THE WATCH IN THE DARK
The chief electrician was on watch for four hours, and Henry sat
with him in the wireless shack, as the radio room on the _Iroquois_
was called, until his watch was ended. Together they caught the
nightly news-letters sent out by the various press associations.
They heard myriads of commercial messages flashing through the air.
At times the operator switched on the radio, and then, through the
loud speaker, they heard some of the broadcasting programmes. Henry
had told the truth when he said he was having the time of his life.
Never had he seen such a wonderful wireless outfit as this one, for
the Frankfort station equipment, which he had operated many months
before, was naturally far from being the equal of these brand-new
instruments.
Shortly before the chief electrician’s watch ended, the door of the
wireless shack opened, and a sailor stepped within. At least, the
lad was dressed like a sailor, though when Henry saw the red
electric sparks embroidered on the young man’s blue sleeve, he
judged that this must be the wireless relief. And so it proved, for
the chief electrician at once said, “Mr. Harper, this is one of my
assistants, Mr. Black.”
Henry thought the newcomer was well named. The fellow had a surly
look, and his eyes were shifty. He was one of those individuals that
never looks another squarely in the eye. But Henry jumped to his
feet, thrust out his arm, and took the other’s limp hand in
greeting.
“I am very glad to know you, Mr. Black,” he said. “We fellows back
in the country have played at being wireless men, and it’s a great
pleasure to meet real wireless operators.”
A sudden roll of the ship sent Henry reeling back against the wall
of the wireless shack, and he realized what he had not noticed while
he was still seated and engrossed in the wireless, namely, that the
sea was evidently becoming rough. Henry would have been glad to stay
on watch with this new operator, but the latter drew a soiled dime
novel from his blouse and tilted back in his chair to read, utterly
regardless of the fact that a visitor was present. The chief
electrician frowned but said nothing. And Henry, seeing his presence
was not desirable, turned to the chief operator.
“Would there be any objection to my looking about the deck?” he
asked. “I’ve never been on a ship at sea before, and I’d like to
know what it is like at night on deck.”
“Just come up on the bridge,” said the wireless man. “There’s nobody
on deck, probably, but the man on watch in the bow. You’ll find Mr.
Hill and the quartermaster on watch on the bridge. Maybe you’d like
to stand watch yourself a while. Would you?”
“I’d be tickled to death,” exclaimed Henry.
“Then come to our quarters and I’ll fit you out. You’ll find it
pretty chilly up on the bridge.”
Henry turned to say good-night to the assistant operator. The latter
already had his nose buried in his novel. Henry could not help but
notice how the fellow’s fingers were stained with tobacco, and what
an evil look seemed to lurk on his countenance. He did not disturb
him, but quietly followed Mr. Sharp out of the wireless shack. “I’d
hate to trust the safety of the ship to a man like that,” he
thought, but said nothing.
The instant the door was opened, his attention was drawn to other
things. Across the deck an icy blast of wind was sweeping that made
Henry shiver. From above came an eerie, humming, vibrating noise, as
the rigging quivered in the breeze. Only soft lights were
visible—such indirect illumination as shone through ports or windows
or the deck lights,—discs of heavy glass set flush in the planking
underfoot to let the sunlight into the interior of the ship. Aloft
twinkled the ship’s sailing lights. Beyond the rails all was inky
darkness, and it was a darkness that seemed almost to be alive. Out
of it came sounds such as Henry had never heard before—the swish and
sweep of swaying waters, the crashing of crested waves, the
interminable roar of endless leagues of rolling billows.
Henry was amazed to find how the ship was moving up and down. He
tried to imitate the wireless men, who skipped quickly around the
after end of the wireless shack, but a lurch of the ship sent him
flying across the deck. He brought up with a jolt at the leeward
rail. With a chuckle he turned about and made for the door of the
operator’s stateroom which the electrician was now holding open for
him. A broad band of light illumined his way.
As Henry stepped through the doorway, he could see quite well what a
snug little place this stateroom was. Three bunks, one above the
other, occupied most of one side of the compartment. There were also
a tall wardrobe, a washbowl with mirror above it, and a table with
several chairs. On this table were a number of books and magazines.
A young man sat at the table, his elbows on the edge of it, his chin
propped on his hands, so deeply engrossed in a book he was reading
that he was unconscious of the entrance of Henry and Mr. Sharp. By
the device on the young man’s sleeve Henry saw that he, too, was an
assistant wireless man.
“Jim,” said the chief electrician.
The reader looked up, startled. Then he laid down his book and
arose.
“This is Mr. Harper,” said the electrician. “Mr. Harper, this is my
other assistant, Jim Belford.”
Henry was sure he would like this young man. The lad had a fine
face, and intelligence showed in his every feature. His smile was
frank and winning. The two shook hands cordially.
“So you’re going to sea with us,” said the lad. “Are you a good
sailor? It looks as though we’d have some rough water by morning.”
“I don’t know,” replied Henry. “I’ve never been to sea before. I
suppose I shall know before long.” Then, his eye falling upon the
book the young operator had laid down, Henry said, “Don’t let me
keep you from your reading. You appeared to have something
interesting.”
The lad passed the book to Henry. “It is very interesting,” he said.
And when Henry examined the volume in his hand, he found that it was
a treatise on electricity. He couldn’t help thinking of the contrast
in the reading matter chosen by the two young operators.
“You must have lots of time for reading,” commented Henry, “and this
is an excellent way to use it.” He handed back the book.
“We are on watch four hours and off duty for eight, so we have
oceans of time, and I’m glad of it. I wasn’t able to finish my
high-school course, and I’m trying to go on with my education.
There’s a good chance to work up in this service if a fellow will
only take it.”
“How do you get a job in the Coast Guard anyway?” asked Henry.
“The officers, of course, attend the Coast Guard Academy at Fort
Trumbull, up in Connecticut. It’s just like West Point or Annapolis.
It trains the officers for the Coast Guard ships. Everybody else
gets his job by enlistment.”
“Are there good openings? Could I, for instance, get a position?”
“You could enlist as a seaman, or you could enlist for wireless duty
if you know anything about wireless.”
“He does,” smiled the chief electrician.
“The Chief, here, would examine you. If he passed you, you’d become
an assistant wireless man and rank as a third-class petty officer.
This first examination is quite simple. You must be able to send and
receive adequately and know how to handle your instruments, and that
is about all you need to know to pass it. Three months after you
become a third-class man, you could take another examination, and if
you passed that, you’d become a second-class petty officer. This
second examination would deal with wireless theory and codes and the
semaphore and blinkers.” And noting Henry’s blank expression, the
young wireless man continued, “You noticed the semaphores on the
yardarm on the forward mast, didn’t you? And the lights there?”
“Sure,” said Henry.
“Well, we no longer use flags when we semaphore. We use the
semaphores up on the yardarms. At night we use those lights or
blinkers and make ’em wink by electricity. It’s really sending
wireless messages with lights instead of sound waves.”
“And how does a fellow become a first-class radio man?”
“To become a first-class man, you’d have to have a good knowledge of
all parts of the ship, and all radio laws and regulations and
general radio procedure. You could take your examination nine months
after you entered the service, but there are mighty few radio men
who are ready to take it so soon.”
“What about Mr. Sharp here? He is chief electrician. How long does
it take to become a chief electrician?”
“It would take at least three years to make that. You have to know
an awful lot to become a chief electrician.” The lad paused, then
added simply: “That’s what I am working for. Most fellows that
qualify as wireless men have a high-school education. You see, I
couldn’t finish my course. It’s an awful handicap to me now.”
“I’ve been through high school,” said Henry, and to himself he
thought: “I’m certainly glad mother held me to it. I can see already
what a difference it may make to me.” A moment later he said to the
chief electrician: “I hadn’t any idea of ever belonging to the Coast
Guard, but for a long time I have wanted to be a wireless man. Do
you suppose there would be any chance for me on the _Iroquois_?”
“We have our full complement now,” said Mr. Sharp. “There wouldn’t
be any opening on this boat unless we could get rid of—unless one of
my assistants should leave.”
Henry looked sharply at the chief electrician. He believed he knew
exactly what the wireless chief had started to say, and he believed
it had to do with the man now on watch in the wireless shack. But of
course Henry made no comment. “I’d like mighty well to be a Coast
Guard radio man,” he said. After a moment’s pause he went on: “Won’t
you please explain to me again about the officers? You said they
were trained at the Coast Guard Academy. And you also said a fellow
could enlist as a wireless man and yet rank as an officer. I don’t
exactly understand.”
“I don’t wonder,” laughed the young wireless man. “You see there are
three sorts of officers—petty officers, warrant officers, and
commissioned officers. The captain of a ship appoints the petty
officers from the enlisted crew. Petty officers are men like the
boatswain’s mate, the chief yeoman, the gunner’s mate, and the like.
From among these the captain chooses men he will recommend for
appointment as warrant officers. They get their appointments from
Washington. The boatswain, the gunner, the carpenter, and others are
warrant officers. The commissioned officers are the trained
navigators from the Coast Guard Academy, and bear the nation’s own
commission as officers.”
“Thank you,” said Henry. “It’s very plain now.”
Meantime Mr. Sharp had been searching in the wardrobe. He now handed
a thick sweater to Henry, and when the lad had pulled it on and
buttoned his coat over it, the chief electrician produced a long,
warm overcoat, which he made his visitor put on. Then, pulling on a
long rain-proof overcoat himself, he led the way out of the cabin.
Henry said good-bye to the young radio man, to whom he had taken a
great liking, and followed the Chief.
Up to the bridge they mounted, and Henry was glad, indeed, that he
was so warmly clothed. The wind swept past so fiercely that he could
hardly get his breath when he faced it. A light was burning in the
chart house. In the glass-fronted wheelhouse the compass was dimly
illuminated. Otherwise it was dark. A figure stood within, silent,
almost immovable, his arms grasping the handles of the steering
wheel. As Henry peered into the wheelhouse, he saw that the
steersman’s eye was on the compass. He was holding the ship true to
her course—east three-quarters south.
On the bridge itself two human forms loomed in the darkness.
Lieutenant Hill was standing on the port side. He said,
“Good-evening,” as Henry stepped alongside him, then continued his
vigil, looking steadily into the blackness of the night. When Henry
crossed to the starboard side of the boat, he found Quartermaster
Andrews also peering intently out over the weather-cloth. The chief
electrician made them acquainted. Henry came up close to the rail
and thrust his face out over the weather-cloth, but he drew it back
in a hurry. The stinging blast struck him with sudden fury. He
winked as though something tangible had hit him. Then he made a wild
and fruitless grab at his hat, which the wind had torn from his
head. The hat lodged against the wheelhouse and he rescued it.
“I had no idea it was blowing so hard,” he said to the
quartermaster, “and I wouldn’t have believed that weather-cloth
would be such a protection. Why, six inches behind it you can hardly
feel any wind at all. It seems to shoot the breeze straight upward.”
The quartermaster smiled. “You’re right about the weather-cloth,” he
said, “but this isn’t much of a wind yet. It looks as though we
might have a gale before morning, though, and if we do you’ll have a
good chance to see how the _Iroquois_ behaves in a rough sea. We’ll
be in shallow water for some hours yet, and it always gets rough out
here when there is any wind.”
“I should think a fellow would freeze up here in real cold weather
when it blows hard. It’s cold enough now. How do you ever stand it?”
“I’ve got on one of those wind-proof suits,” said the quartermaster.
“It takes a pretty stiff gale to go through that.” And Henry,
looking close, saw that his companion was dressed in a hooded blouse
that had to be pulled on over the head, and that could be fastened
tight about his head, so that only the face was exposed. The
quartermaster also wore a knitted, blue watchcap that he could pull
down over his ears.
When Henry stared into the dark void ahead of and around them he
could at first see nothing. The sky was like a dome of black. No
star, no feeblest ray of light of any sort, came from it. And the
water beneath was its twin for darkness. Overhead the rigging sang
ever more eerily, and, when the wind rose in sharp crescendo, the
cordage fairly shrieked. The woodwork creaked and groaned. From
every side came the tumultuous roar of the waves, a sound so
overpowering, so insistent, so awesome, that Henry shuddered when he
listened to it. A feeling almost of fear came to him. He could not
help thinking how awful it would be if the ship should sink in such
a wild waste of water. But when he glanced at the motionless figure
in the wheelhouse, and when he thought of the radio, he was
reassured. But he would have felt safer, he thought to himself, if
young Belford or the chief electrician had been on watch in the
wireless shack.
Already the latter had left the bridge and returned to his cabin.
But Henry stayed on the bridge a long time. Occasionally he spoke
briefly to the officers on watch, but mostly he watched in silence,
peering into the darkness, drinking in the sounds of the night,
filling himself with new sensations, not all of which were pleasant,
for as the wind came ever stronger, and the ship rose and fell more
noticeably, a strange feeling crept over Henry. He began to feel
queer about his stomach.
“I must have indigestion,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe I ate
something that didn’t agree with me.”
He kept getting sicker and sicker. Soon he suspected that he was
seasick. Finally he could stand it on the bridge no longer. Trying
hard to control himself, he said good-night to Lieutenant Hill, and
made his way with trembling limbs down the ladder to the deck. Like
a drunken man he went reeling aft, for the ship was beginning to
roll. When he reached the after companionway, he felt worse than
ever, for the motion was much more noticeable than it had been
forward or amidship. He could stand it no longer. Making his way
unsteadily to the leeward rail, he leaned over it and vomited. He
had never felt so sick in his life. Every minute he seemed to feel
worse. He was so weak he was afraid he would fall over the rail. He
decided that he would try to get to his bunk.
He turned and started toward the companionway, when the ship rolled
far over on her side. As though he were shot out of a cannon Henry
went plunging across the deck. There was nothing he could grasp to
stop himself. With terrific force he went crashing into the windward
rail and was flung partly over it. With all the power at his command
he clung to the rail as he balanced on top of it. For a moment his
heart almost ceased to beat. He was afraid he was going overboard.
His feet were clear of the deck. His body was half over the rail.
All he could do was to cling fast, in the hope that he wouldn’t
slide any further. But his position was so awkward he was fearful he
could not keep himself from plunging on over into the sea. Suddenly
the ship heeled in the other direction. Henry was flung back from
the rail as violently as he had just shot into it. This time he
struck the companionway. He grasped the door, opened it, took a grip
on the handrail, and tottered down the steps. He found the captain’s
cabin deserted. The commander had to go on watch later in the night,
and was sleeping in preparation for it. Henry got to his stateroom,
undressed, pulled on his nightclothes, and with a feeling of relief
slid into his bunk. He had lost all interest in the sea and wireless
and derelicts. His one hope now was that he would live until the
_Iroquois_ got back to port and he could get ashore.