The Battery and the Boiler - Robert Michael Ballantyne (an ebook reader .txt) 📗

parted from Jim Slagg and was met by Ebenezer Smith.

That energetic electrician, instead of at once taking him on board the Great Eastern, took him to a small inn, where he gave him his tea and put him through a rather severe electrical examination, out of which our anxious hero emerged with credit.

"You'll do, Robin," said his examiner, who was a free-and-easy yet kindly electrician, "but you want instruction in many things."

"Indeed I do, sir," said Robin, "for I have had no regular education in the science, but I hope, if you direct me what to study, that I shall improve."

"No doubt you will, my boy. Meanwhile, as the big ship won't be ready to start for some time, I want you to go to the works of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, see the making of the cable, learn all you can, and write me a careful account of all that you see, and all that you think about it."

Robin could not repress a smile.

"Why, boy, what are you laughing at?" demanded Mr Smith, somewhat sternly.

Robin blushed deep scarlet as he replied--

"Pardon me, sir, but you said I am to write down all that I _think_ about it."

"Well, what then?"

"I--I'm afraid, sir," stammered Robin, "that if I write down all I _think_ about the Atlantic Cable, as well as all that I see, I shall require a very long time indeed, and a pretty large volume."

Mr Smith gazed at our hero for some time with uplifted brows, then he shook his head slowly and frowned, then he nodded it slightly and smiled. After that he laughed, or rather chuckled, and said--

"Well, you may go now, and do what I have told you--only omitting most of what you think. A small portion of that will suffice! Don't hurry back. Go home and make a fair copy of your observations and thoughts. I'll write when I require you. Stay--your address? Ah! I have it in my note-book. What's your first name, Mister Wright?"

Robin grew two inches taller, or more, on the spot; he had never been called Mister before, except in jest!

"Robert, sir," he replied.

"Robert--ha! h'm! I'll call you Bob. I never could stand ceremony, so you'll accustom yourself to the new name as quickly as you can--but perhaps it's not new to you?"

"Please, sir, I've been used to Robin; if you have no objection, I should--"

"No objection--of course not," interrupted Mr Smith; "Robin will do quite as well, though a little longer; but that's no matter. Good-bye, Robin, and--and--don't think too hard. It sometimes hurts digestion; good-bye."

"Well, what d'ee think of Ebbysneezer Smith, my electrical toolip?" asked Jim Slagg, whom Robin encountered again at the station. "He's a wiry subject, I s'pose, like the rest of 'em?"

"He's a very pleasant gentleman," answered Robin warmly.

"Oh, of coorse he is. All the Smiths are so--more or less. They're a glorious family. I knows at least half a dozen of 'em in what superfine people call the `slums' of London."

"And I know _more_ than half a dozen of 'em," retorted Robin, somewhat sharply, "in what unrefined people call the _h_aristocracy of London."

"Whew!" whistled Mister Slagg, gazing at Robin in silent surprise.

What the whistle implied was not explained at that time, because the locomotive whistle took up the tune with intense violence, causing a rush to the train, in which the two lads--like many other friends--were abruptly parted for a season.


CHAPTER SIX.


TELLS OF OUR HERO'S VISIT TO THE GREAT CABLE.

Robin Wright returned home with a bounding heart. Since his electrical appointment he had become, figuratively speaking, an indiarubber ball--a sort of human "squash." His heart bounded; his feet bounded; if his head had fallen off, it also would have bounded, no doubt.

On arriving he found his father's elder brother--a retired sea-captain of the merchant service--on a visit to the family.

There was not a more favourite uncle in the kingdom than uncle Rik--thus had his name of Richard been abbreviated by the Wright family. Uncle Rik was an old bachelor and as bald as a baby--more so than many babies. He was good-humoured and liberal-hearted, but a settled unbeliever in the world's progress. He idolised the "good old times," and quite pleasantly scorned the present.

"So, so, Robin," he said, grasping our hero by both hands (and uncle Rik's grasp was no joke), "you're goin' in for batteries--galvanic batteries an' wires, are you? Well, lad, I always thought you more or less of a fool, but I never thought you such a born idiot as that comes to."

"Yes, uncle," said Robin, with a pleasant laugh, for he was used to the old captain's plain language, "I'm going to be an electrician."

"Bah! pooh!--an electrician!" exclaimed uncle Rik with vehemence, "as well set up for a magician at once."

"Indeed he won't be far short of that," said Mrs Wright, who was seated at the tea-table with her husband and Madge--"at least," she added, "if all be true that we hear of this wonderful science."

"If only half of it be true," interjected Mr Wright.

"But it _ain't_ true," said Captain Rik firmly. "They talk a deal of stuff about it, more than nine-tenths of which is lies--pure fable. I don't believe in electricity; more than that, I don't believe in steam. Batteries and boilers are both bosh!"

"But, uncle, you can't deny that they exist," said Robin.

"Of course not," replied the captain. "I know as well as you do--maybe better--that there's a heap o' telegraph-wires rove about the world like great spiders' webs, and that there are steamboats hummin' an' buzzin'-- ay, an' bu'stin' too--all over the ocean, like huge wasps, an' a pretty mess they make of it too among them! Why, there was a poor old lady the other day that was indooced by a young nephy to send a telegraphic message to her husband in Manchester--she bein' in London. She was very unwillin' to do it, bein' half inclined to regard the telegraph as a plant from the lower regions. The message sent was, `Your lovin' wife hopes you'll be home to-morrow.' It reached the husband, `Your lowerin' wife hopes you'll be hung to-morrow.' Bad writin' and a useless flourish at the _e_ turned _home_ into _hung_. The puzzled husband telegraphs in reply, `Mistake somewhere--all right--shall be back three o'clock--to-morrow--kind love.' And how d'ye think this reached the old lady?--`Mistake somewhere--all night--stabbed in back--through cloak-- two more rows--killed, love.' Now, d'you call _that_ successful telegraphing?"

"Not very," admitted Robin, with a laugh, "but of the thousands of messages that pass to and fro daily there cannot be many like these, I should think."

"But what did the poor wife do?" asked Madge anxiously.

"Do?" repeated Rik indignantly, as though the misfortune were his own-- for he was a very sympathetic captain--"do? Why, she gave a yell that nigh knocked the young nephy out of his reason, and fell flat on the floor. When she came to, she bounced up, bore away for the railway station under full sail, an' shipped for Manchester, where she found her husband, alive and hearty, pitchin' into a huge beefsteak, which he very properly said, after recovering from his first surprise, was big enough for two."

"But what objection have you to steamers, uncle Rik?" asked Mrs Wright; "I'm sure they are very comfortable and fast-going."

"Comfortable and fast-goin'!" repeated the old sailor, with a look of supreme contempt, "yes, they're comfortable enough when your berth ain't near the paddles or the boilers; an' they're fast-goin', no doubt, specially when they bu'st. But ain't the nasty things made of iron-- like kitchen kettles? and won't that rust? an' if you knock a hole in 'em won't they go down at once? an' if you clap too much on the safety-valves won't they go up at once? Bah! pooh!--there's nothin' like the wooden walls of old England. You may take the word of an old salt for it,--them wooden walls will float and plough the ocean when all these new-fangled iron pots are sunk or blowed to atoms. Why, look at the Great Eastern herself, the biggest kettle of 'em all, what a precious mess _she_ made of herself! At first she wouldn't move at all, when they tried to launch her; then they had to shove her off sidewise like a crab; then she lost her rudder in a gale, an' smashed all her cabin furniture like a bad boy with his toys. Bah! I only hope I may be there when she bu'sts, for it'll be a grand explosion."

"I'm sorry you have so bad an opinion of her, uncle, for I am appointed to serve in the Great Eastern while layin' the Atlantic Cable."

"Sorry to hear it, lad; very sorry to hear it. Of course I hope for your sake that she won't blow up on _this_ voyage, though it's nothin' more or less than an absurd ship goin' on a wild-goose chase."

"But, uncle, submarine cables have now passed the period of experiment," said Robin, coming warmly to the defence of his favourite subject. "Just consider, from the time the first one was laid, in 1851, between Dover and Calais, till now, about fifteen years, many thousands of miles of conducting-wire have been laid along the bottom of the sea to many parts of the world, and they are in full and successful operation at this moment. Why, even in 1858, when the first Atlantic Cable was laid, the Gutta-percha Company had made forty-four submarine cables."

"I know it, lad, but it won't last. It's all sure to bu'st up in course of time."

"Then, though the attempt to lay the last Atlantic Cable proved a failure," continued Robin, "the first one, the 1858 one, _was_ a success at the beginning, no one can deny that."

"Ay, but how long did it last?" demanded the skipper, hitting the table with his fist.

"Oh, please, have pity on the tea-cups, uncle Rik," cried the hostess.

"Beg pardon, sister, but I can't help getting riled when I hear younkers talkin' stuff. Why, do you really suppose," said the captain, turning again to Robin, "that because they managed in '58 to lay a cable across the Atlantic, and exchange a few messages, which refused to travel after a few days, that they'll succeed in layin' down a permanent speakin' trumpet between old England and Noof'nland--2000 miles, more or less--in spite o' gales an' currents, an' ships' anchors, an' insects, an' icebergs an' whales, to say nothing o' great sea-sarpints an' such like?"

"Uncle Rik, I do," said Robin, with intensely earnest eyes and glowing cheeks.

"Bravo! Robin, you'll do it, I do believe, if it is to be done at all; give us your hand, lad."

The old sailor's red countenance beamed with a huge smile of kindness as he shook his enthusiastic nephew's hand.

"There," he added, "I'll not say another word against iron kettles or Atlantic cables. If you succeed I'll give batteries and boilers full credit, but if you fail I'll not forget to remind you that I _said_ it would all bu'st up in course of time."

With note-book and pencil in hand Robin went down