The Young Wireless Operator—Afloat / Or, How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs in the Merchant Marine

by Lewis E. Theiss

It was so now as he meditated concerning his own situation. He forgot that he had been aboard the Lycoming hardly a month. He did not realize that the captain really knew nothing concerning his training and ability. He did not understand that before a man like Captain Lansford could place confidence in a subordinate, that subordinate would have to prove his entire trustworthiness. And Roy had as yet had no real test. His work had so far been all fair-weather work.

But the thing that Roy understood least of all was the captain’s actual attitude toward him. He thought that the captain disliked him, that he felt spiteful toward him, that he was purposely trying to humiliate him. Had Roy understood the actual situation he might have felt even worse. That was, that Captain Lansford was hardly conscious that Roy was a member of his crew. He was for some reason prejudiced against wireless, and he had for so many years navigated his ship without the help of wireless that he gave no more heed to the innovation than he would to a new plank laid on the deck. Roy’s messages concerning the weather he took lightly. He had a barometer of his own that for thirty years had told him all he needed to know about the weather. Roy’s news-letters were more or less diverting. But the captain had gone without the day’s news for so many years that he had no hunger for it, as the constant newspaper reader has. It mattered little to him whether he ever saw a paper or not.

But it did matter about the safety and punctuality of his ship. No mariner alive was prouder of his record, more jealous of his reputation, or more determined to keep up his good work. Every minute the captain had the welfare of his ship in mind. Only those who had proved their ability did he trust. He wanted them to prove it under his own tutelage, and his was a stern way of training recruits.

Thus it was that while Roy was fretting his heart out at what he considered the captain’s dislike of him and injustice toward him, the captain was hardly giving Roy a thought. He was tolerating him as he tolerated the wireless aerial swinging aloft; both had been ordered by the owners.

So Roy’s situation was far from being the hopeless one he considered it. The dropping of water will wear away even the hardest stone. Continued good service was certain to make an impression on even Captain Lansford’s stern nature. And real service to the ship could not fail to impress the captain deeply, since his ship’s welfare was the captain’s one passion.

Could Roy have realized all this it would have saved him many a heartburn. He did understand, however, that the way to make good in any job was through efficient service. So the captain’s course, although it hurt and angered Roy, really spurred him to greater efforts. Some boys, in a similar situation, would have become careless and sullen. Roy maintained his courteous, cheery manner and worked harder than ever. He was on his mettle and was determined that he would force recognition from his captain. And that was the very best attitude he could have taken.

Although it is a long lane that has no turning, it seemed to Roy that he was an extremely long time in reaching the bend in his particular path. Things went on in the same old, uneventful way. He took messages and sent them. He faithfully caught the weather-reports, the storm signals, and the night’s news. And all these made about as much impression on Captain Lansford as did the regular turning of one of the piston-rods in the engine room. Roy saw that if he were going to make a dent in Captain Lansford’s consciousness, he would have to do something out of the ordinary routine. Think as he might, no opportunity seemed to present itself. That made Roy keener than ever; and he soon reached the point where he spent almost as much time considering the welfare of the ship as the captain did. Everywhere and always he was asking himself the question, “What can I do to help run the ship?”

The period of unloading and loading passed, and the Lycoming started south again, but still Roy’s opportunity did not come. He chafed under the placid routine of his life as a captured tiger chafes in its cage.

The turn in the lane was near at hand, however, or at least there was a slight bend directly ahead. That turn came in the form of a fog.

Bright skies and a summer sun looked down upon the Lycoming as she bade farewell to New York and sailed through the Narrows toward the open sea. Twenty-four hours later she was buried in a fog-bank. A great, gray, swirling mass of mist came drifting up from the south, cutting off the vision as effectually as a curtain hides a stage. In no time everything was wet and clammy. Rails, rigging, window-sills,—everything was adrip with condensed moisture. A raw, damp quality pervaded the atmosphere. The barometer was falling and the wind rising. To make matters worse, it began to rain. At first the rain was hardly more than a heavy mist. Then it fell in gentle drops. As the wind rose the rain poured downward in torrents, driving in sheets before the fitful blasts of the gale. It searched out every crack and crevice, and came driving under doors and oozing in under tightly closed window-sashes.