A PICTURE SENT AND A CABLE TESTED
Something over a fortnight went by and the three captains had received
no answers from the advertisement in the Nuptial Chime. The suspense
affected each of them in a different manner. Captain Jerry was nervous
and apprehensive. He said nothing, and asked no questions, but it was
noticeable that he was the first to greet the carrier of the “mail box”
when that individual came down the road, and, as the days passed and
nothing more important than the Cape Cod Item and a patent-medicine
circular came to hand, a look that a suspicious person might have deemed
expressive of hope began to appear in his face.
Captain Perez, on the contrary, grew more and more disgusted with the
delay. He spent a good deal of time wondering why there were no replies,
and he even went so far as to suggest writing to the editor of
the Chime. He was disposed to lay the blame upon Captain Eri's
advertisement, and hinted that the latter was not “catchy” enough.
Captain Eri, alone of the trio, got any amusement out of the situation.
He pretended to see in Captain Jerry an impatient bridegroom and
administered comfort in large doses by suggesting that, in all
probability, there had been so many replies that it had been found
necessary to charter a freight-car to bring them down.
“Cheer up, Jerry!” he said. “It's tough on you, I know, but think of all
them poor sufferin' females that's settin' up nights and worryin' for
fear they won't be picked out. Why, say, when you make your ch'ice
you'll have to let the rest know right off; 'twould be cruelty to
animals not to. You ought to put 'em out of their misery quick's
possible.”
Captain Jerry's laugh was almost dismal.
The first batch of answers from the Chime came by an evening mail.
Captain Eri happened to beat the post-office that night and brought them
home himself. They filled three of his pockets to overflowing, and
he dumped them by handfuls on the dining table, under the nose of the
pallid Jerry.
“What did I tell you, Jerry?” he crowed. “I knew they was on the way.
What have you got to say about my advertisement now, Perez?”
There were twenty-six letters altogether. It was surprising how
many women were willing, even anxious, to ally themselves with “an
ex-seafaring man of steady habbits.” But most of the applicants were of
unsatisfactory types. As Captain Perez expressed it, “There's too many
of them everlastin' 'blondes' and things.”
There was one note, however, that even Captain Eri was disposed to
consider seriously. It was postmarked Nantucket, was written on half a
sheet of blue-lined paper, and read as follows:
“MR. SKIPPER:
“Sir: I saw your advertisements in the paper and think perhaps you might
suit me. Please answer these questions by return mail. What is your
religious belief? Do you drink liquor? Are you a profane man? If you
want to, you might send me your real name and a photograph. If I think
you will suit maybe we might sign articles.
“Yours truly,
“MARTHA B. SNOW.
“NANTUCKET, MASS.”
“What I like about that is the shipshape way she puts it,” commented
Captain Perez. “She don't say that she 'jest adores the ocean.'”
“She's mighty handy about takin' hold and bossin' things; there ain't
no doubt of that,” said Captain Eri. “Notice it's us that's got to suit
her, not her us. I kind of like that 'signin' articles,' too. You bet
she's been brought up in a seagoin' family.”
“I used to know a Jubal Snow that hailed from Nantucket,” suggested
Perez; “maybe she's some of his folks.”
“'Tain't likely,” sniffed Captain Jerry. “There's more Snows in Nantucket
than you can shake a stick at. You can't heave a rock without hittin'
one.”
“I b'lieve she's jest the kind we want,” said Captain Perez with
conviction.
“What do you say, Jerry?” asked Captain Eri. “You're goin' to be the
lucky man, you know.”
“Oh, I don't know. What's the use of hurryin'? More 'n likely the next
lot of letters 'll have somethin' better yit.”
“Now, that's jest like you, Jerry Burgess!” exclaimed Perez disgustedly.
“Want to put off and put off and put off. And the house gittin' more
like the fo'castle on a cattleboat every day.”
“I don't b'lieve myself you'd do much better, Jerry,” said Captain Eri
seriously. “I like that letter somehow. Seems to me it's worth a try.”
“Oh, all right! Have it your own way. Of course, _I_ ain't got nothin'
to say. I'm only the divilish fool that's got to git married and keep
boarders; that's all _I_ am!”
“Be careful! She asked if you was a profane man.”
“Aw, shut up! You fellers are enough to make a minister swear. _I_ don't
care what you do. Go ahead and write to her if you want to, only I give
you fair warnin', I ain't goin' to have her if she don't suit. I ain't
goin' to marry no scarecrow.”
Between them, and with much diplomacy, they soothed the indignant
candidate for matrimony until he agreed to sign his name to a letter to
the Nantucket lady. Then Captain Perez said:
“But, I say, Jerry; she wants your picture. Have you got one to send
her?”
“I've got that daguerreotype I had took when I was married afore.”
He rummaged it out of his chest and displayed it rather proudly. It
showed him as a short, sandy-haired youth, whose sunburned face beamed
from the depths of an enormous choker, and whose head was crowned with a
tall, flat-brimmed silk hat of a forgotten style.
“I s'pose that might do,” said Cap'n Perez hesitatingly.
“Do! 'Twill HAVE to do, seein' it's all he's got,” said Captain Eri.
“Good land!” he chuckled; “look at that hat! Say, Jerry, she'll think
you done your seafarin' in Noah's ark.”
But Captain Jerry was oblivious to sarcasm just then. He was gazing at
the daguerreotype in a sentimental sort of way, blowing the dust from
the glass, and tilting it up and down so as to bring it to the most
effective light.
“I swan!” he mused, “I don't know when I've looked at that afore. I
remember when I bought that hat, jest as well. Took care of it and
brushed it--my! my! I don't know but it's somewheres around now. I
thought I was jest about the ticket then, and--and I wa'n't BAD lookin',
that's a fact!”
This last with a burst of enthusiasm.
“Ho, ho! Perez,” roared Captain Eri; “Jerry's fallin' in love with his
own picture. Awful thing for one so young, ain't it?”
“I ain't such a turrible sight older 'n you be, Eri Hedge,” sputtered
the prospective bridegroom with righteous indignation. Then he added in
a rather crestfallen tone, “But I am a heap older 'n I was when I had
that daguerreotype took. See here; if I send that Nantucket woman this
picture won't she notice the difference when she sees me?”
“What if she does?” broke in Captain Perez. “You can tell her how 'twas.
Talk her over. A feller that's been married, like you, ought to be able
to talk ANY woman over.”
Captain Jerry didn't appear sanguine concerning his ability to “talk her
over,” but his fellow-conspirators made light of his feeble objections,
and the daguerreotype, carefully wrapped, was mailed the next morning,
accompanied by a brief biographical sketch of the original and his
avowed adherence to the Baptist creed and the Good Templar's abstinence.
“I hope she'll hurry up and answer,” said the impatient Captain Perez.
“I want to get this thing settled one way or another. Don't you, Jerry?”
“Yes,” was the hesitating reply. “One way or another.”
Captain Eri had seen John Baxter several times since the evening of
the “Come-Outers'” meeting. The old man was calmer apparently, and was
disposed to take the billiard-saloon matter less seriously, particularly
as it was reported that the town selectmen were to hold a special
meeting to consider the question of allowing Mr. Saunders to continue in
business. The last-named gentleman had given what he was pleased to call
a “blow-out” to his regular patrons in celebration of the granting of
the license, and “Squealer” Wixon and one or two more spent a dreary day
and night in the town lock-up in consequence. Baxter told the Captain
that he had not yet made up his mind concerning the proposed Boston
trip, but he thought “more 'n likely” he should go.
Captain Eri was obliged to be content with this assurance, but he
determined to keep a close watch on his friend just the same.
He had met Ralph Hazeltine once or twice since the latter's arrival in
Orham, and, in response to questions as to how he was getting on at the
station, the new electrician invariably responded, “First-rate.” Gossip,
however, in the person of Miss Busteed, reported that the operators were
doing their best to keep Mr. Hazeltine's lot from being altogether a bed
of roses, and there were dark hints of something more to come.
On the morning following the receipt of the letter from the Nantucket
lady, Captain Eri was busy at his fish shanty, putting his lines in
order and sewing a patch on the mainsail of his catboat. These necessary
repairs had prevented his taking the usual trip to the fishing grounds.
Looking up from his work, he saw, through the open door, Ralph Hazeltine
just stepping out of the cable-station skiff. He tucked his sail needle
into the canvas and hailed the young man with a shouted “Good-morning!”
“How do you do, Cap'n Hedge?” said Hazeltine, walking toward the shanty.
“Good weather, isn't it?”
“Tip-top. Long 's the wind stays westerly and there ain't no
Sunday-school picnics on, we don't squabble with the weather folks.
The only thing that 'll fetch a squall with a westerly wind is a
Sunday-school picnic. That 'll do it, sure as death. Busy over across?”
“Pretty busy just now. The cable parted day before yesterday, and I've
been getting things ready for the repair ship. She was due this morning,
and we're likely to hear from her at any time.”
“You don't say! Cable broke, hey? Now it's a queer thing, but I've never
been inside that station since 'twas built. Too handy, I guess. I've got
a second cousin up in Charlestown, lived there all his life, and he's
never been up in Bunker Hill monument yit. Fust time I landed in Boston
I dug for that monument, and I can tell you how many steps there is in
it to this day. If that cable station was fifty mile off I'd have been
through it two weeks after it started up, but bein' jest over there, I
ain't ever done it. Queer, ain't it?”
“Perhaps you'd like to go over with me. I'm going up to the post-office,
and when I come back I should be glad of your company.”
“Well, now, that's kind of you. I cal'late I will. You might sing out
as you go past. I've got a ha'f-hour job on this sail and then it's my
watch below.”
The cable station at Orham is a low whitewashed building with many
windows. The vegetation about it is limited exclusively to “beach grass”
and an occasional wild-plum bush. The nearest building which may be
reached without a boat is the life-saving station, two miles below. The
outer beach changes its shape every winter. The gales tear great holes
in its sides, and then, as if in recompense, throw up new shoals and
build new promontories. From the cable-station doorway in fair weather
may be counted the sails of over one hundred vessels going and coming
between Boston and New York. They come and go, and, alas! sometimes
stop by the way. Then the life-saving crews are busy and the Boston
newspapers report another wreck. All up and down the outer beach are
the sun-whitened bones of schooners and ships; and all about them, and
partially covering them, is sand, sand, sand, as white and much coarser
than granulated sugar.
Hazeltine's post-office trip and other errands had taken much more
time than he anticipated, and more than two hours had gone by before
he called for Captain Eri. During the row to the beach the electrician
explained to the Captain the processes by which a break in the cable is
located and repaired.
“You see,” he said, “as soon as the line breaks we set about finding
where it is broken. To do this we use an instrument called the
Wheatstone bridge. In this case the break is about six hundred miles
from the American shore. The next thing is to get at the company's
repair ship. She lies, usually, at Halifax when she isn't busy, and
that is where she was this time. We wired her and she left for the spot
immediately. It was up to me to get ready the testing apparatus--we
generally set up special instruments for testing. Judging by the
distance, the ship should have been over the break early this morning.
She will grapple for the broken cable ends, and as soon as she catches
our end she'll send us a message. It's simple enough.”
“Like takin' wormwood tea--easy enough if you've been brought up that
way. I think I'd make more money catchin' codfish, myself,” commented
the Captain dryly.
Ralph laughed. “Well, it really is a very simple matter,” he said. “The
only thing we have to be sure of is that our end of the line is ready
by the time the ship reaches the break. If the weather is bad the
ship can't work, and so, when she does work, she works quick. I had my
instruments in condition yesterday, so we're all right this time.”
They landed at the little wharf and plodded through the heavy sand.
“Dismal-looking place, isn't it?” said Hazeltine, as he opened the back
door of the station.
“Well, I don't know; it has its good p'ints,” replied his companion.
“Your neighbors' hens don't scratch up your garden, for one thing. What
do you do in here?”
“This is the room where we receive and send. This is the receiver.”
The captain noticed with interest the recorder, with its two brass
supports and the little glass tube, half filled with ink, that, when
the cable was working, wrote the messages upon the paper tape traveling
beneath it.
“Pretty nigh as finicky as a watch, ain't it?” he observed.
“Fully as delicate in its way. Do you see this little screw on the
centerpiece? Turn that a little, one way or the other, and the operator
on the other side might send until doomsday, we wouldn't know it. I'll
show you the living rooms and the laboratory now.”
Just then the door at the other end of the room opened, and a man, whom
Captain Eri recognized as one of the operators, came in. He started when
he saw Hazeltine and turned to go out again. Ralph spoke to him:
“Peters,” he said, “where is Mr. Langley?”
“Don't know,” answered the fellow gruffly.
“Wait a minute. Tell me where Mr. Langley is.”
“I don't know where he is. He went over to the village a while ago.”
“Where are the rest of the men?”
“Don't know.”
The impudence and thinly veiled hostility in the man's tone were
unmistakable. Hazeltine hesitated, seemed about to speak, and then
silently led the way to the hall.
“I'll show you the laboratory later on,” he said. “We'll go up to the
testing room now.” Then he added, apparently as much to himself as to
his visitor, “I told those fellows that I wouldn't be back until noon.”
There was a door at the top of the stairs. Ralph opened this quietly. As
they passed through, Captain Eri noticed that Peters had followed them
into the hall and stood there, looking up.
The upper hall had a straw matting on the floor. There was another door
at the end of the passage, and this was ajar. Toward it the electrician
walked rapidly. From the room behind the door came a shout of laughter;
then someone said:
“Better give it another turn, hadn't I, to make sure? If two turns fixes
it so we don't hear for a couple of hours, another one ought to shut it
up for a week. That's arithmetic, ain't it?”
The laugh that followed this was cut short by Hazeltine's throwing the
door wide open.
Captain Eri, close at the electrician's heels, saw a long room, empty
save for a few chairs and a table in the center. Upon this table stood
the testing instruments, exactly like those in the receiving room
downstairs. Three men lounged in the chairs, and standing beside the
table, with his fingers upon the regulating screw at the centerpiece
of the recorder, was another, a big fellow, with a round, smooth-shaven
face.
The men in the chairs sprang to their feet as Hazeltine came in. The
face of the individual by the table turned white and his fingers fell
from the regulating screw, as though the latter were red hot. The
Captain recognized the men; they were day operators whom he had met in
the village many times. Incidentally, they were avowed friends of the
former electrician, Parker. The name of the taller one was McLoughlin.
No one spoke. Ralph strode quickly to the table, pushed McLoughlin to
one side and stooped over the instruments. When he straightened up,
Captain Eri noticed that his face also was white, but evidently not from
fear. He turned sharply and looked at the four operators, who were doing
their best to appear at ease and not succeeding. The electrician looked
them over, one by one. Then he gave a short laugh.
“You damned sneaks!” he said, and turned again to the testing apparatus.
He began slowly to turn the regulating screw on the recorder. He had
given it but a few revolutions when the point of the little glass
siphon, that had been tracing a straight black line on the sliding tape,
moved up and down in curving zigzags. Hazeltine turned to the operator.
“Palmer,” he said curtly, “answer that call.”
The man addressed seated himself at the table, turned a switch, and
clicked off a message. After a moment the line on the moving tape
zigzagged again. Ralph glanced at the zigzags and bit his lip.
“Apologize to them,” he said to Palmer. “Tell them we regret exceedingly
that the ship should have been kept waiting. Tell them our recorder was
out of adjustment.”
The operator cabled the message. The three men at the end of the room
glanced at each other; this evidently was not what they expected.
Steps sounded on the stairs and Peters hurriedly entered.
“The old man's comin',” he said.
Mr. Langley, the superintendent of the station, had been in the
company's employ for years. He had been in charge of the Cape Cod
station since it was built, and he liked the job. He knew cable work,
too, from A to Z, and, though he was a strict disciplinarian, would
forgive a man's getting drunk occasionally, sooner than condone
carelessness. He was eccentric, but even those who did not like him
acknowledged that he was “square.”
He came into the room, tossed a cigar stump out of the window, and
nodded to Captain Eri.
“How are you, Captain Hedge?” he said. Then, stepping to the table, he
picked up the tape.
“Everything all right, Mr. Hazeltine?” he asked. “Hello! What does this
mean? They say they have been calling for two hours without getting an
answer. How do you explain that?”
It was very quiet in the room when the electrician answered.
“The recorder here was out of adjustment, sir,” he said simply.
“Out of adjustment! I thought you told me everything was in perfect
order before you left this morning.”
“I thought so, sir, but I find the screw was too loose. That would
account for the call not reaching us.”
“Too loose! Humph!” The superintendent looked steadfastly at Hazeltine,
then at the operators, and then at the electrician once more.
“Mr. Hazeltine,” he said at length, “I will hear what explanations you
may have to make in my office later on. I will attend to the testing
myself. That will do.”
Captain Eri silently followed his young friend to the back door of the
station. Hazeltine had seen fit to make no comment on the scene just
described, and the captain did not feel like offering any. They were
standing on the steps when the big operator, McLoughlin, came out of the
building behind them.
“Well,” he said gruffly to the electrician. “Shall I quit now or wait
until Saturday?”
“What?”
“Shall I git out now or wait till Saturday night? I suppose you'll have
me fired.”
Then Hazeltine's pent-up rage boiled over.
“If you mean that I'll tell Mr. Langley of your cowardly trick and have
you discharged--No! I don't pay my debts that way. But I'll tell you
this,--you and your sneaking friends. If you try another game like
that,--yes, or if you so much as speak to me, other than on business
while I'm here, I WILL fire you--out of the window. Clear out!”
“Mr. Hazeltine,” said Captain Eri a few moments later, “I hope you don't
mind my sayin' that I like you fust-rate. Me and Perez and Jerry ain't
the biggest bugs in town, but we like to have our friends come and see
us. I wish you'd drop in once 'n a while.”
“I certainly will,” said the young man, and the two shook hands. That
vigorous handshake was enough of itself to convince Ralph Hazeltine that
he had made, at any rate, one friend in Orham.
And we may as well add here that he had made two. For that evening Jack
McLoughlin said to his fellow conspirators:
“He said he'd fire me out of the window,--ME, mind you! And, by thunder!
I believe he'd have DONE it too. Boys, there ain't any more 'con' games
played on that kid while I'm around--Parker or no Parker. He's white,
that's what HE is!”