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

“Impossible,” said the electrician; “I have not time to wait. My leave has expired. Besides, you can write him a note.”

So the note was written, as we have shown, and the party set out on their inland journey.

Before starting, however, Frank Hedley, the engineer, took Sam and Robin aside.

“Now, think over what I have mentioned,” he said, “and make up your minds. You see, I have some influence at head-quarters, and am quite sure I can get you both a berth on board to replace the men who have left us. I think I can even manage to find a corner for Slagg, if he is not particular.”

“We shall only be too happy to go if you can manage it,” replied Robin; “but Stumps, what about him? We can’t leave Stumps behind, you know.”

“Well. I’ll try to get Stumps smuggled aboard as a stoker or something, if possible, but to say truth, I don’t feel quite so sure about that matter,” replied Frank.

“But shall we have time for this trip if you should prove successful?” asked Sam.

“Plenty of time,” returned his friend; “coaling is a slow as well as a dirty process, and to ship thousands of tons is not a trifle. I daresay we shall be more than a week here before the shore-end is fixed and all ready to start.”

“Well then, Frank,” said Sam; “adieu, till we meet as shipmates.”

The railway soon conveyed our adventurers a considerable distance into the interior of the country.

At the station where Redpath and his guests got out, a vehicle was procured sufficiently large to hold them all, and the road over which they rapidly passed bore out the character which the electrician had given to it. Every species of beautiful scenery presented itself—from the low scrubby plain, with clumps of tropical plants here and there, to undulating uplands and hills.

“You must have some difficulties in your telegraph operations here,” said Robin to Redpath, “with which we have not to contend in Europe.”

“A few,” replied his friend, “especially in the wilder parts of the East. Would you believe it,” he added, addressing himself to Letta, “that wild animals frequently give us great trouble? Whenever a wild pig, a tiger, or a buffalo, takes it into his head to scratch himself, he uses one of our telegraph-posts if he finds it handy. Elephants sometimes butt them down with their thick heads, by way of pastime, I suppose, for they are not usually fond of posts and wire as food. Then bandicoots and porcupines burrow under them and bring them to the ground, while kites and crows sit on the wires and weigh them down. Monkeys, as usual, are most mischievous, for they lay hold of the wires with tails and paws, swinging from one to another, and thus form living conductors, which tend to mix and confuse the messages.”

“But does not the electricity hurt the monkeys?” asked Letta.

“O no! It does them no injury; and birds sitting on the wires are never killed by it, as many people suppose. The electricity passes them unharmed, and keeps faithfully to the wire. If a monkey, indeed, had a tail long enough to reach from the wire to the ground, and were to wet itself thoroughly, it might perhaps draw off some of the current, but fortunately the tails of monkeys are limited. We often find rows of birds lying dead below our telegraph lines, but these have been killed by flying against them, the wires being scarcely visible among trees.”

“And what about savages, sir?” asked Jim Slagg, who had become deeply interested in the telegraphist’s discourse; “don’t they bother you sometimes?”

“Of course they do,” replied Redpath, with a laugh, “and do us damage at times, though we bother them too, occasionally.”

“How do you manage that, sir?” asked Jim.

“Well, you must know we have been much hindered in our work by the corruptness and stupidity of Eastern officials in many places, and by the destructive propensities and rapacity of Kurds and wandering Arabs and semi-savages, who have found our posts in the desert good for firewood and our wires for arrow-heads or some such implements. Some of our pioneers in wild regions have been killed by robbers when laying the lines, while others have escaped only by fighting for their lives. Superstition, too, has interfered with us sadly, though sometimes it has come to our aid.”

“There was one eccentric Irishman—one of the best servants I ever had,” continued Redpath, “who once made a sort of torpedo arrangement which achieved wonderful success. The fellow is with me still, and it is a treat to hear Flinn, that’s his name, tell the story, but the fun of it mostly lies in the expressive animation of his own face, and the richness of his brogue as he tells it.

“‘I was away in the dissert somewheres,’ he is wont to say, ‘I don’t rightly remimber where, for my brain’s no better than a sive at geagraphy, but it was a wild place, anyhow—bad luck to it! Well, we had sot up a line o’ telegraph in it, an’ wan the posts was stuck in the ground not far from a pool o’ wather where the wild bastes was used to dhrink of a night, an’ they tuk a mighty likin’ to this post, which they scrubbed an’ scraped at till they broke it agin an’ agin. Och! it’s me heart was broke intirely wi’ them. At last I putt me brains in steep an’ got up an invintion. It wouldn’t be aisy to explain it, specially to onscientific people. No matter, it was an electrical arrangement, which I fixed to the post, an’ bein’ curious to know how it would work, I wint down to the pool an’ hid mesilf in a hole of a rock, wid a big stone over me an ferns all round about. I tuk me rifle, av coorse, just for company, you know, but not to shoot, for I’m not bloodthirsty, by no means. Well, I hadn’t bin long down whin a rustle in the laves towld me that somethin’ was comin’, an’ sure enough down trotted a little deer—as purty a thing as you could wish to see. It took a dhrink, tremblin’ all the time, an’ there was good cause, for another rustlin’ was heard. Off wint the deer, just as a panther o’ some sort jumped out o’ the jungle an’ followed it. Bad luck go wid ye says I; but I’d scarce said it whin a loud crashing in the jungle towld me a buffalo or an elephant was comin’. It was an elephant. He wint an’ took a long pull at the pool. After that he goes straight to the post. Ha! says I, it’s an owld friend o’ yours, I see. When he putt his great side agin’ it, for the purpose of scratchin’, he got a shock from my electrical contrivance that caused his tail to stand upon end, and the hairs at its point to quiver. Wid a grunt he stood back an’ gave the post a look o’ surprise, as much as to say, Did ye do that a-purpose, ye spalpeen? Then he tried it again, an’ got another shock that sot up his dander, for he twisted his long nose round the post, goin’ to pull it down, no doubt, but he got another shock on the nose that made him squeal an’ draw back. Then he lowered his great head for a charge. It’s all over wid ye now, me post, says I; but the baste changed its mind, and wint off wid its tail an’ trunk in the air, trumpetin’ as if it had got the toothache. Well, after that nothin’ came for some time, and I think I must have gone off to slape, for I was awoke by a most tremendious roar. Lookin’ up I saw a tiger sprawlin’ on his back beside the post! Av coorse the shock wasn’t enough to have knocked the baste over. I suppose it had tripped in the surprise. Anyhow it jumped up and seized the post with claws an’ teeth, whin av coorse it got another shock that caused it to jump back about six yards, with its tail curled, its hair all on end, all its claws out, an’ its eyes blazin’. You seem to feel it, says I—into meself, for fear he’d hear me. He didn’t try it again, but wint away into the bush like a war-rocket. After that, five or six little wild pigs came down, an’ the smallest wan wint straight up to the post an’ putt his nose to it. He drew back wid a jerk, an’ gave a scream that seemed to rend all his vitals. You don’t like it, thinks I; but, faix, it looked as if I was wrong, for he tried it again. Another shock he got, burst himself a’most wid a most fearful yell, an’ bolted. His brothers didn’t seem to understand it quite. They looked after him in surprise. Then the biggest wan gave a wriggle of his curly tail, an’ wint to the post as if to inquire what was the matter. When he got it on the nose the effect was surprisin’. The curl of his tail came straight out, an’ it quivered for a minute all over, wid its mouth wide open. The screech had stuck in his throat, but it came out at last so fierce that the other pigs had to join in self-defence. I stuck my fingers in my ears and shut me eyes. When I opened them again the pigs were gone. It’s my opinion they were all dissolved, like the zinc plates in a used-up battery; but I can’t prove that. Well, while I was cogitatin’ on the result of my little invintion, what should walk out o’ the woods but a man! At first I tuk him for a big monkey, for the light wasn’t very good, but he had a gun on his shoulder, an’ some bits o’ clothes on, so I knew him for a human. Like the rest o’ them, he wint up to the post an’ looked at it, but didn’t touch it. Then he came to the pool an’ tuk a dhrink, an’ spread out his blanket, an’ began to arrange matters for spendin’ the rest o’ the night there. Av coorse he pulled out his axe, for he couldn’t do widout fire to kape the wild bastes off. An’ what does he do but go straight up to my post an’ lift his axe for a good cut. Hallo! says I, pretty loud, for I was a’most too late. Whew! What a jump he gave—six futt if it was an inch. Whin he came down he staggered with his back agin the post. That was enough. The jump he tuk before was nothin’ to what he did after. I all but lost sight of him among the branches. When he returned to the ground it was flat on his face he fell, an’, rowlin’ over his head, came up on his knees with a roar that putt the tigers and pigs to shame. Sarves you right, says I, steppin’ out of my hole. Av coorse he thought I was a divil of some sort, for he turned as white in the face as a brown man could, an’ bolted without so much as sayin’ farewell. The way that nigger laid his legs along the ground was a caution. Ostriches are a joke to it. I picked up his blanket an’ fetched it home as a keepsake, an’ from that day to this the telegraph-posts have been held sacred by man an’ baste all over that part of the country.’”

“I’d like to meet wi’ the feller that told that yarn,” said Jim Slagg.

“So should I,” said Letta, laughing.

“You shall both have your wish, for there he stands,” said Redpath, as they dashed round the corner