfoundland, or planning out journeys through the United States.

“There’s lots of game, I’m told, in Newfoundland,” said one of the youthful electricians, whose ruling passion—next to the subtle fluid—was the gun.

“So I’ve been told,” replied an elder and graver comrade. “Polar bears are quite common in the woods, and it is said that walrus are fond of roosting in the trees.”

“Yes, I have heard so,” returned the youthful sportsman, who, although young, was not to be caught with chaff, “and the fishing, I hear, is also splendid. Salmon and cod are found swarming in the rivers by those who care for mild occupation, while really exciting sport is to be had in the great lakes of the interior, where there are plenty of fresh-water whales that take the fly.”

“The swan, you mean,” said another comrade. “The fly that is most killing among Newfoundland whales is a swan fastened whole to a shark hook—though a small boat’s anchor will do if you haven’t the right tackle.”

“Come, don’t talk nonsense, but let’s have a song!” said a brother electrician to the sporting youth.

“I never sing,” he replied, “except when hurt, and then I sing out. But see, our best musician has just seated himself at the instrument.”

“I don’t talk shop, Nimrod; call it the piano.”

Most of those present drew towards the musical corner, where Ebenezer Smith, having just entered the saloon in search of Robin, had been prevailed on to sit down and enliven the company. Robin, who had been delayed by difficulty in finding the note-book, stopped to listen.

Smith had a fair average voice and a vigorous manner.

“You wouldn’t object to hear the cook’s last?” asked Smith, running his fingers lightly over the keys.

“Of course not—go on,” chorused several voices.

“I had no idea,” lisped a simple youth, who was one of a small party of young gentlemen interested in engineering and science, who had been accommodated with a passage,—“I had no idea that our cook was a poet as well as an admirable chef de cuisine.”

“Oh, it’s not our cook he means,” explained the sporting electrician; “Mr Smith refers to a certain sea-cook—or his son, I’m not sure which—who is chef des horse-marines.”

“Is there a chorus?” asked one.

“Of course there is,” replied Smith; “a sea-song without a chorus is like a kite without a tail—it is sure to fall flat, but the chorus is an old and well-known one—it is only the song that is new. Now then, clear your throats, gentlemen.”

Song—The Loss of the Nancy Lee.

 

I.

 

’Twas on a Friday morning that I went off,

    An’ shipped in the Nancy Lee,

But that ship caught a cold and with one tremendous cough

    Went slap to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea,

        Went slap to the bottom of the sea.

 

Chorus.—Then the raging sea may roar,

        An’ the stormy winds may blow,

        While we jolly sailor boys rattle up aloft,

        And the landlubbers lie down below, below, below

            And the landlubbers lie down below.

 

II.

 

For wery nigh a century I lived with the crabs,

    An’ danced wi’ the Mermaids too,

An’ drove about the Ocean in mother o’ pearl cabs,

    An’ dwelt in a cavern so blue, so blue, so blue,

        An’ dwelt in a cavern so blue.

        Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

 

III.

 

I soon forgot the sorrows o’ the world above

    In the pleasures o’ the life below;

Queer fish they made up to me the want o’ human love,

    As through the world o’ waters I did go, did go, did go;

        As through the world o’ waters I did go.

        Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

 

IV.

 

One day a horrid grampus caught me all by the nose,

    An’ swung me up to the land,

An’ I never went to sea again, as everybody knows,

    And as everybody well may understand, ’derstand, ’derstand,

        And as everybody well may understand.

        Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

The plaudits with which this song was received were, it need scarcely be remarked, due more to the vigour of the chorus and the enthusiasm of the audience than to intrinsic merit. Even Robin Wright was carried off his legs for the moment, and, modest though he was, broke in at the chorus with such effect—his voice being shrill and clear—that, he unintentionally outyelled all the rest, and would have fled in consternation from the saloon if he had not been caught and forcibly detained by the sporting electrician, who demanded what right he had to raise his steam-whistle in that fashion.

“But I say, young Wright,” he added in a lower tone, leading our hero aside, “what’s this rumour I hear about a ghost in the steward’s cabin?”

“Oh! it is nothing to speak of,” replied Robin, with a laugh. “The lad they call Stumps got a fright—that’s all.”

“But that’s enough. Let us hear about it.”

“Well, I suppose you know,” said Robin, “that there’s a ghost in the Great Eastern.”

“No, I don’t know it from personal experience, but I have heard a report to that effect.”

“Well, I was down in Jim Slagg’s berth, having a chat with him about the nature of electric currents—for he has a very inquiring mind,—and somehow we diverged to ghosts, and began to talk of the ghost of the Great Eastern.

“‘I don’t believe in the Great Eastern ghost—no, nor in ghosts of any kind,’ said Stumps, who was sitting near us eating a bit of cheese.

“‘But I believe in ’em,’ said the boy Jeff, who was seated on the other side of the table, and looked at us so earnestly that we could scarce help smiling—though we didn’t feel in a smiling humour at the time, for it was getting dark, and we had got to talking in low tones and looking anxiously over our shoulders, you know—

“‘Oh yes, I know,’ replied the sportsman, with a laugh; ‘I have shuddered and grue-oo-ed many a time over ghost-stories. Well?’

“‘I don’t believe in ’em, Jeff. Why do you?’ asked Stumps, in a scoffing tone.

“‘Because I hear one every night a’most when I go down into the dark places below to fetch things. There’s one particular spot where the ghost goes tap-tap-tapping continually.’

“‘Fiddlededee,’ said Stumps.

“‘Come down, and you shall hear it for yourself,’ said Jeff.

“Now, they say that Stumps is a coward, though he boasts a good deal—”

“You may say,” interrupted the sportsman, “that Stumps is a coward because he boasts a good deal. Boasting is often a sign of cowardice—though not always.”

“Well,” continued Robin, “being ashamed to draw back, I suppose, he agreed to accompany Jeff.

“‘Won’t you come too, Slagg?’ said Stumps.

“‘No; I don’t care a button for ghosts. Besides, I’m too busy, but Wright will go. There, don’t bother me!’ said Jim.

“I noticed, as I went last out of the room, that Slagg rose quickly and pulled a sheet off one of the beds. Afterwards, looking back, I saw him slip out and run down the passage in the opposite direction. I suspected he was about some mischief, but said nothing.

“It was getting dark, as I have said, though not dark enough for lighting the lamps, and in some corners below it was as dark as midnight. To one of these places Jeff led us.

“‘Mind how you go now,’ whispered Jeff; ‘it’s here somewhere, and there’s a hole too—look-out—there it is!’

“‘What! the ghost?’ whispered Stumps, beginning to feel uneasy. To say truth, I began to feel uneasy myself without well knowing why. At that moment I fell over something, and came down with a crash that shook Stumps’s nerves completely out of order.

“‘I say, let’s go back,’ he muttered in a tremulous voice.

“‘No, no,’ whispered Jeff seizing Stumps by the arm with a sudden grip that made him give a short yelp, ‘we are at the place now. It’s in this dark passage. Listen!’

“We all held our breath and listened. For a few seconds we heard nothing, but presently a slight tapping was heard.

“‘I’ve heard,’ whispered Jeff in a low tone, ‘that when the big ship was buildin’, one o’ the plate-riveters disappeared in some hole between the two skins o’ the ship hereabouts, and his comrades, not bein’ able to find him, were obliged at last to rivet him in, which they did so tight that even his ghost could not get out, so it goes on tappin’, as you hear, an’ is likely to go on tappin’ for ever.’

“‘Bosh!’ whispered Stumps; thus politely intimating his disbelief, but I felt him trembling all over notwithstanding.

“At that moment we saw a dim shadowy whitish object at the other end of the dark passage. ‘Wha’—wha’—what’s that?’ said I.

“Stumps gasped. I heard his teeth chattering, and I think his knees were knocking together. Jeff made no sound, and it was too dark to see his face. Suddenly the object rushed at us. There was no noise of footsteps—only a muffled sound and a faint hissing. I stood still, unable to move. So did Jeff. I felt the hair of my head rising. Stumps gasped again—then turned and fled. The creature, whatever it was, brushed past us with a hideous laugh. I guessed at once that it was Jim Slagg, but evidently Stumps didn’t, for he uttered an awful yell that would have roused the whole ship if she had been of an ordinary size; at the same moment he tripped and fell on the thing that had upset me, and the ghost, leaping over him, vanished from our sight.

“To my surprise, on returning to our cabin, we found Slagg as we had left him, with both hands on his forehead poring over his book. I was almost as much surprised to see Jeff sit down and laugh heartily.—Now, what do you think it could have been?”

“It was Slagg, of course,” answered the sporting electrician.

“Yes, but what causes the tapping?”

“Oh, that is no doubt some little trifle—a