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In a Steamer Chair And Other Stories

R >> Robert Barr >> In a Steamer Chair And Other Stories




"Turn on the water." I did so.

"Turn out the electric light." I did that also.

"Now," he added, "put your hand in the water and turn on the electric
light."

I was convinced Plodkins had become insane, but I recollected I was
there alone with him, shaky as he was, in a room with a bolted door,
so I put my fingers in the water and attempted to turn on the electric
light. I got a shock that was very much greater than that which I
received when I saw Plodkins lying at the bottom of the bath-tub. I gave
a yell and a groan, and staggered backwards. Then Plodkins laughed a
feeble laugh.

"Now," he said, "I will go with you to your state-room."

The laugh seemed to have braced up Plodkins like a glass of liquor would
have done, and when we got to my state-room he was able to tell me what
had happened. As a sort of preface to his remarks, I would like to say
a word or two about that bath-tub. It was similar to bath-tubs on board
other steamers; a great and very deep receptacle of solid marble. There
were different nickel-plated taps for letting in hot or cold water, or
fresh water or salt water as was desired; and the escape-pipe instead of
being at the end, as it is in most bath-tubs, was in the centre. It was
the custom of the bath-room steward to fill it about half full of water
at whatever temperature you desired. Then, placing a couple of towels
on the rack, he would go and call the man whose hour it was to bathe.

Plodkins said, "When I went in there everything appeared as usual,
except that the morning was very dark. I stood in the bath-tub, the
water coming nearly to my knees, and reached up to turn on the electric
light. The moment I touched the brass key I received a shock that simply
paralyzed me. I think liquor has something to do with the awful effect
the electricity had upon me, because I had taken too much the night
before, and was feeling very shaky indeed; but the result was that I
simply fell full length in the bath-tub just as you found me. I was
unable to move anything except my fingers and toes. I did not appear
to be hurt in the least, and my senses, instead of being dulled by the
shock, seemed to be preternaturally sharp, and I realized in a moment
that if this inability to move remained with me for five minutes I was a
dead man--dead, not from the shock, but by drowning. I gazed up through
that clear green water, and I could see the ripples on the surface
slowly subsiding after my plunge into the tub. It reminded me of looking
into an aquarium. You know how you see up through the water to the
surface with the bubbles rising to the top. I knew that nobody would
come in for at least half an hour, and even then I couldn't remember
whether I had bolted the door or not. Sometimes I bolt it, and sometimes
I don't. I didn't this morning, as it happens. All the time I felt that
strength was slowly returning to me, for I continually worked my fingers
and toes, and now feeling seemed to be coming up to my wrists and arms.
Then I remembered that the vent was in the middle of the bath-tub; so,
wriggling my fingers around, I got hold of the ring, and pulled up the
plug. In the dense silence that was around me, I could not tell whether
the water was running out or not; but gazing up towards the ceiling I
thought I saw the surface gradually sinking down and down and down. Of
course it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed to
be years and years and years. I knew that if once I let my breath go I
would be drowned, merely by the spasmodic action of my lungs trying to
recover air. I felt as if I should burst. It was a match against time,
with life or death as the stake. At first, as I said, my senses were
abnormally sharp, but, by and by, I began to notice that they were
wavering. I thought the glassy surface of the water, which I could see
above me, was in reality a great sheet of crystal that somebody was
pressing down upon me, and I began to think that the moment it reached
my face I would smother. I tried to struggle, but was held with a grip
of steel. Finally, this slab of crystal came down to my nose, and seemed
to split apart. I could hold on no longer, and with a mighty expiration
blew the water up towards the ceiling, and drew in a frightful
smothering breath of salt water, that I blew in turn upwards, and the
next breath I took in had some air with the water. I felt the water
tickling the corners of my mouth, and receding slower and slower down
my face and neck. Then I think I must have become insensible until just
before you entered the room. Of course there is something wrong with
the electric fittings, and there is a leak of electricity; but I think
liquor is at the bottom of all this. I don't believe it would have
affected me like this if I had not been soaked in whiskey."

"If I were you," I said, "I would leave whiskey alone."

"I intend to," he answered solemnly, "and baths too."




A CASE OF FEVER.


"O, underneath the blood red sun,
No bloodier deed was ever done!
Nor fiercer retribution sought
The hand that first red ruin wrought."

This is the doctor's story--

The doctors on board the Atlantic liners are usually young men. They are
good-looking and entertaining as well, and generally they can play the
violin or some other instrument that is of great use at the inevitable
concert which takes place about the middle of the Atlantic. They are
urbane, polite young men, and they chat pleasantly and nicely to the
ladies on board. I believe that the doctor on the Transatlantic steamer
has to be there on account of the steerage passengers. Of course the
doctor goes to the steerage; but I imagine, as a general thing, he does
not spend any more time there than the rules of the service compel him
to. The ladies, at least, would be unanimous in saying that the doctor
is one of the most charming officials on board the ship.

This doctor, who tells the story I am about to relate, was not like the
usual Atlantic physician. He was older than the average, and, to judge
by his somewhat haggard, rugged face, had seen hard times and rough
usage in different parts of the world. Why he came to settle down on
an Atlantic steamer--a berth which is a starting-point rather than a
terminus--I have no means of knowing. He never told us; but there he
was, and one night, as he smoked his pipe with us in the smoking-room,
we closed the door, and compelled him to tell us a story.

As a preliminary, he took out of his inside pocket a book, from which he
selected a slip of creased paper, which had been there so long that it
was rather the worse for wear, and had to be tenderly handled.

"As a beginning," said the doctor, "I will read you what this slip of
paper says. It is an extract from one of the United States Government
Reports in the Indian department, and it relates to a case of fever,
which caused the death of the celebrated Indian chief Wolf Tusk.

"I am not sure that I am doing quite right in telling this story. There
may be some risk for myself in relating it, and I don't know exactly
what the United States Government might have in store for me if the truth
came to be known. In fact, I am not able to say whether I acted rightly
or wrongly in the matter I have to tell you about. You shall be the best
judges of that. There is no question but Wolf Tusk was an old monster,
and there is no question either that the men who dealt with him had
been grievously--but, then, there is no use in my giving you too many
preliminaries; each one will say for himself whether he would have acted
as I did or not. I will make my excuses at the end of the story." Then
he read the slip of paper. I have not a copy of it, and have to quote
from memory. It was the report of the physician who saw Wolf Tusk die,
and it went on to say that about nine o'clock in the morning a heavy and
unusual fever set in on that chief. He had been wounded in the battle of
the day before, when he was captured, and the fever attacked all parts
of his body. Although the doctor had made every effort in his power to
relieve the Indian, nothing could stop the ravages of the fever. At four
o'clock in the afternoon, having been in great pain, and, during the
latter part, delirious, he died, and was buried near the spot where he
had taken ill. This was signed by the doctor.

"What I have read you," said the physician, folding up the paper again,
and placing it in his pocket-book, "is strictly and accurately true,
otherwise, of course, I would not have so reported to the Government.
Wolf Tusk was the chief of a band of irreconcilables, who were now in
one part of the West and now in another, giving a great deal of trouble
to the authorities. Wolf Tusk and his band had splendid horses, and they
never attacked a force that outnumbered their own. In fact, they never
attacked anything where the chances were not twenty to one in their
favour, but that, of course, is Indian warfare; and in this, Wolf Tusk
was no different from his fellows.

"On one occasion Wolf Tusk and his band swooped down on a settlement
where they knew that all the defenders were away, and no one but women
and children were left to meet them. Here one of the most atrocious
massacres of the West took place. Every woman and child in the
settlement was killed under circumstances of inconceivable brutality.
The buildings, such as they were, were burnt down, and, when the men
returned, they found nothing but heaps of smouldering ruin.

"Wolf Tusk and his band, knowing there would be trouble about this, had
made for the broken ground where they could so well defend themselves.
The alarm, however, was speedily given, and a company of cavalry from
the nearest fort started in hot pursuit.

"I was the physician who accompanied the troops. The men whose families
had been massacred, and who were all mounted on swift horses, begged
permission to go with the soldiers, and that permission was granted,
because it was known that their leader would take them after Wolf Tusk
on his own account, and it was thought better to have every one engaged
in the pursuit under the direct command of the chief officer.

"He divided his troop into three parts, one following slowly after Wolf
Tusk, and the other two taking roundabout ways to head off the savages
from the broken ground and foothills from which no number of United
States troops could have dislodged them. These flanking parties were
partly successful. They did not succeed in heading off the Indians
entirely, but one succeeded in changing their course, and throwing the
Indians unexpectedly into the way of the other flanking party, when a
sharp battle took place, and, during its progress, we in the rear came
up. When the Indians saw our reinforcing party come towards them each
man broke away for himself and made for the wilderness. Wolf Tusk, who
had been wounded, and had his horse shot under him, did not succeed in
escaping. The two flanking parties now having reunited with the main
body, it was decided to keep the Indians on the run for a day or two at
least, and so a question arose as to the disposal of the wounded chief.
He could not be taken with the fighting party; there were no soldiers to
spare to take him back, and so the leader of the settlers said that as
they had had enough of war, they would convey him to the fort. Why the
commander allowed this to be done, I do not know. He must have realized
the feelings of the settlers towards the man who massacred their wives
and children. However, the request of the settlers was acceded to, and I
was ordered back also, as I had been slightly wounded. You can see the
mark here on my cheek, nothing serious; but the commander thought I had
better get back into the fort, as he was certain there would be no more
need of my services. The Indians were on the run, and would make no
further stand.

"It was about three days' march from where the engagement had taken
place to the fort. Wolf Tusk was given one of the captured Indian
horses. I attended to the wound in his leg, and he was strapped on the
horse, so that there could be no possibility of his escaping.

"We camped the first night in a little belt of timber that bordered
a small stream, now nearly dry. In the morning I was somewhat rudely
awakened, and found myself tied hand and foot, with two or three of the
settlers standing over me. They helped me to my feet, then half carried
and half led me to a tree, where they tied me securely to the trunk.

"'What are you going to do? What is the meaning of this?' I said to them
in astonishment.

"'Nothing,' was the answer of the leader; 'that is, nothing, if you will
sign a certain medical report which is to go to the Government. You will
see, from where you are, everything that is going to happen, and we
expect you to report truthfully; but we will take the liberty of writing
the report for you.

"Then I noticed that Wolf Tusk was tied to a tree in a manner similar to
myself, and around him had been collected a quantity of firewood. This
firewood, was not piled up to his feet, but formed a circle at some
distance from him, so that the Indian would be slowly roasted.

"There is no use in my describing what took place. When I tell you that
they lit the fire at nine o'clock, and that it was not until four in the
afternoon that Wolf Tusk died, you will understand the peculiar horror
of it.

"'Now,' said the leader to me when everything was over,' here is the
report I have written out,' and he read to me the report which I have
read to you.

"'This dead villain has murdered our wives and our children. If I could
have made his torture last for two weeks I would have done so. You have
made every effort to save him by trying to break loose, and you have not
succeeded. We are not going to harm you, even though you refuse to sign
this report. You cannot bring him to life again, thank God, and all you
can do is to put more trouble on the heads of men who have already,
through red devils like this, had more trouble than they can well stand
and keep sane. Will you sign the report?'

"I said I would, and I did."




HOW THE CAPTAIN GOT HIS STEAMER OUT.

"On his own perticular well-wrought row,
That he's straddled for ages--
Learnt its lay and its gages--
His style may seem queer, but permit him to know,
The likeliest, sprightliest, manner to hoe."

"There is nothing more certain than that some day we may have to record
a terrible disaster directly traceable to ocean racing.

"The vivid account which one of our reporters gives in another column
of how the captain of the _Arrowic_ went blundering across the bar
yesterday in one of the densest fogs of the season is very interesting
reading. Of course the account does not pretend to be anything more than
imaginary, for, until the _Arrowic_ reaches Queenstown, if she ever does
under her present captain, no one can tell how much of luck was mixed
with the recklessness which took this steamer out into the Atlantic in
the midst of the thickest fog we have had this year. All that can be
known at present is, that, when the fog lifted, the splendid steamer
_Dartonia_ was lying at anchor in the bay, having missed the tide, while
the _Arrowic_ was nowhere to be seen. If the fog was too thick for the
_Dartonia_ to cross the bar, how, then, did the captain of the _Arrowic_
get his boat out? The captain of the _Arrowic_ should be taught to
remember that there are other things to be thought of beside the
defeating of a rival steamer. He should be made to understand that he
has under his charge a steamer worth a million and a half of dollars,
and a cargo probably nearly as valuable. Still, he might have lost his
ship and cargo, and we would have had no word to say. That concerns the
steamship company and the owners of the cargo; but he had also in his
care nearly a thousand human lives, and these he should not be allowed
to juggle with in order to beat all the rival steamers in the world."

The above editorial is taken from the columns of the New York _Daily
Mentor_. The substance of it had been cabled across to London and it
made pleasant reading for the captain of the _Arrowic_ at Queenstown.
The captain didn't say anything about it; he was not a talkative man.
Probably he explained to his chief, if the captain of an ocean liner can
possibly have a chief, how he got his vessel out of New York harbour in
a fog; but, if he did, the explanation was never made public, and so
here's an account of it published for the first time, and it may give
a pointer to the captain of the rival liner _Dartonia_. I may say,
however, that the purser was not as silent as the captain. He was very
indignant at what he called the outrage of the New York paper, and said
a great many unjustifiable things about newspaper men. He knew I was a
newspaper man myself, and probably that is the reason he launched his
maledictions against the fraternity at my head.

"Just listen to that wretched penny-a-liner," he said, rapping savagely
on the paper with the back of his hand.

I intimated mildly that they paid more than a penny a line for newspaper
work in New York, but he said that wasn't the point. In fact the
purser was too angry to argue calmly. He was angry the whole way from
Queenstown to Liverpool.

"Here," he said, "is some young fellow, who probably never saw the
inside of a ship in his life, and yet he thinks he can tell the captain
of a great ocean liner what should he done and what shouldn't. Just
think of the cheek of it."

"I don't see any cheek in it," I said, as soothingly as possible. "You
don't mean to pretend to argue, at this time of day that a newspaper man
does _not_ know how to conduct every other business as well as his own."

But the purser did make that very contention, although of course he must
be excused, for, as I said, he was not in a good temper.

"Newspaper men," he continued, "act as if they did know everything. They
pretend in their papers that every man thinks he knows how to run a
newspaper or a hotel. But look at their own case. See the advice they
give to statesmen. See how they would govern Germany, or England, or
any other country under the sun. Does a big bank get into trouble,
the newspaper man at once informs the financiers how they should have
conducted their business. Is there a great railway smash-up, the
newspaper man shows exactly how it could have been avoided if he had had
the management of the railway. Is there a big strike, the newspaper man
steps in. He tells both sides what they should do. If every man thinks
he can run a hotel, or a newspaper--and I am sure most men could run a
newspaper as well as the newspapers are conducted now--the conceit of
the ordinary man is nothing to the conceit of the newspaper man. He not
only thinks he can run a newspaper and a hotel, but every other business
under the sun."

"And how do you know he can't," I asked.

But the purser would not listen to reason. He contended that a captain
who had crossed the ocean hundreds of times and for years and years had
worked his way up, had just as big a sense of responsibility for his
passengers and his ship and his cargo as any newspaper man in New York
could have, and this palpably absurd contention he maintained all the
way to Liverpool.

When a great ocean racer is making ready to put out to sea, there can
hardly be imagined a more bustling scene than that which presents itself
on the deck and on the wharf. There is the rush of passengers, the
banging about of luggage, the hurrying to and fro on the decks, the roar
of escaping steam, the working of immense steam cranes hoisting and
lowering great bales of merchandise and luggage from the wharf to the
hold, and here and there in quiet corners, away from the rush, are
tearful people bidding good-bye to one another.

The _Arrowic_ and the _Dartonia_ left on the same day and within the
same hour, from wharfs that were almost adjoining each other. We on
board the _Arrowic_ could see the same bustle and stir on board the
_Dartonia_ that we ourselves were in the midst of.

The _Dartonia_ was timed to leave about half an hour ahead of us, and we
heard the frantic ringing of her last bell warning everybody to get on
shore who were not going to cross the ocean. Then the great steamer
backed slowly out from her wharf.

Of course all of us who were going on the _Arrowic_ were warm champions
of that ship as the crack ocean racer; but, as the _Dartonia_ moved
backwards with slow stately majesty, all her colours flying, and her
decks black with passengers crowding to the rail and gazing towards us,
we could not deny that she was a splendid vessel, and "even the ranks of
Tuscany could scarce forbear a cheer." Once out in the stream her twin
screws enabled her to turn around almost without the help of tugs, and
just as our last bell was ringing she moved off down the bay. Then we
backed slowly out in the same fashion, and, although we had not the
advantage of seeing ourselves, we saw a great sight on the wharf, which
was covered with people, ringing with cheers, and white with the flutter
of handkerchiefs.

As we headed down stream the day began to get rather thick. It had been
gloomy all morning, and by the time we reached the Statue of Liberty
it was so foggy that one could hardly see three boats' length ahead or
behind. All eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of the _Dartonia_, but
nothing of her was visible. Shortly after, the fog came down in earnest
and blotted out everything. There was a strong wind blowing, and the
vapour, which was cold and piercing, swept the deck with dripping
moisture. Then we came to a standstill. The ship's bell was rung
continually forward and somebody was whanging on the gong towards the
stern. Everybody knew that, if this sort of thing lasted long, we would
not get over the bar that tide, and consequently everybody felt annoyed,
for this delay would lengthen the trip, and people, as a general thing,
do not take passage on an ocean racer with the idea of getting in a day
late. Suddenly the fog lifted clear from shore to shore. Then we saw
something that was not calculated to put our minds at ease. A big
three-masted vessel, with full sail, dashed past us only a very few
yards behind the stern of the mammoth steamer.

"Look at that blundering idiot," said the purser to me, "rushing full
speed over crowded New York Bay in a fog as thick as pea-soup. A captain
who would do a thing like that ought to be hanged."

Before the fog settled down again we saw the _Dartonia_ with her anchor
chain out a few hundred yards to our left, and, farther on, one of the
big German steamers, also at anchor.

In the short time that the fog was lifted our own vessel made some
progress towards the bar. Then the thickness came down again. A nautical
passenger, who had crossed many times, came aft to where I was standing,
and said--

"Do you notice what the captain is trying to do?"

"Well," I answered, "I don't see how anybody can do anything in weather
like this."

"There is a strong wind blowing," continued the nautical passenger, "and
the fog is liable to lift for a few minutes at a time. If it lifts often
enough our captain is going to get us over the bar. It will be rather a
sharp bit of work if he succeeds. You notice that the _Dartonia_ has
thrown out her anchor. She is evidently going to wait where she is until
the fog clears away entirely."

So with that we two went forward to see what was being done. The captain
stood on the bridge and beside him the pilot, but the fog was now so
thick we could hardly see them, although we stood close by, on the piece
of deck in front of the wheelhouse. The almost incessant clanging of
the bell was kept up, and in the pauses we heard answering bells from
different points in the thick fog. Then, for a second time, and with
equal suddenness, the fog lifted ahead of us. Behind we could not see
either the _Dartonia_ or the German steamer. Our own boat, however, went
full speed ahead and kept up the pace till the fog shut down again. The
captain now, in pacing the bridge, had his chronometer in his hand, and
those of us who were at the front frequently looked at our watches, for
of course the nautical passenger knew just how late it was possible for
us to cross the bar.

"I am afraid," said the passenger, "he is not going to succeed." But, as
he said this, the fog lifted for the third time, and again the mammoth
steamer forged ahead.

"If this clearance will only last for ten minutes," said the nautical
passenger, "we are all right." But the fog, as if it had heard him,
closed down on us again damper and thicker than ever.

"We are just at the bar," said the nautical passenger, "and if this
doesn't clear up pretty soon the vessel will have to go back."

The captain kept his eyes fixed on the chronometer in his hand. The
pilot tried to peer ahead, but everything was a thick white blank.

"Ten minutes more and it is too late," said the nautical passenger.

There was a sudden rift in the fog that gave a moment's hope, but it
closed down again. A minute afterwards, with a suddenness that was
strange, the whole blue ocean lay before us. Then full steam ahead.
The fog still was thick behind us in New York Bay. We saw it far ahead
coming in from the ocean. All at once the captain closed his chronometer
with a snap. We were over the bar and into the Atlantic, and that is how
the captain got the _Arrowic_ out of New York Bay.

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