“Fine, old top,” exclaimed Mr. Paget, or words to that effect.
Mr. Kemp then went back to the barracks and in another half hour he emerged again and told Mr. Paget that the signals were still coming in and that there wasn’t the slightest doubt but that they came from Poldhu. He said that Mr. Marconi had asked that the kite be kept up for another hour if possible.
The wind grew more blustery than before, but anything was possible now for nothing so makes for success as a little success. The aerial was often more nearly horizontal than vertical, but Mr. Marconi got the signals as they were flashed out by Poldhu just the same. This ended our work for the day—that never-to-be-forgotten 12th of December.
The next day we flew the big kite using the aerial wire for a string again, for Poldhu had been instructed to keep on sending the letter S. The three short dots were sent out right along with short intervals between them, but the kite would take a header every time it was hit by a gust of wind and this would bring the aerial wire down so low the signals could not be heard, and, again, the receiver had to be kept in close adjustment.
After these last tests we hauled in the kite and then came the soft job of packing up the stuff. While we were doing this I threw a bomb into Mr. Marconi’s camp by telling Mr. Paget that I was Jack Heaton, the former chief wireless officer on the Andalusian. He told Mr. Kemp and they both smiled.
“Well, bless my heart, old man,” he said with about as much show of emotion as I do now in repeating it to you. “I rather thought, don’t you know, that you were as smart as paint—too smart to be trundling boxes around on a bally goods wagon. Who told you to come up here?”
“No one, Mr. Kemp, I just wanted to work under Mr. Marconi so that I could say I had done so and I came up from New York of my own accord.”
“Well, bless my old soul!” Mr. Kemp continued, which was his way of expressing his opinion of the nerve I had shown.
I kept right on packing up the stuff under the direction of the two assistants and after a while when Mr. Marconi came over Mr. Kemp spoke to him.
“I say, Mr. Marconi, this chap is Jack Heaton who was the operator on the Andalusian when she went down. He says he came up here to work with you. I don’t know who took him on; I didn’t and Mr. Paget says he didn’t.”