Thanks to the purser’s kind and skilful ministrations, Roy’s eye
was not long in returning to an almost normal appearance. But Roy
had little time to worry over his looks. As the time for sailing
approached, he was busy day and night. There were a multitude of
unusual details connected with the maiden voyage of the _Lycoming_ that
entailed endless messages. The ship’s owners were continually sending
important communications. Commanders of other Confederated liners
sent congratulations to the _Lycoming’s_ commander. Shipping agents
and commercial houses fairly bombarded Captain Lansford with wireless
communications. Finally passengers began to arrive and messages were
sent to and by them.
Even Roy, ignorant as he still was of matters nautical and commercial,
could see that things were not going right. The ship still had to be
coaled, and the coal barges were badly delayed in arriving. Certain
big freight shipments, which it was imperative for the _Lycoming_
to carry, were held back by the congested condition of the railways.
The first of these shipments began to arrive about the time the last
should have been safely stowed in the hold. Captain Lansford was
plainly disturbed. He grew sharper and sharper tempered. He drove the
stevedores at an incredible pace. He made the coal-passers work at a
speed past belief. But the thing that seemed to annoy him most was the
continual stream of wireless messages. Every succeeding communication
seemed to put a sharper edge to his temper. From the first officer
down to the humblest coal-passer, every member of the crew was on the
alert. At the least word from Captain Lansford they jumped to execute
his command. Despite the innumerable delays and obstacles, it looked as
though the ship would sail on time.
When Roy had said to himself that his job was to help keep the ship
safe and on the dot, he meant it. By the terms of his employment he
was required to be at his post at certain hours and to listen in at
certain intervals. But Roy saw that already opportunity had come to
him to be of real help to his captain. An hour’s delay in some of the
messages that were arriving, he quickly saw, would make a great deal
of difference to Captain Lansford and the sailing of the ship. So Roy
threw aside all idea of working during prescribed hours only and stuck
to his post. Indeed, he hardly left the wireless house, even for meals.
Sam, the steward, was as anxious to win Roy’s good-will as Roy was to
gain the captain’s, and he saw to it that Roy did not lack good things
to eat or drink. It was hard to be confined so closely. And when there
was so much near at hand that he wanted to see, it took real courage
to force himself to stay in the wireless house. But Roy put aside his
desire for sightseeing, sent and received his messages promptly, and
made sure that communications for Captain Lansford were always put into
the commander’s hands immediately. Especially was Roy particular to
spell his words correctly, write them plainly, and get all his figures
correct.
The purser had arranged to have a cabin-boy deliver the captain’s
messages, and Roy was glad enough that he did not have to face Captain
Lansford. As for the latter, he gave no sign that he either understood
or appreciated the service Roy was rendering him. On the contrary, he
lost no opportunity to condemn the innovation that had been forced on
him. The cabin-boy, who disliked the task assigned to him, repeated to
Roy all the harsh things that Captain Lansford said to him. But Roy
only screwed his lips together a little tighter and stuck to his job.
It was the only way he knew of to make good.
As the hour for sailing approached, the activities on the pier were
past describing. Roy had thought the stevedores worked fast when he saw
them. If he could have watched them now he would hardly have believed
his eyes. Hour after hour, in unending streams they rushed down the
gangplanks with their enormous loads. Drays came and went. Drivers
swore frantically at their horses and at one another. Motors honked
and roared. Boxes and bales crashed to the floor of the pier shed with
resounding thumps. The little hand-trucks rattled incessantly over the
uneven planking. Donkey-engines and steam-winches clanked and shrieked,
and the derricks groaned and creaked as load after load was hoisted
aboard. Every hand that could be employed in loading was working at top
speed. The scene would have delighted Roy. But, like the coal-passers,
the stevedores, the truckmen, the crew, and everybody else about the
ship, he, too, was working at top speed. It seemed as though each one
of the scores of men who were toiling about the ship was determined
that the ship should sail on time, cost what it might. A very frenzy
seemed to have taken possession of all these toilers. Something had
gotten into them, some spirit that made it seem more important to get
the _Lycoming_ off on time than to do anything else in the world. Like
everybody else aboard, Roy was too busy to think about the thing or
even to comprehend that a miracle was taking place under his very nose.
Yet a miracle it was. For a few minutes before the hour for sailing
arrived, the final bale of freight was stowed in the hold, some of
the hatches were battened down, and the gangplanks drawn ashore. The
_Lycoming_ would sail on time.
With a frightful shriek of her great whistle, the huge ship gradually
moved astern, sliding slowly out of its dock into the broad Hudson,
where boats were crossing and recrossing and passing up and down like
shuttles in a loom. The air was vibrant with their shrill, incessant
tootings. Ponderously the huge craft, pushed by snorting little
tugs, turned its nose down-stream, headed for the open sea, and with
quickening speed majestically slid through the tossing waters, with
Captain Lansford, erect as a pine and as motionless, watching like an
eagle on the bridge.
Roy had lost none of his dislike for this harsh-tempered commander. But
when he saw him standing thus at his post, like a veritable Gibraltar,
Roy gained a new conception of the man’s character. Suddenly there
came to him an appreciation of the fact that Captain Lansford alone
had made it possible to sail on time. Men, whom money would not budge,
had worked like mad at his mere command. Obstacles that were seemingly
insurmountable had been overcome. Work that was apparently impossible
had been accomplished. Roy did not understand it at all, yet he began
to realize that there was something in his commander that rose superior
to obstacles and carried his fellows with him. Instinctively Roy felt
safer because of that silent, immovable figure on the bridge.
“But it makes it all the tougher for me,” he thought. “He’s got it in
for me, and I know he’ll never forgive me for talking to him as I did.”
Now that the pressure was relaxed, Roy was too busy seeing things to
worry about the matter, for the _Lycoming_ was fast picking up speed.
“Toot! Toot! Toot!” went the _Lycoming’s_ whistle, as one vessel after
another saluted the new craft. “Toot!” it shrieked; “Toot! Toot!” as
approaching craft indicated that they would pass to right or left.
Now far out from the shore, the ship had left behind her the roar of
the water-front. Gone were the stench and dust of the streets, and the
noise of traffic. Hidden from sight were the sordid and ugly features
of the city. The great buildings seemed like dream structures. A fairy
city, indeed, appeared the great American metropolis as it shone in the
summer sun. To Roy it was fairer than any city he had ever seen.
Shortly the ship was passing Bedloe’s Island, with its towering statue
of Liberty. Never had Roy been so close to the giant goddess. Always
his heart thrilled at the sight of this emblem of Democracy. He was
still a boy, but he was beginning to understand what is meant by that
word Democracy. It meant opportunity to climb up, to get ahead, even as
he was now starting to do; and Roy resolved that he would let nothing,
absolutely nothing, stand between him and duty. For, as he looked at
that immovable figure on the bridge, Roy realized more keenly than ever
that if anything at all could help him to make good with his captain,
it would be through doing his duty--just his plain, every-day duty as
it came to him.
Soon the statue of Liberty was far to the rear. Past Robbin’s Reef
light, past quarantine, through the Narrows, past the forts on either
side that dominate the narrow neck of water, and on into the lower bay,
sped the _Lycoming_. Ahead loomed Hoffman’s and Swinburne’s Islands,
the latter with its imposing hospital buildings, where quarantined
immigrants are treated. On the right, ever receding, were the low-lying
shores of New Jersey. Far to the left lay Coney Island, Manhattan
Beach, Rockaway, and other famous pleasure resorts on the south shore
of Long Island. While straight ahead rolled the illimitable ocean, the
goal of Roy’s desire.
Presently Roy heard a step on the iron ladder leading to his perch and
a moment later the purser joined him.
“Now,” said that individual, with a sigh, “we can let down a bit. When
it comes to being a slave-driver neither Pharaoh nor Simon Legree had
anything on Captain Lansford. But he got us off on time, didn’t he?”
And the purser chuckled as though all his hard work of the past few
days was a good joke.
On the right the Atlantic Highlands were looming up, and the purser,
who had a powerful glass in his hand, pointed out to Roy the
range-lights that help to guide the mariner in the dark. Soon the
_Lycoming_ was off Sandy Hook, that low-lying finger of sand, with its
fort and a lighthouse at the very tip.
“Ever read Cooper’s _Water Witch_?” asked the purser, and Roy nodded,
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll remember that famous little craft used to elude her
pursuers by sailing into Sandy Hook Bay there--the body of water
enclosed by the Hook--and slipping out to sea through a break in the
Hook itself.”
“Was that the place?” asked Roy, all interest.
“That’s it, all right, but the break in the Hook has long since filled
up and Uncle Sam now has a little railway that runs along that narrow
neck of sand out to the proving-grounds. You know some of the big guns
for the army are tested here. If you look carefully, you will see that
the little neck of sand is protected on the ocean side by pilings and
rocks. Otherwise a heavy storm would wash the sand away and Sandy Hook
would soon be an island.”
Roy saw that the shore-line for miles was protected by a heavy sheeting
of piling and planks.
“It needs to be well protected,” said the purser, when Roy drew his
attention to the fact. “You will notice that there is an almost
unbroken row of houses for miles along the ocean front. The land is
nothing but sand and is very low. If it weren’t for the protection of
these pilings, storms would soon eat the sand away and the houses would
topple into the sea. In fact, it isn’t very long since a big storm did
get a number of them.”
“It doesn’t seem possible that such a thing could happen,” said Roy.
“When you’ve seen one or two rough storms and have watched the waves
crashing over the _Lycoming’s_ decks, you’ll have a different idea of
the power of the ocean.”
“What?” said Roy. “Do the waves ever sweep over the deck?”
“Well, I guess,” said the purser. “Just now the sea is as calm as a
mill-pond, but let the wind blow a little and you’ll see what a fuss it
will kick up.”
“But,” protested Roy, “the deck is many feet above the water-line.
Surely the waves don’t get so high as that.”
“A good deal higher, youngster. They’ll roll up close to thirty feet in
a good storm, and that’s as high as the average house or higher. Wait
till you see some of those huge combers come crashing down on the deck
and you won’t wonder that they have to fortify the coast along here.
There isn’t a thing between here and Europe to stop the waves, once
they get to rolling.”
Roy whistled in amazement and took another look at the ocean.
The _Lycoming_ was now fairly at sea. In quick succession she passed
a string of towns so grown together that there appeared to be but one
long community. These were the numerous summer resorts that occupy
the narrow strip of land between the Navesink River and the Atlantic
Ocean. With the purser’s strong glass Roy could see from his high perch
the crowds of bathers on the long beach and motor-cars speeding along
the smooth boulevard that runs for many miles close to the shore-line.
As darkness came on, the shore faded from sight. But in its place
innumerable twinkling lights sprang into being, stretching in unbroken
lines, like great strings of glowing jewels, for miles and miles up and
down the coast, with brighter clusters here and there like pendants, to
mark the hearts of the numerous towns.
From his high post atop the ship, Roy commanded an unobstructed view
for miles in every direction. And in every direction lights twinkled.
Ashore, millions of lights shone steadily like huge glowworms. The twin
headlights of automobiles, like giant, fiery eyes, turned this way
or that and darted through the darkness. Search-lights pointed their
long beams toward heaven, where they swung, now here, now there, like
enormous pencils of light writing on the firmament. As far as he could
see, the coast-line was pricked out in innumerable lights.
Seaward shone the lamps of occasional ships. In places single,
low-lying, bright eyes in the dark betokened the presence of small
sailing ships with lights in their rigging. Lanterns gleamed aboard
belated fishing ships, as they made for the great metropolis with their
cargoes of sea food. And beyond them, but drawing steadily nearer, a
moving mass of lights indicated the presence and approach of a great
ocean liner.
Roy had only to turn his eyes heavenward to see the faithful
watch-lights that God so long ago placed in the heavens, and that are
still shining undimmed to guide the footsteps of those who struggle
upward--even as Roy was doing. Something of this he felt as he stood
in silent wonder, charmed by the myriad lights ashore, fascinated by
the bobbing gleams at sea, with their hint of mystery and romance. The
sea! What things it had witnessed! What tragedies it had seen! What
adventures had occurred on its heaving bosom! What acts of heroism had
taken place on its broad expanse!
Duty called Roy to the wireless house, for the early part of the night
was his busy hour afloat. As he turned his back on the panorama of
lights and went to his post, he wondered what the sea would bring to
him. Hitherto he had thought little about the dangerous side of life at
sea. Now he began to grasp the possibilities of tragedy, to understand
that not all of those who go down to the sea in ships return safely.
As he looked out over the vast void and up into the unfathomable
firmament, he felt again that sense of littleness and insignificance
that had overwhelmed him upon his arrival in New York. But somehow
there was a difference. The stars did not terrify him as his callous
fellow beings had done. A sense of awe rather than fear gripped him.
Long he looked at the silent stars, so calm, so imperturbable, and
though it seemed ridiculous to compare his commander to one of God’s
stars, he could not help thinking of that calm, immovable figure he had
last seen on the bridge. Whether the night was fair, as it was now, or
the tempest raged and the wave-crests hurled themselves upon the ship,
Roy felt sure that his commander would be at his post, unterrified.
With a prayer that he, too, might be found at his post, unterrified,
doing his duty calmly when the pinch came, Roy took a final look at the
stars, slipped into the wireless house, and sat down at his operating
table, ready for the night’s work.