Part 3 (1/2)
”He must have known just how many breaths I took. He said I was a poor investment: that since my mother died when I was three I had cost him about two hundred thousand, and he was closing out a poor proposition.
He informed me that I was to consider myself no more a son of his; was even sorry I would have to use his name. And the two thousand, his share of fixing up a man that I, and three others, ran down in the park with an auto, was the last a.s.sessment he would stand; and before I knew what was really happening I was leaving without even a good-by. I knew I was going to work, but thought I would have a last grand night and then pull out. But do you know, that in less than an hour, wherever I went, every one knew that Hiram Strong, Jr., had been disinherited and kicked out. I then learned what New York thinks of a 'has-been.' I tried to drown the thought in liquor, but it floated in spite of my most frantic efforts. I guess there was a good deal of the last pickle in me when you saw me first?”
I laughed and Strong continued:
”Oh, I'm going to beat it--I've got to beat it,” he said, closing his mouth savagely and tossing the empty pan down toward the other end of the table. ”I guess it's about time for us to go to h.e.l.l, isn't it?” he added, lighting a cigarette.
”Yes--all we need down in that hole is the boss with a pitch-fork tail; we've got the shovel, coal and heat.”
”Say, Ben--I believe I heard them call you Ben--do you think the 'Old Boy' with the forked tail gives his furnace men four hours on and eight off, and great granddaddy sheep stew for eats and makes 'em sleep in tiers?” he asked, as we laughed our way to the boiler-room.
CHAPTER IV
HIRAM Strong was in need of oil for his gloves, and, left to myself, my mind reverted to the conversation I had overheard between the s.h.i.+p's officers. Sh.o.r.eward, about a half-mile, I could make out a lights.h.i.+p.
Being somewhat familiar with the coast, I decided it must be the Cape Charles light. As soon as we were abreast of it, our s.h.i.+p changed its course several points to the west and seaward, just as the officer said it would. I observed this and recalled the other officer's c.o.c.ksureness that the s.h.i.+p had been running by or through the supposed mine field for months. Nevertheless I confessed to myself a distinct feeling of anxiety as we went down into the region Hiram had properly designated as ”h.e.l.l,”
to begin another four-hour draft on endurance and vitality. Though silent, Strong remained cheerful and never for a moment allowed his steam gauge to drop. The draft was good, making the work easier.
There is something about labor in intense heat that calls for silence, but after an extended stillness there comes an oppressive feeling that makes one want to break out into a yell. Often in a steel mill a weird howl will be started by some one, to be taken up by others until a bedlam is created among the thousands of workers. There is a certain rhythm in it, a sort of boisterous chant, a good-natured protest against conditions. Then, suddenly, it will die out just as quickly as it started and quiet will reign for an hour or two.
Such a yell had been started by an Italian standing under the ventilator. Then it was that I learned that Hiram Strong had a voice, and although more than half our watch had pa.s.sed, he felt vigorous enough to join in the general outbreak.
As though in protest against the riotous exhibition, the engines stopped, a circ.u.mstance that regular firemen secretly desire, for it means a respite in their conflict with the blazing furnace and grates, with the excitement of uncertainty added. The pause may continue for a minute or an hour. At any rate the trouble in this case had been s.h.i.+fted to the engine room.
Before the engines first stopped I thought I heard a noise, but it wasn't loud enough to attract the attention of others, so concluded it must have been a slight s.h.i.+ft in the cargo near us and gave it no further thought.
Hiram accompanied me to the far end of the furnace room for water, after which we returned and sat down on the hot, iron-sheeted floor against the bulkhead that flanked our station, from which point we viewed the whole length of the narrow corridor between the battery of blazing furnaces that generated the s.h.i.+p's power.
”Did you ever read Dante's Inferno?” he surprised me by asking.
”Yes, but not recently.”
”A tutor made me read it as punishment. You know, I never would study. I guess that's what makes the Governor so sore. I tried three colleges and flunked. I was so infernally worthless that I wouldn't even go in for athletics; but what I started to say was that I believe Dante must have known about the furnace room of a steams.h.i.+p, when the engines were at a standstill.” He said all this with a sleepy grin.
I could see what he meant. The engines had been stopped but a few minutes when the entire fire-room crew succ.u.mbed to a lethargic sleep. A serrated ridge of coal two feet high extended the entire length of the room, on which they had disposed themselves in all sorts of postures--some curled up like animals going into hibernation, others sprawled out full length, and there were many who lay as though stricken dead while in a reclining position. Most of the crew who worked in overalls, with bodies bared above the waist, black and grimy to the tousled hair now matted with sweat, laid carelessly about as in death from convulsions. In some cases they were in such a position that the fierce light from the cracks in the furnace doors gave their faces a weird, deathly appearance, and after noting this, I glanced at Hiram and saw that he, too, had succ.u.mbed, his head resting heavily against the supporting bulkhead.
A sweet, irresistible languor now dulled my perseverance to keep awake.
How long I slept was uncertain, but I do know that I was awakened with a start by dreaming of an immense wave, much higher than the s.h.i.+p, a solid perpendicular wall of green sea bearing us down--a veritable tidal wave.
I was sure the s.h.i.+p could not survive. Hiram was tugging at my sleeve.
”Ben--Ben, wake up; we have struck something and the s.h.i.+p is sinking!”
He did not seem frightened, just urgent.
”What!--What's that?” I asked, wondering if I was still dreaming.
”We've been asleep an hour. The s.h.i.+p's deserted; I can't find a living soul on board! Pa.s.sengers, crew, and boats are all gone!” he cried, catching me by the arm and helping me to rise hastily. ”n.o.body on board but the engine-room s.h.i.+ft.”
If the effect of this information on me was magical, it was electrical on other firemen and the coal pa.s.sers. One and all seemed to hear it instantly and made a rush for the narrow, iron stairs leading up, which could accommodate but one at a time. Here they fought, as if in death's last throes.