THE UNUSUAL POSTMAN
“Wake up if you want any breakfast,” exclaimed the steward’s assistant,
called the “cookee” in sailors’ parlance, as he shook Ted none too
gently by the shoulder, adding, as the boy opened his eyes: “I can’t
fool round waiting all day for you. I’ve got my dishes to do and the
vegetables to prepare for dinner.”
Aroused by the voice, Phil sat up in his bed, then sprang out, and, with
his brother, began hurriedly to dress, while the cookee lingered, much
interested in watching the proceedings.
“Have we finished loading?” asked Ted, noting that the many noises, to
be heard on every side when he retired, were silent.
“Can’t you tell from the quiver of the boat that we’re steaming?”
returned the lad, scornfully. “I supposed even a ‘lubber’ could tell the
difference between the motion of a boat when she’s going and when she’s
tied to the dock.”
“You must remember we are not sailors like you,” interposed Phil
hastily, winking at his brother and preventing the angry retort he saw
Ted was about to make. “I suppose you have been a sailor for a number of
years?”
“Uhuh! I’ve been running on ore boats for four seasons,” returned the
cookee, mollified by the flattering allusion to his service in the
galley as being a sailor.
“When did we leave the dock?” asked Ted, proffering a box of candy.
“Two o’clock. And say, you’se missed a circus,” he added, all aversion
to the “young dudes,” as he had dubbed the boys, banished by the candy
to which he helped himself liberally.
“What was it?” chorused Phil and Ted.
“You heard the skipper tell Adams there was to be no shore leave? Well,
the wheelsman of the first watch sneaked ashore last evening and went up
town. When he came back, some strikers caught him on the sand hill and,
say, they certainly gave it to him good and plenty. If some of our men
aboard hadn’t heard his yells, they would have pounded him to a jelly.
But just wait until you see him.”
“Did Captain Perkins bring back the new oiler?” asked Ted.
“Sure.”
“Have any trouble?”
“Not him. Say, he could walk through a crowd of all the strikers put
together and there wouldn’t one lay a hand to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because they know him. Once, when there was a mutiny on one of his
boats, he laid out ten coal passers with his ‘dukes.’” Then, waxing
confidential, he added: “Take it from me and don’t bother him with no
question today, he’s got a fierce grouch.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he got word from Atwood to keep the four guards on board to
Duluth. He ain’t got no use for them ginks, and he’s mad.”
During this imparting of the incidents of the night and ship’s gossip
Phil and Ted had finished dressing and were on the point of going on
deck, when the cookee exclaimed:
“Just wait until I can get back to the galley before you’se come out; if
you don’t, I’ll get twigged for staying in here so long;” and quickly
the lad departed.
As the boys emerged from their cabin, they gazed about them in surprise.
Not a speck of land could they see, and the feeling was a novel one as
they realized for the first time the sensation of being out of sight of
land.
A stiff breeze kicked up the water, and as they proceeded to the
dining-room, showers of spray now and then fell on the deck.
“Why, we’re only two or three feet above the water,” exclaimed Phil,
going to the rail.
“Say we only have ‘two or three feet free board,’ you land-lubber,”
chuckled his brother. “You didn’t suppose we’d ride high with all that
coal aboard, did you?”
“Of course not, but we’re loaded with coal, not ore, and coal isn’t as
heavy as copper or iron.”
“It’s a good thing I’m the only one to hear you talk,” grinned Ted, “or
I’d blush to think you were my brother. What’s the difference between
the weight of thirteen thousand tons of coal and thirteen thousand tons
of ore?”
The twinkle in Ted’s eyes caused Phil to hesitate, then continue: “Why,
er, none, of course, but you needn’t be so cockey. A ton of coal takes
more room than a ton of ore, so they couldn’t put thirteen thousand tons
of coal aboard.”
“They could, too. If a boat’s capacity is thirteen thousand tons, she
can carry thirteen thousand tons, whether it’s sawdust or mercury.”
“Not if the bulk is too great,” returned Phil. For several moments the
brothers argued the problem, and then, as the first mate came in sight,
Ted said:
“We’ll leave it to Mr. Adams.”
Readily Phil consented, and as the mate came up, they stated their
opinions on the question at issue.
“Ted is right,” smiled Mr. Adams. “The point is this, while the coal
fills the hold, because of its greater volume per unit, there is plenty
of room in the hold after we have thirteen thousand tons of ore aboard
because of its greater weight per unit. Why, if we should fill the
Admiral with copper or iron ore, she’d sink like a plummet.”
“How do you know when she is loaded to her capacity—keep track of the
tons?”
“That would be too difficult a task. The cars from which we load coal
vary in the number of tons they carry, just as some of the ore pockets
from which we load contain more ore than others. We save all trouble by
loading until the keel is so many feet below the surface of the water,
the tonnage carried varying in accordance with the depth of water over
certain bars on our course and at the canal. On this trip we are only
loaded to seventeen feet four inches. But as the water in the lakes is
rising, when we come down we may be able to load to eighteen or nineteen
feet.”
“But how can you know to what depth to load?” asked the elder of the
boys.
“An association, to which the owners or managers of the principal fleets
belong, maintains men at the various shoals and bars who report the
depth of the water night and morning. At the canal the information is
furnished by the United States Government. Knowing the length of time,
under ordinary conditions, it will take a carrier to cover the distance
between the loading ports and the points involved, the captains load in
accordance with the latest reports, which are always telegraphed them.”
“A captain is compelled to know a lot of things, isn’t he?” exclaimed
Ted.
“Right you are—and his mates as well. He must know the locations of the
light-houses, with their various kind of lights—revolving, steady,
two-colored, long or short flash, and the rest—of the harbour and
channel lights, and buoys. We don’t have any pilots come aboard to take
us into harbour, as the salt-water boats do. Every captain and first
mate must qualify as a pilot as well as a navigating officer before he
can obtain his ‘papers’ as they call the license issued by the United
States Government to sail a ship.”
“Crickey, it’s no easy job, I should think,” declared Phil.
“You’ll be sure of it when we have passed through the Detroit and St.
Mary’s rivers,” smiled Mr. Adams, as he turned to set the deck hands at
work washing away the coal dust from deck and cabins, while the boys
went to breakfast.
“Look, look, there’s land again!” cried Ted, when they returned to deck,
and hurrying to the bridge, they asked what it was.
“Canada,” replied Mr. Adams.
“The first foreign country I ever saw,” exclaimed the boy, as both he
and Phil studied it closely.
“You’ll see enough of it until we pass the Soo,” returned the mate.
“We’ll be so close to it going up the St. Mary’s you can toss a pebble
ashore.
“We’re making the Detroit River, Mr. Perkins,” called the mate, turning
from the boys.
Quickly Captain Perkins emerged from his cabin, and with a curt nod to
his young guests, took his place beside his first officer.
As the nose of the Admiral passed between the buoys marking the channel,
the skipper rang for half speed, and the big boat crept up the tortuous
river, now passing carriers bound down, now splitting the air with her
whistle as she announced her course.
To the left the sky-scrapers of Detroit came into sight, and across the
river from them the comparatively quiet hamlet of Winsor, Canada, the
difference in the two towns forming an eloquent commentary upon the
aggressiveness and methods of American business men.
“There’s a launch headed for us,” cried Phil, as they came abreast of
the city.
“That’s our postman,” explained the captain. “If you boys have any
letters to send, be lively and take them to the watchman on deck, the
man making a line fast to a mail bag.”
“I didn’t know you could send or receive letters except at ports,”
declared Ted. “Do you suppose he’d wait while I scribble a line to my
mother?”
“I’m afraid not. You see, he and his relief have to meet every ship
going up and down the river during the day and night, so they can’t
tarry at one boat long. It’s a splendid institution for sailors, this
Marine Post Office. It tends to keep a man contented when he can hear
from home at the canal and at Detroit on his trips up and down. It is
also convenient for skippers and owners to send orders and reports.”
While listening, the boys had watched the launch as it darted, with the
speed of a racer, toward the Admiral; then its occupant swerved it, and
shut off his power. As the boat ran alongside the big carrier under its
momentum, he picked up his heaving line and cast it deftly to the
watchman on deck, who made a quick turn around a cleat so that the mail
launch was fast alongside ere its own headway had died.
Picking up the mail bag, the watchman lowered it to the postman, who
removed the letters it contained, put in a package addressed to the
Admiral, tucked in several newspapers which members of the crew ordered,
then put on his power as his line was cast loose, and scudded away to
another carrier, bound down.
Untying the package of mail, the watchman looked through it,
distributing such as there was for the crew, then mounted the bridge
with the remainder, which he gave to the captain.
“Seems to be mostly for you, boys,” said the skipper, and he handed over
to them a score or more of post cards and letters.
“But how in the world did any one at home know about this Marine Post
Office?” exclaimed Ted, as he eagerly took the missives addressed to
him.
“I suppose Dr. Blair told Momsy and the girls, and they passed the word
along,” said his brother.
“Well, it certainly is a ‘splendid institution’,” confirmed the younger
boy. And many were the exclamations of amusement and delight as they
perused their letters and read the bits of advice and good wishes
written on the post cards.