Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 60941-h.htm or 60941-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/60941/pg60941-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/60941/60941-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/jackstrawinmexic00crum
JACK STRAW IN MEXICO
[Illustration: “The door was pushed violently open”]
JACK STRAW IN MEXICO
How the Engineers Defended
the Great Hydro-Electric Plant
by
IRVING CRUMP
Illustrations by Leslie Crump
New York
McBride, Nast & Company
1914
Copyright, 1914, by
McBride, Nast & CO.
Published September, 1914
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I JACK STRAW’S MISSION TO MEXICO 1
II “IN SELF DEFENSE” 17
III SEASICK 26
IV AT ODDS WITH CUSTOMS INSPECTORS 40
V IN THE HANDS OF THE SECRET SERVICE 50
VI ON TRIAL AS A SPY 58
VII OFF FOR NECAXA 67
VIII THE CRIPPLED GENERATORS 79
IX JACK PROPOSES A TRAP 88
X FOOTPRINTS 100
XI SEARCHING FOR THE MAN WITH THE SCARRED HEEL 108
XII THE DRAWINGS ARE STOLEN 119
XIII A WEAKENED GARRISON 129
XIV THE NIGHT WATCH 139
XV IMPROVISED SEARCHLIGHTS 151
XVI A WARNING 162
XVII WHO WILL BE FOOD FOR THE VULTURES 174
XVIII THE WIRES ARE DOWN 184
XIX TO THE RESCUE 193
XX “SHOOT! SHOOT!” 205
XXI “YES, YES, I DID IT” 216
XXII GOOD-BY NECAXA 226
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
The door was pushed violently open _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
To Jack it all seemed like a horrible nightmare 58
They pressed against the barrier like cattle 178
The horsemen in green swept down the valley 198
JACK STRAW IN MEXICO
CHAPTER I
JACK STRAW’S MISSION TO MEXICO
Five members of the “D” club had gathered in Jack Straw’s room on the
top floor of Phillip’s Hall the last Saturday afternoon before the end
of the Spring term. They had not assembled in official conclave, indeed
they had not intended to assemble at all. They had merely gravitated
there one by one in search of something to take their minds off the
worst disappointment they had been compelled to face that year. The
Drueryville-Seaton baseball game, the one that was to have settled the
preparatory school championship of Vermont, had been scheduled for that
Saturday afternoon, and, lo and behold, in spite of the importance of the
day, Jupiter Pluvius or whoever it was that controlled the rain supply,
had made the game impossible by deluging everything in sight since early
morning. And there was no chance of postponing the contest either as
school closed the following Friday. The championship would have to remain
undecided. And this was just the year Drueryville stood a better chance
than ever of adding the “prep” cup to her trophy case. It was enough to
make anyone glum.
“They should have named this place Drearyville instead of Drueryville,”
muttered Toad Fletcher, the stocky little catcher of the team, as he
looked across the deserted campus at the dripping eves of Bradley Hall.
John Monroe Strawbridge, who was known to every boy in school as Jack
Straw, shifted his position on the window seat so that he could take
another look at the weather.
“It is pretty gloomy on a day like this,” he answered after searching the
leaden sky for some signs of a break in the low hanging storm clouds.
Jack and Toad were too dejected in spirit for conversation and since
Bunny Baily was deeply engrossed in a book of fiction and Dick Cory and
Harvey Maston were working out an absorbing game of checkers silence
reigned in the room for some time. In fact a stranger passing the door
would never have suspected that five perfectly normal, healthy boys
were within. But then the “D” club was composed of the honor boys of
Drueryville Academy and for that reason if no other, they were bound
to be more dignified at times. You see the “D” club was made up of the
students who had won the privilege of wearing a white and blue initial,
the insignia of the school, on their caps or jersey; and in order to earn
that distinction a boy must needs work hard both in the class room and on
the athletic field. When a youth successfully attained such laurels the
crown _was_ apt to weigh heavily.
How long the clicking of checkers would have remained the only sound is
hard to tell had not Tommy Todd happened to see Jack Straw curled up in
the window seat. He paused a moment before Phillip’s Hall and waved his
hand in friendly greeting. Then he splashed across the muddy road and
came up the stairs three steps at a time. Like a small portion of the
storm itself (for Tommy was by no means a big boy) he burst into the
room, his yellow raincoat and rubber hat dripping wet.
“Say, don’t flood the place!” shouted Jack as he noted two growing pools
of water on the rug.
But Tommy only grinned as he removed his wet garments and draped them
over the back of a chair so that they would drip on the hearthstone.
“Sort of hard luck to have a day like this happen along just when it
isn’t wanted,” he suggested to no one in particular. Then without waiting
for a response he looked at Jack and spoke.
“Say old man, I can’t think what on earth you’ve been up to recently,
but there’s something in the wind. Dr. Moorland wants to see you as soon
as possible. I just came from his house and he asked me to look you up.
I was going on downtown first because the last place on earth I ever
expected to find you was in your own room. What’s the trouble anyway?
You haven’t done something that will keep you from getting through next
week, have you? It’s mighty close to the end of the term and I hope
you’ve been careful.”
At this Cory and Maston suspended their game for a moment and Bunny Baily
put down his book. All eyes were turned on Jack Straw. And as for Jack,
it must be confessed he looked startled and somewhat worried. Hastily he
ran through his mental diary, but so far as he could see no one entry
stood out above the rest as warranting reprimand from the principal.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what he can want of me,” he assured his
guests as he hastened into his bedroom and donned raincoat and rubbers.
A few moments later he hurried out into the hall and down the broad
stairs toward the main entrance. As he passed the mail rack in the hall
he noticed a letter waiting for him. Hastily he seized it and crammed it
into his pocket, noting as he did so that the address was written in his
father’s hand.
Dr. Theodore Moorland, the principal, lived in a modest little cottage on
the north side of the campus. It was almost hidden in a grove of tall
maples and, as if to make itself more inconspicuous, it had permitted
woodbine and ivy to clothe its gray stone walls in a cloak of soft green.
A graveled road that wound between fat old maples showed the way to the
front door, and it was up this much used path that Jack Strawbridge
hastened, his mind still puzzled over the reason for such an unusual
command. The heavy old-fashioned door to the cottage was equipped with
a ponderous brass knocker of quaint design which thumped with such
resonance as to spread consternation in the soul of youngsters summoned
thither. Thus they were thoroughly disturbed before they even faced the
austere old master.
Such was not the attitude of Jack Straw, however. He had not been able
to remember a single reason why he should expect to face a scolding
from Dr. Moorland. Every examination paper had come back with excellent
markings and his conduct for some time past had been beyond reproach.
He thumped the old door knocker twice in his eagerness to find out just
what the master wanted. Perhaps it was news from home, he thought, and
he comforted himself by the fact that nothing serious had happened to
his father, for the letter in his coat pocket attested to the fact that
he was still well enough to write. But while he was speculating thus the
door was opened by Dr. Moorland himself.
The dignified pedagogue greeted the boy with a broad smile and a hearty
hand shake.
“I didn’t know but what you and some of the rest of the boys had about
grieved yourselves to death over your ill luck at having the championship
game broken up by the weather,” he said as he ushered Jack into his study
in a secluded wing of the house.
“It is rather hard on us,” said Jack with a smile. “Here we’ve been
working since February to get our team in shape for the trophy contest
and then a little thing like the weather spoils it. Next year I think we
will have to arrange to have the championship game a little earlier so
there will be enough time to play it in case of an emergency like this
one.”
“Never mind, Jack, my boy,” said the principal, “I have a mission for you
that is calculated to take your mind off baseball and similar troubles
for some time to come.”
The boy was plainly puzzled at this remark. He looked curiously at the
principal who was striding the room nervously. Dr. Moorland was a tall,
broad shouldered man of sixty. His hair was snow white and so long in
back that it curled down over his coat collar. A pair of horn rimmed
spectacles that were constantly sliding forward on his nose made him
appear to be a testy individual, but in reality he was a genial old
gentleman who loved his boys as much as if he was the father of every one
of them. The State of Vermont counted him among the best of its educators
and he was famed throughout the country, indeed throughout the world as a
chemist.
“Jack,” he said after a long silence, “how would you like to go to
Mexico?”
“To Mexico!” gasped Jack.
“Yes, to Mexico. It will be an opportunity for you to see a wonderful
country and also to make enough money to pay your tuition at Drueryville
next year. Do you care to go?”
“Why—why—Oh, I’d be delighted—but—well I’d have to get father’s consent
first, you know.”
“Ah, Jack, you don’t suppose I would have suggested the subject before
consulting your father about it, do you? I wrote him several days ago and
asked his permission to let you go. I received word this morning that he
was perfectly willing to have you avail yourself of the chance to see a
little of the world providing you cared to go. I wonder that he hasn’t
written to you about it.”
“Why, perhaps the letter I have in my pocket now is about that very
thing,” said Jack, searching in his pocket for the envelope.
“Very likely,” said the principal, “but you can read it after. Let me
explain exactly what I want you to do. When you have heard the details
you can decide better whether you want to go.”
Dr. Moorland had ceased pacing the room and settled deep in his
comfortable study chair. With what seemed exasperating deliberateness to
Jack, he removed his huge glasses and polished them thoroughly on his
handkerchief before he was ready to talk. Then just as he was about to
begin he seemed to remember something else of importance, for he began to
search drawer after drawer of his desk until he finally brought to light
a large yellow envelope bulging with what appeared to be blueprints. He
tossed the package on the desk before him and once again resumed his
comfortable attitude.
“Perhaps you never heard of my nephew, Harry Ryder. In fact, I am quite
certain you haven’t, for he has never visited Drueryville since you’ve
been at school. Harry Ryder is the chief engineer of the enormous
hydro-electric power plant at Necaxa where light and power is supplied
for Mexico City, the capital, one hundred and twenty-five miles away. He
was appointed to that important position by President Madero a year ago,
and he has done his best to keep Mexico City lighted in spite of all the
trouble in that turbulent republic, and the recent change to the Huerta
régime.
“Time and again rebels have tried to break down the four transmission
lines that carry the current to the city but they have never yet been
successful and I judge from Harry’s letters that he never intends they
shall. But besides rebels, Harry has other important things to contend
with. Up there in the mountains where the plant is located, thunderstorms
are quite frequent and lightning is the troublesome element. Lightning
is electricity in its most dangerous form, because of its very high
voltage. Voltage, you know, is the pressure which causes it to travel.
One of our scientists once tried to measure lightning and found that its
voltage mounted well into the millions. This is tremendous force when you
consider that the current used in lighting houses and stores is supplied
at one hundred and ten volts.
“During thunderstorms the lightning plays about the transmission lines,
often causing a great deal of trouble. If it should by any chance get
into the station it would raise havoc with the generators and other
machinery. To prevent this, lightning arresters have been constructed
that will waylay the lightning, as it were, and send it into the ground
before it reaches the vital machinery.”
Here Dr. Moorland paused and began to sketch rapidly on a piece of paper
while Jack looked on, still very much mystified.
[Illustration: Dr. Moorland’s Sketch]
“The usual transformer is arranged something like this. First a choke
coil is put in the transmission line near the end. When the lightning
strikes this coil it piles up and is forced back exactly like a flying
wedge of football players that suddenly tries to break through an
impregnable defense. The lightning that is thus forced back rushes into
line ‘A,’ which is the point of least resistance, jumps the horn gap and
plunges through the arrester tank and into the ground. When the excessive
electricity has left the line and the flow is normal, the current is
checked at the horn gap and arrested. This combination of gap and
arrester does not permit current to flow into the ground during normal
operation and does not actually become active until lightning gets into
the line and there is danger of the plant being wrecked by an overload of
electricity.”
“My, but that is interesting,” said Jack Straw as he fingered the
master’s sketch. Indeed, he had been so carried away with the description
of that interesting piece of engineering work that for the moment he had
completely forgotten about Mexico. But Dr. Moorland revived his interest
with his next sentence.
“And now for my reason for wanting you to go to Mexico. The lightning
arresters now in use are not entirely satisfactory, and Harry Ryder
has been trying to build one on completely new lines. Indeed, he has
perfected the contrivance, except for a neutral chemical solution of a
new nature for which he asked me to construct a formula. He forwarded his
drawings for me to look over and now I am ready to send them back. But a
few weeks ago, Harry communicated with me and asked me to take particular
care that the drawings reach him safely. In fact, he suggested that they
be sent to him by messenger instead of by the mails. You see, Mexico is
in a state of extended turmoil now with Villa, Carranza and Zapata all
carrying on campaigns against Huerta, and under such conditions the mails
are not trustworthy. In fact, I understand from Harry that three-quarters
of the mail is destroyed by revolutionary forces and that the rest of
it is left lying in almost any corner of the republic until it can be
distributed.
“These drawings,”—Dr. Moorland fingered the bulky yellow envelope as he
spoke,—“are far too valuable to trust to such mail service and since
Harry is willing to meet the expenses of a messenger and at the same time
pay him for his services, I can see no reason why you should not be the
one to take them safely to Necaxa.”
“Why, I’d be delighted with the undertaking, if you think I can do it
satisfactorily,” said Jack.
“And why can’t you do it satisfactorily?” demanded the principal rather
bruskly. “Any boy whom the students of Drueryville honor by electing
captain of the football team for two successive seasons certainly must
have some good qualities. You are strong and healthy. You are not a
coward and above all you are reliable. These are qualifications that I
could not find in every man. Will you go, Jack?”
“Yes, I will. When do I start?” asked the boy enthusiastically, and from
the expression on his face it was evident that he was pleased with the
confidence the old master had in his ability to carry out the mission.
“A steamer sails from New York on Saturday next. I would like to have you
be on board when it leaves the dock for I am more than eager to have the
drawings back to their owner and the responsibility off my mind. Then,
too, I am afraid the hostilities in Mexico might become more serious.
You will have a week to prepare for the journey, and since I have looked
up all your examination papers and found them above the proper rating I
will excuse you from school for the last week of the term and you can
spend that time with your father, for I know he has many things to say
to you. You can leave Drueryville on the ten o’clock train to-morrow
morning after you have called here to receive final instructions and the
precious drawings. And now you must hurry back to your room and pack.
Good afternoon and good luck to you.”
It was a rather serious moment for Jack when he shook hands with Dr.
Moorland. He realized that the old schoolmaster was putting great trust
in him. It was in truth a struggle for him to hide his emotions as he
bade the old man good afternoon.