With the dropping of the sun it fell bitter cold. The sea heaved in
a leaden, lightless swell which the forefoot of the _Cambodian_, as
she drove along, broke into spuming spray. The officers donned their
heavy bridge coats. The crew, or that portion of it which had the
watch on deck, wrapped up as warmly as they could in the scanty
garments they possessed.
When Jack opened his cabin to go below to his evening meal, a slight
flurry of snow struck him in the face.
“Goodness!” thought the boy, “here’s a change, and when we left New
York folks were thinking about Coney Island and putting their winter
coats in moth-balls.”
The captain was the only other occupant of the dining-room, from
which opened the officer’s cabins, when Jack went below. The boy
noticed that Captain Briggs’ face was rather flushed, and his eyes
were very bright as he took his seat. The captain had finished
eating but before he left the room he came to Jack’s side and,
leaning over him, asked in a rather thick voice, if there had been
any more reports on icebergs. Jack replied in the negative.
“Tha’s aw’ ri’ then,” said the captain in a loud, boastful voice,
whose tones were thick. “Donner be ’fraid icebergs with Cap’n Briggs
on board. I’m an old sea-going walrus, I am. I jes go ri’ through
’em, yes, sir, jes like knife goin’ thro’ cheese. Thas me.”
He swaggered out of the cabin with his scarlet face grinning. Jack’s
eyes followed him as the captain rather staggeringly ascended the
companionway.
“I don’t know much about such things,” thought the boy, while a
serious look came over his face, “but it seems to me that Captain
Briggs is under the influence of liquor. That’s a bad thing. Liquor
is bad at all times but it’s more dangerous at sea than anywhere
else.”
He finished his meal hastily and returned to his cabin to find his
“wireless bell” ringing furiously. Jack lost no time in getting to
work. He found that the U. S. revenue cutter _Seneca_, one of the
craft detailed by Uncle Sam to the iceberg patrol, was flashing out
signals of warning. Jack got the operator to repeat them when half a
dozen or more other steamers had picked them up.
The _Seneca’s_ operator was in a bad mood at this.
“Confound you fellows,” he flashed through space, “why don’t you pay
attention and get the message from the jump?”
“I was eating supper,” Jack replied contritely.
“I haven’t had a chance to eat yet, and I’m so hungry I could gobble
a boiler-plate pie,” growled the government man. “This is a dog’s
life.”
“I’d trade you jobs,” flashed Jack, but the other ignored this and
began thundering out his message concerning the white terrors of the
north.
“Ready?” he flashed.
“Fire away!” sparked crackingly from Jack’s key. Far above him, in
the night, the aërials flashed and snapped.
“_Seneca_, U.S. Iceberg Patrol. Str. Montrose reports from 50:47 on
parallel 42, sighted three bergs, two growlers, April 6th, moving
S.W. Barometer 30. Temperature 36. Overcast. Wind N.W. About 18
miles per hour.
“April 7th, 2:00 a. m., big berg, lat. 42.34, long. 48.15. Growler
four miles north-west. Both moving south.”
“That’s all. Now I’ll get a chance to stow some grub--maybe,”
grumpily concluded the report. Jack did not jot down these latter
words.
As he made his way forward with his report, the young wireless man
noticed that the fog was beginning to rise from the sea in long,
wavering wreaths. They looked ghostlike under the stars. In the
light breeze they danced a sort of witches’ dance. It looked as if
the sea was a boiling expanse with whirling banners of steam rising
from it. Even as Jack hurried forward he saw that the banners were
closing in to form a solid web of mist.
The _Cambodian_ was ploughing steadily forward. From her single big
funnel, black with a broad white band, inky smoke was pouring out a
volume that showed there was to be no niggardly saving of coal on
the present voyage. In fact, before sailing, Jack had heard that she
represented a new type of fast freighter, and that her maiden voyage
would be utilized as an opportunity of trying her out thoroughly.
Above the young operator hung the spiderweb strands of the antenne.
Practiced operator as he was, Jack had never quite lost his wonder
at the often recurring thought that from those slender copper
cables, seemingly inert, he could, by the pressure and release of a
key, send out a message, in time of danger, that would bring a score
of ships hastening to the stricken one. It was characteristic of the
boy that close acquaintance with the wireless had not in the least
dimmed his enthusiasm and reverence for its marvels.
On the bridge were three figures, shrouded in heavy coats. They were
the captain, chief officer, and second officer. From one end of the
bridge a seaman was constantly casting overboard a canvas bucket
attached to a rope and hauling it in board again. Each time he
brought the bucket to the group of officers, one of whom thrust a
thermometer into it and then read off the temperature of the water.
“Dropped ten degrees, by Neptune!” Captain Briggs exclaimed thickly
as Jack came up. He had just finished scrutinizing the thermometer
under the light of a hooded lantern.
“Ten degrees, sir!” cried Mr. Mulliner, the first officer.
“That’s what. We ought to smell ice before long,” was the reply,
with a loud, hilarious laugh.