Part 18 (1/2)
”Does it work?” I asked, with a sinking heart.
”Works like a s.n.a.t.c.h-tackle,” he responded heartily. ”The 'Frisco papers are publis.h.i.+ng every morning the London news of the day before.
I've got a lot of 'em on board that I'll give you. Perhaps you'll find something in them about your Company.”
I think the captain must have noticed, from the sudden change in the expression of our faces, that his news about the Atlantic cable was a staggering blow to us, for he immediately dropped the subject and suggested the expediency of going below.
We all went down into the cosy, well-furnished cabin, where refreshments were set before us by the steward, and where we talked for an hour about the news of the world, from whaling in the South Pacific to dog-driving in Arctic Asia, and from Weston's walk across the North American continent to Karakozef's attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Tsar. But it was, on our side at least, a perfunctory conversation.
The news of the complete success of the Atlantic cable was as unexpected as it was disheartening, and it filled our minds to the exclusion of everything else. The world would have no use for an overland telegraph-line through Alaska and Siberia if it already possessed a working cable between London and New York.
We left the hospitable cabin of the _Sea Breeze_ about noon, and prepared to return to Gizhiga. Captain Hamilton, with warm-hearted generosity, not only gave us all the newspapers and magazines he had on board, but literally filled our boat with potatoes, pumpkins, bananas, oranges, and yams, which he had brought up from the Sandwich Islands. I think he saw that we were feeling somewhat disheartened, and wanted to cheer us up in the only way he could--by giving us some of the luxuries of civilised life. We had not seen a potato, nor tasted any other fresh vegetable or fruit, in nearly two years.
We left the s.h.i.+p reluctantly, at last, giving three cheers and a ”tiger” for Captain Hamilton and the _Sea Breeze_, as we went over the side.
When we had pulled three or four miles away from the bark, Lewis suggested that instead of returning at once to the mouth of the river we should go ash.o.r.e at the nearest point on the coast, and look over the newspapers while the Cossacks made a fire and roasted some potatoes. This seemed to us all a good plan, and half an hour later we were sitting around a fire of driftwood on the beach, each of us with a newspaper in one hand and a banana or an orange in the other, and all feeding mind and body simultaneously. The papers were of various dates from September, 1866, to March, 1867, and were so mixed up that it was impossible to follow the course of events chronologically or consecutively. We were not long, however, in ascertaining not only that the new Atlantic cable had been successfully laid, but that the broken and abandoned cable of 1865 had been picked up in mid-ocean, repaired, and put in perfect working order. I think this discouraged us more than anything else. If cables could be found in the middle of the Atlantic, picked up in ten or twelve thousand feet of water, and repaired on the deck of a steamer, the ultimate success of submarine telegraphy was a.s.sured, and we might as well pack up our trunks and go home. But there was worse news to come. A few minutes later, Lewis, who was reading an old copy of the San Francisco _Bulletin_, struck his knee violently with his clenched fist and exclaimed;
”Boys! The jig is up! Listen to this!
”'Special Dispatch to the _Bulletin_
”'New York, October 15.
”'In consequence of the success of the Atlantic cable, all work on the Russian-American telegraph line has been stopped and the enterprise has been abandoned.'”
”Well!” said Robinson, after a moment of thoughtful silence, ”that seems to settle it. The cable has knocked us out.”
Late in the afternoon, we pulled back, with heavy hearts, to the beacon-tower at the mouth of the river, and on the following day returned to Gizhiga, to await the arrival of a vessel from San Francisco with an official notification of the abandonment of the enterprise.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Women's Knives used in making clothing]
CHAPTER x.x.xVII
OFFICIAL CONFIRMATION OF THE BAD NEWS--THE ENTERPRISE ABANDONED--A VOYAGE TO OKHOTSK--THE AURORA OF THE SEA
On the 15th of July, the Company's bark _Onward_ (which should have been named _Backward_) arrived at Gizhiga with orders to sell all of our stores that were salable; use the proceeds in the payment of our debts; discharge our native labourers; gather up our men, and return to the United States. The Atlantic cable had proved to be a complete success, and our Company, after sinking about $3,000,000 in the attempt to build an overland line from America to Europe, had finally decided to put up with its loss and abandon the undertaking. Letters from the directors to Major Abaza, stated that they would be willing to go on with the work, in spite of the success of the Atlantic cable, if the Russian Government would agree to complete the line on the Siberian side of Bering Strait; but they did not think they should be required, under the circ.u.mstances, to do all the work on the American side and half of that on the Russian.
Major Abaza, hoping that he could prevail upon the Russian Minister of Ways and Communications to take the Asiatic Division off the hands of the American Company, and thus prevent the complete abandonment of the enterprise, decided at once to go to St. Petersburg overland. He therefore sailed in the _Onward_ with me for Okhotsk, intending to disembark there, start for Yakutsk on horseback, and send me back in the s.h.i.+p to pick up our working parties along the coast.
The last of July found us becalmed, about fifty miles off the harbour and river of Okhotsk. I had been playing chess all the evening in the cabin, and it was almost eleven o'clock when the second mate called to me down the companionway to come on deck. Wondering if we had taken a favourable slant of wind, I went up.
It was one of those warm, still, almost tropical nights, so rarely seen on northern waters, when a profound calm reigns in the moonless heavens, and the hush of absolute repose rests upon the tired, storm-vexed sea. There was not the faintest breath of air to stir even the reef-points of the motionless sails, or roughen the dark, polished mirror of water around the s.h.i.+p. A soft, almost imperceptible haze concealed the line of the far horizon, and blended sky and water into one great hollow sphere of twinkling stars. Earth and sea seemed to have pa.s.sed away, and our motionless s.h.i.+p floated, spell-bound, in vacancy--the only earthly object in an encircling universe of stars and planets. The great luminous band of the Milky Way seemed to sweep around beneath us in a complete circle of white, misty light, and far down under our keel gleamed the three bright stars in the belt of Orion. Only when a fish sprang with a little splash out of one of these submarine constellations and shattered it into trembling fragments of broken light could we realise that it was nothing but a mirrored reflection of the heavens above.
Absorbed in the beauty of the scene, I had forgotten to ask the mate why he had called me on deck, and started with surprise as he touched me on the shoulder and said: ”Curious thing, ain't it?”
”Yes,” I replied, supposing that he referred to the reflection of the heavens in the water, ”it's the most wonderful night I ever saw at sea. I can hardly make myself believe that we _are_ at sea--the s.h.i.+p seems to be hanging in s.p.a.ce with a great universe of stars above and below.”
”What do you suppose makes it?” he inquired.
”Makes what--the reflection?”