Part 37 (1/2)

”Sure,” answered Eric.

”You're forgetting a lot of things,” the other said. ”An old time sailing-s.h.i.+p just had the one deck. When a boarding pirate crew had won the deck, they were masters of the s.h.i.+p. But a modern steamer is like a building with several floors, one on top of the other. A pirate crew which could put aboard a steamer as many men as the steamer itself carried, and still handle itself, would be a small army. What's more, on a modern steams.h.i.+p, with half a dozen stairways and the whole inside a labyrinth of rooms, the pirates would be ambushed like rats in a trap a dozen times over.”

”Yes, there's something in that,” the boy agreed.

”Then there's the wireless,” continued Homer. ”Supposing a pirate steamer hailed a craft. Long before the first boatload of men could board, or before the s.h.i.+ps could have grappled, the wireless operator would send an 'S O S' call, with a description of the piratic vessel and the lat.i.tude and longitude. The pirate couldn't get coal aboard in less than twelve hours, and by that time half a dozen vessels would be steaming at full speed to the spot.”

”What difference would that make?” said Eric. ”If the pirate were armed with heavy guns, she could stand off a fleet of commercial vessels that didn't have any armament.”

”Your imagination is working in great shape, Eric,” his engineer friend replied. ”It's a pity you don't think far enough ahead.”

”How's that?”

”I suppose you'd have your pirate vessel chosen for speed?”

”Of course,” the boy answered. ”She'd have to be fast in order to make a getaway.”

”Here's where you're forgetting your s.h.i.+p-building,” his friend warned him. ”Could she have speed if she were armed with heavy guns? Wouldn't she necessarily have to be partly the build of a man-o'-war, say a cruiser?”

”Perhaps she would,” said the boy thoughtfully.

”And if she had the build of a cruiser, would she have the speed of an Atlantic greyhound?”

”That's true,” admitted Eric, ”she wouldn't. Still that wouldn't matter, if the only craft that could chase her was a craft without guns.”

”Wouldn't it?” his friend queried. ”Do you know how they chase wolves in some parts of Western Canada?”

”No.”

”They use a couple of greyhounds and two or three heavy dogs, like bulldogs or Airedales or wolfhounds. The wolf can easily outrun the heavy dogs, but when it comes to real speed he isn't in it with a greyhound. The greyhounds overtake Mr. Wolf in less than no time, nip at him, worry him, anger him until he turns on them. They won't even try to fight and he hasn't a chance of catching them. Meantime, the heavy dogs, following up the scent, come pounding along the trail. The wolf sees them and lopes off again, the greyhounds after him. They badger and worry him again, and again he turns. By the time this has happened three or four times, the heavy dogs have caught up to their quarry, and the fight is on. Two or three minutes and it's all over, and there's one wolf the less to harry the flocks of sheep.”

”Well?”

”That's just about what would happen to this pirate of yours. Suppose he did stop an Atlantic steamer, suppose he did board her successfully, suppose he got his coal bunkers full, suppose he carried a heap of treasure to his own vessel flying the Jolly Roger and got away with it.

He'd have the other s.h.i.+ps around, wouldn't he?”

”I suppose he would,” Eric admitted.

”You can bet your last dollar he would. And their wireless would be working overtime, wouldn't it?”

”Of course.”

”Piracy is a matter that every maritime nation is interested in. The newspapers of the world would have the story by wireless the next morning, the governments of the world would know almost as quickly. By noon the next day half a dozen wars.h.i.+ps would be steaming from different directions in search of the pirate, led as straight as a magnet to the pole by the radio information constantly being sent from the light pa.s.senger steamers that were pursuing. If the naval fleet included a destroyer with a thirty-knot speed, where would your pirate get off at?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: FOAM--THE DERELICT'S ONLY TOMBSTONE.

Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]