The Battery and the Boiler: Adventures in Laying of Submarine Electric Cables. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ make fast the shore-end to a bush, and we’ll commence telegraphing. The first must be a message from the Queen to the King of Denmark—Or is it the President?”

      “King, I think, Robin, but I’m not sure.”

      “Well, it won’t matter. But—I say—”

      “What’s wrong now?”

      “Why, the cable won’t sink. It is floating about on the top of the pool, and it can’t be a submarine cable, you know, unless it sinks.”

      “Another difficulty, Robin.”

      “We will face and overcome it, Madge. Cast off the shore-end and I’ll soon settle that.”

      Having fastened a number of small stones to the cable, this persevering electrician would certainly have overcome the difficulty if the line had not, when thrown, unfortunately caught on a branch of the willow, where it hung suspended just out of Madge’s reach.

      “How provoking!” she said, stretching out her hand to the utmost.

      “Take care—you’ll—ha!”

      The warning came too late. The edge of the bank gave way, and Madge went headlong into the pool with a wild shriek and a fearful plunge.

      Robin stood rooted to the spot—heart, breath, blood, brain, paralysed for the moment—gazing at the spot where his playmate had disappeared.

      Another moment and her head and hands appeared. She struggled bravely for life, while the circling current carried her quickly to the lower end of the pool.

      Robin’s energies returned, as he afterwards said, like an electric shock, but accompanied with a terrible sinking of the heart, for he knew that he could not swim! His education in this important particular had been neglected. He sprang round to the lower end of the pool just in time to hold out his hand to the drowning girl. He almost touched her outstretched hand as she swept towards the turbulent waters below, but failed to grasp it.

      For the first time in his life our little hero was called on to face death voluntarily. Another moment and Madge would have been caught in the boiling stream that rushed towards the fall below. He was equal to the occasion. He sprang right upon Madge and caught her in his arms. There was no need to hold on to her. In the agony of fear the poor child clasped the boy in a deadly embrace. They were whirled violently round and hurled against a rock. Robin caught it with one hand, but it was instantly torn from his grasp. The waters overwhelmed them, and again sent them violently towards the bank. This time Robin caught a rock with both hands and held on. Slowly, while almost choked with the water that splashed up into his face, he worked his right knee into a crevice, then made a wild grasp with the left hand at a higher projection of the rock. At the same moment his left foot struck the bottom. Another effort and he was out of danger, but it was several minutes ere he succeeded in dragging Madge from the hissing water of the shallows to the green sward above, and after this was accomplished he found it almost impossible to tear himself from the grasp of the now unconscious girl.

      At first poor Robin thought that his companion was dead, but by degrees consciousness returned, and at last she was able to rise and walk.

      Drenched, dishevelled, and depressed, these unfortunate electricians returned home.

      Of course they were received with mingled joy and reproof. Of course, also, they were forbidden to go near the pool again—though this prohibition was afterwards removed, and our hero ultimately became a first-rate swimmer and diver.

      Thus was frustrated the laying of the first submarine cable between England and Denmark!

      Chapter Five.

      Prospects of Real Cable-Laying—Robin meets with his First Electrical Acquaintances

      Circumstances require that we should shift the scene and the date pretty frequently in this tale. We solicit the reader’s attendance at an office in London.

      The office is dingy. Many offices are so. Two clerks are sitting in it making faces at each other across their desk. They are not lunatics. They are not imbeciles or idlers. On the contrary, they have frequent spells of work that might throw the toils of an Arab ass into the shade. They are fine strapping young fellows, with pent-up energies equal to anything, but afflicted with occasional periods of having nothing particular to do. These two have been sitting all morning in busy idleness. Their muscular and nervous systems rebelling, have induced much fidgeting and many wry faces. Being original, they have turned their sorrows into a game, and their little game at present is to see which can make a face so hideous that the other shall be compelled to laugh! We have deep sympathy with clerks. We have been a clerk, and know what it is to have the fires of Vesuvius raging within, while under the necessity of exhibiting the cool aspect of Spitzbergen without.

      But these clerks were not utterly miserable. On the contrary, they were, to use one of their own familiar phrases, rather jolly than otherwise. Evening was before them in far-off but attainable perspective. Home, lawn-tennis, in connection with bright eyes and pretty faces, would compensate for the labours of the day and let off the steam. They were deep in their game when a rap at the door brought their faces suddenly to a state of nature.

      “Come in,” said the first clerk.

      “And wipe your feet,” murmured the second, in a low tone.

      A gentleman, with an earnest countenance, entered.

      “Is Mr Lowstoft in his office?”

      “He is, sir,” said the first clerk, descending from his perch with an air of good-will, and requesting the visitor’s name and business.

      The visitor handed his card, on which the name Cyrus Field was written, and the clerk, observing it, admitted the owner at once to the inner sanctum where Mr Lowstoft transacted business.

      “There’s something up,” murmured the clerk, with a mysterious look at his comrade, on resuming his perch.

      “Time’s up, or nearly so,” replied the comrade, with an anxious look at the clock:

      “The witching hour which sets us free

      To saunter home and have our tea—

      “approaches.”

      “D’you know that that is Cyrus Field?” said the first clerk.

      “And who is Cyrus Field?” demanded the second clerk.

      “O ignoramus! Thy name is Bob, and thou art not worth a ‘bob’—miserable snob! Don’t you know that Cyrus Field is the man who brought about the laying of the great Atlantic Cable in 1858?”

      “No, most learned Fred, I did not know that, but I am very glad to know it now. Moreover, I know nothing whatever about cables—Atlantic or otherwise. I am as blind as a bat, as ignorant as a bigot, as empty as a soap-bubble, and as wise as Solomon, because I’m willing to be taught.”

      “What a delicious subject to work upon!” said Fred.

      “Well then, work away,” returned Bob; “suppose you give me a discourse on Cables. But, I say—be merciful. Don’t overdo it, Frederick. Remember that my capacity is feeble.”

      “I’ll be careful, Bob.—Well then, you must know that from the year 1840 submarine cables had been tried and laid, and worked with more or less success, in СКАЧАТЬ