Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Whether the ladies approved or not, the shady depths of the small “smoker” on the upper deck proved a veritable Mecca for all the men. Here one always was pretty sure to find some of the passengers enjoying their cigars or cigarettes or even pipes, chatting of trade and drinks, horses and games, politics and policies.

Here was to be found the man who could foretell the number of knots the boat would cover that day; who knew the hour they would sight the African shore again. Another would descant of the ever-inspiring topic—the great Canal—the time it took to go through it, the money a boat had to pay, the advantages of being on a British boat and so on.

Here also it was where Jones told of Smith’s affairs while the latter was with the ladies, where Smith in turn was telling what Jones had been doing in India when the last-named gentleman had to obey the call of his better half and absent himself from the round table. It was not long, therefore, before everyone knew all about everybody else; or, at least, thought they did.

For Morton and some of the older men there was the evening gathering in the Captain’s roomy cabin, the exchange of tales and adventures with the jolly-faced seaman and the recital of some traveler’s tale of older days by some visitor.

From the Captain, Morton obtained his information about Count Rondell, who had once been the Captain’s superior officer some years back, when the latter had been in the service of Roumelia as a nautical instructor.

He heard from Sir Balingbroke how, during the memorable days of the Congress of Berlin, Count Rondell, then at the head of the diplomatic corps of his little country, fought hard and unremittingly for admission to the inner chambers of the historic conference, and how, in spite of the weighty opposition of Giers and the fact that he could not get official admission as a delegate, he had so won the esteem of all the statesmen there present that he had secured full independence, autonomy and great economic advantages for his country, and, then and there, had laid the foundation of the kingdom of Roumelia.

From this austere and cautious member of the British cabinet he also learned of the Count’s romantic quest in eastern lands for the young prince who had disappeared from home, and how necessary this only heir to the throne was for the continuance of existing conditions in the little kingdom. But Sir Balingbroke could not say whether the Count’s search had been crowned with success or not.

Captain Pollard pictured the Count as a man of unbending character, thoroughly upright and just. A man who ruled at court with iron hand but who had remained unsullied by its machinations—an aristocrat in office, a student and loving husband in his home. Sir Balingbroke nodded his head emphatically by way of confirmation of the Captain’s statements.

Morton spent considerable time in his own cabin, tabulating his collected material with the help of his assistant. During his absence from the ship’s circle he was largely discussed. The ladies especially were eager for information.

All the skipper knew, it seemed, was that Mr. Morton was the only son of Daniel B. Morton, the Arizona Copper King, one of the wealthiest and most influential of the many powerful men which America’s mineral wealth had created during the last decades. Young Morton was said to be a chip of the old block, well educated, manly and straight. After his college days at home, he had pursued special post-graduate studies at Oxford and Bonn, and had prepared himself to take up his father’s work. The Captain couldn’t explain why the young man had gone seemingly on a new tack. Rich as Croesus and living in a tent with no one but a man servant for over a year! Sir Balingbroke was puzzled.