_The Doctor Explains_
Ed's wound did not incapacitate him for the task of standing guard over
the wounded and captured mountaineer. Ed was able to get out of bed and
sit about the house with a gun slung casually across his knees or his
shoulder, as the case might be, and the mountaineer perfectly understood
that Ed did not mean for him to escape, by any possible chance, even
when his strength should return. So he was content to lie still and
reflect as he did, that "this is better than the prison anyhow."
Tom went hunting, as the Doctor had suggested that he should. Three of
the boys continued the chopping, while one stood guard--a duty that had
been made more imperative than ever by the mountaineer's declaration of
the fixed purpose of the moonshiners.
When Tom returned in the evening he was overladen with game, as it was
his custom to be on his return from a hunting expedition. He had two
big wild turkey gobblers, a great necklace of fat squirrels, nearly a
dozen hares and a small deer which he had dragged down the mountain
because of his inability to carry it with his other load upon him.
"Here's meat enough," he said, "to last till Christmas anyhow," for it
was now well on into December, "and I've seen a big turkey gobbler that
I mean to get for our Christmas dinner. He can't weigh less than twenty
or twenty-five pounds, and he's a shy, wise, experienced old boy; but
I've found out what his usual rambles are and if the Doctor will lend me
that long range rifle of his, I'll promise to get that bird for
Christmas. I don't believe it would be possible to get within shot gun
range of him."
"Oh, you can take that gun, Tom, whenever you please," answered the
Doctor. "In fact, I'm going to give it to you right now. Only I'll ask
you when you go down the mountain with our prisoner, to mail a letter
for me, in which I will order another gun of the same sort."
"But, Doctor," said Tom, in protest, "I didn't mean--"
"Of course you didn't," answered the Doctor. "If you'd meant anything of
the kind, I wouldn't have thought of giving you the gun. As it is, I
don't know anybody living that could make a better use of such a gun
than you can. So it is yours, and I'm going to send for another just
like it for myself. In the meantime, I'll borrow your shotgun for such
casual uses as our camp life may require. Of course, you'll need the
shot gun also, sometimes, but the rifle's yours, and I am sure it could
not be in better hands."
The boy made his acknowledgments as best he could, and the best part of
them was his fondling of the rifle itself in loving appreciation. But in
his embarrassment over the Doctor's generosity, he wanted to turn the
subject of conversation, and as supper was by this time over, he said:
"Now, Doctor, you were telling us the other night something about the
old-time whaling ships. Won't you tell us to-night something about the
modern ocean steamers?"
"Yes," broke in Jack. "You see, you are the only 'boy' among us who has
ever seen a ship, and I believe you have crossed the ocean several
times."
"Yes, many times," answered the Doctor, meditatively, "and there are
many points of interest about a great modern ocean steamship, which it
will please me to tell you about if it will interest you to hear."
The boys expressed an eager desire to hear, and so the Doctor
proceeded.
"In the first place," he said, "there is nothing in the world so
complete, so independent, so self-reliant, as a first-class steamship.
She has everything on board that she can possibly need, or else she has
the means of making it for herself. She makes her own electric lights,
and every stateroom is supplied with them. She does not carry fresh
water for drinking and cooking use, because she has a distilling
apparatus capable of producing all needed fresh water from the salt
water of the sea. This is a great advantage. If you have ever read sea
tales, you know that in cases of long detention, one of the worst of
troubles in the old days was that the water became foul and the use of
it bred disease. The modern steamship always has a supply of perfectly
pure distilled water."
"But, Doctor," asked Ed, "suppose one of the big steamers should break
down at sea, with her machinery out of order, and wallow around out
there on the waves for a month or two, wouldn't the crew and passengers
all starve to death?"
"That could hardly happen," said the Doctor, "for reasons which I will
explain presently. But even if it did happen, the crew and passengers
would not starve, for the reason that every great ocean liner carries in
her hold enough food to last her passengers and crew for fully six
months, although I believe the law requires them to carry only one
month's supply."
"How many are there on board usually?"
"Oh, that varies with every voyage. The big ships often carry three or
four hundred first-class passengers and have crews numbering from
seventy to one hundred men. But some of them carry, also, a large number
of steerage passengers. I once crossed from Italy on the North German
Lloyd's steamer Ems, when we had only twelve first class passengers,
five second class and fifteen hundred in the steerage."
"And she carried food enough for all those people for six months?" asked
Jack, in wonder.
"Yes, and more."
"What sort of food was it?"
"Beans by scores of tons; corned beef and mess pork by hundreds of
barrels, and an almost unlimited supply of canned meats and vegetables,"
answered the Doctor.
"Now, as I said," the Doctor resumed, "no great steamer is ever likely
to be delayed for a month or anything like a month, at sea. In the first
place, each of them carries a skilled chief engineer and a corps of
competent assistant engineers, a force of blacksmiths and machinists,
and better still, duplicates of all those parts of her engines that are
liable to break down. I remember one voyage on the American liner
Berlin, when in midocean one of our cylinders cracked and threatened to
burst under the steam pressure. The captain stopped the ship and the
engineers and machinists cut that cylinder out. We lay there for twenty
hours in a surging sea, and then proceeded, running with only two of our
three cylinders in use."
"But what an awful bobbing about you must have got," said Ed, "lying out
there on the sea, with no headway."
"Oh, no!" answered the Doctor. "Our bow was kept always toward the
oncoming waves, so that we rode rather more easily than if we had been
running under steam, for if we had been running we should have laid our
course straight for New York, taking the waves from any direction. As it
was, we got them dead ahead."
"But how did they hold the bow always toward the coming waves?" asked
Ed.
"By the use of what they call 'sea anchors.' These are great hollow
cones, made of iron. At the big end of each a cable is fastened, and the
anchors are thrown overboard, usually three or four of them. Of course,
it is impossible in deep seas to send an anchor down to the bottom, but
these big cones catch the water, and by their dragging in it, they hold
the ship pretty nearly stationary, and, more important still, they keep
her head always pointed toward the wind and waves, so that she rides
easily. Whenever a ship breaks down at sea she hoists three great black
disks into her rigging. These mean to any ship that may approach, that
the steamer is 'not under control'--that is to say, that as she is not
running, she has no power to steer to one side or the other or in any
other way to keep out of the path of the approaching vessel. Then, the
approaching vessel steers clear of the disabled steamer, and usually she
hoists a set of signal flags, asking if the steamer needs or wants any
assistance, and the steamer replies with another set of flags giving her
response to the offer. The flag signalling system has been so completely
perfected by international agreement that two captains can carry on any
conversation they please by means of it, even though neither can speak a
word of the other's language.
"Now this is the other reason why no steamer is ever likely to lie
crippled on the ocean for a month or any thing like it. There are
regular pathways on the ocean over which all the regular line steamers
pass. So, while the ocean is so immense that you may steam over it for
days without seeing a vessel of any kind, nevertheless no steamer is
likely to lie disabled for more than a few days without sighting some
other that stands ready to render assistance. If the disabled steamer
needs anything the other furnishes it. If she is too far broken down in
her machinery to repair it at sea, the other will generally take her in
tow. If she is likely to sink--the most unlikely of all things--the
other will take off her crew and passengers and leave the ship to her
fate."
"Why do you say, Doctor, that sinking is the most unlikely of all
things?" asked Jack. "I should think it the most likely."
"Not at all," the Doctor replied. "The modern steamship is perhaps the
most perfect product we have of scientific precision in construction. As
well as you know that twice two makes four, the builders of a modern
steamship know to the uttermost pound the amount of strain that any wave
blow can put upon any part of the ship, and they provide for it four
times over. Except in case of collision in a fog, the great ocean liner
simply cannot sink at sea. If you took her out to mid ocean and there
abandoned her, she would float securely until some current should drive
her on rocks or some other sort of shore. At sea, she is absolutely
unsinkable, except as I say by collision, and that is as true when she
is carrying thousands of tons of freight as at any other time."
"It is very wonderful," said Jack.
"Of course it is. If I were called upon to name the modern seven wonders
of the world, I should unhesitatingly put the ocean greyhound first in
the list. But come boys! It is past our bed time, and we've heavy work
to do to-morrow in getting those three great timbers ready to send down
the chute."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Tom.
"Sorry--for what?" asked the Doctor.
"Why, now that you've told us so much about the great ships, I want to
hear more. I've at least a hundred questions to ask you."
"Very well," said the Doctor. "The winter will be long and we'll have
abundant opportunities of evenings to ask and answer all the questions
we please. But just now our business is to get to bed and to sleep, or
rather that's the business of you other fellows. My business is to go
out and relieve Jim Chenowith as our picket guard. So good night boys,
and good, refreshing slumbers to you!"
With that the Doctor shouldered a gun, first carefully examining its
cartridges, and strode out into the bitterly cold night to do his turn
at guard duty. He had indeed made himself a boy among boys, and he had
won all hearts.