CHAPTER VIII
WHERE COTTON IS KING
Like Mount Zion, this great seaport was beautiful for situation. Located on the eastern tip of an island some thirty miles long, that lay not far off the mainland and parallel with it, the little city sat snugly between the Galveston Bay on the north and the swelling waters of the Gulf on the south. Barren stretches of sand girt the city on the west, while farther along the coast of the island rose some mound-like structures above which flew the American flag. Roy had already learned that this was Fort Crockett. But of the city before him he knew practically nothing.
After standing straight in toward land for a considerable distance, the ship turned to port and, like a match about to pass a sawlog, steamed directly toward the island, but slightly to the right or north of it. It was mid-forenoon and there was no wireless work for Roy to do at the time. He came out of the wireless house and stood on the upper deck, so as to obtain an unobstructed view. Captain Lansford was again on the bridge. On the lower decks passengers were saying good-bye to one another, and making all the preparations necessary for departure. Stewards were bustling about, looking after baggage, helping passengers with their slight wraps and hand luggage, and performing a multitude of other acts designed in part to be helpful, but meant mostly to draw forth generous tips from grateful travelers. Much of this was hidden from Roy. But he could see enough of it to understand what was afoot. He was glad he was by himself, where he did not have to watch it. The very idea of seeking and taking tips was repugnant to him.
He paid slight heed to what was going on below him, however, for there was so much to see elsewhere that he was soon deeply engrossed in the scene before him. So deeply did he become interested that he even failed to hear a footstep on the ladder and was not conscious that any one had mounted to his deck until a voice sounded close to his ear. Roy turned about with a start, then smiled a welcome. It was the chief engineer whose duties, like Roy’s, were about ended for the journey.
“Good-morning, Mr. Anderson,” smiled Roy. “I’m glad to see you. What brings you up here? Can I do anything for you? Any messages you want sent?”
“Thank you, Mr. Mercer,” said the chief engineer. “I can’t think of a soul I want to communicate with. The purser asked me to step up and tell you about some of the things we shall see. He knew that you would be interested in them, but you know this is his busy time. He’s up to his eyes in work just now.”
“I am obliged both to you and to the purser,” said Roy. “I do want to know about Galveston, but I don’t want to impose upon you, Mr. Anderson.”
“That’s all right. It’s no imposition. You know I am an engineer and I never tire of talking of some of the engineering feats that have been accomplished here. There is nothing in all the world more interesting from an engineering standpoint than some of the things that have been done right on this little island.”
Roy opened his eyes wide. He had no idea that Galveston was anything but a sleepy, southern seaport. He decided not to display his ignorance and so said nothing. But he felt sure that after what he had seen in New York, Galveston must prove to be tame indeed.
For a space the two stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the scene in silence. The usual morning breeze had sprung up and the blue waters of the Gulf were foaming white under its breath. The whitecaps chased one another shoreward, and broke on the beach in glistening foam. High above them rose the town, looking for all the world like a city built on a rock. Its white houses gleamed in the warm June sun.