The skipper or captain of this trim little craft was Jack Bergen, of Boston, and he with his mate, Abram Storms, had made the trip across the continent by rail to San Francisco–thus saving the long, dangerous and expensive voyage around Cape Horn.
In the Golden Gate City they–for the mate and captain were joint partners–bought the Coral at auction, paying just two-thirds the sum they expected to give for the vessel they needed. However, when she was fitted up and provisioned, they found very little of their funds left, and they could but feel some anxiety as to the result of the extraordinary enterprise upon which they were engaged. The crew of the little schooner consisted of the two sailors, Hyde Brazzier, Alfredo Redvignez, and a huge African, Pomp Cooper, who shipped as cook and steward, with the liability of being called upon to do duty in an emergency.
But of these, more hereafter.
Captain Bergen, after his craft came-to, was rowed across the short, intervening distance with his mate, and they were assisted upon deck, where they were received most courteously.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked after he and his brother officer were received by Captain Strathmore.
“I’m obliged to you, but I’m afraid not,” was the courteous response. “You know, there’s no way of telling when a piece of iron is going to fracture, and so there is no way of providing against such an accident.”
“Is the shaft broke?”
“Yes; broken clean off.”
“Where?”
The captain of the steamer smiled, for he saw no need of such a question, since he considered the damage irremediable.
“Quite a distance from the screw, and it’s a curious fracture. Would you like to look at it?”
“I would, indeed. You see, we have got considerable out of our course–being too far west–and we shall make a pretty sharp turn to the south, toward Honolulu.”
“I am debating whether to go there, turn back to San Francisco, or keep on under sail to Tokio.”
“This is my mate, Abram Storms, from Enfield, Connecticut,” said Captain Bergen, introducing the two. “I bring him along because he is the most ingenious man ever turned out by that home of ingenuity; and when I saw that something was the matter with you, I came alongside, more because I believed he could help you, than in the expectation that I could be of any service.”
“Captain Bergen does me too much honor,” protested the stoop-shouldered New Englander, who, had there been more of daylight, would have been seen to blush under the compliment.
“I have no doubt he speaks the truth,” replied Captain Strathmore, leading the way below to where the broken shaft rested motionless; “but this trouble is too much like a broken neck for any surgery to help.”
A minute later, a group of half a dozen stood about and stooped over the broken shaft, and examined it by the aid of lanterns, the chief engineer showing a more courteous spirit than is usual under such circumstances.
As one looked at the huge cylinder of solid iron, gleaming with a silvery whiteness all over the jagged face where it had been twisted off, the wonder was how it could be possible for any force to be tremendous enough to do such damage. The peculiarity about the breakage, however, was that, instead of snapping nearly squarely off, the fracture extended longitudinally for fully eighteen inches, so that the face of each part was a great deal broader and longer than is generally the case in such accidents.
The group surveyed it a minute or two in silence, stooping down and feeling of the innumerable jagged protuberances, the indentations, and the exceedingly rough surface, the minute particles gleaming in the lamp-light like a mass of silver ore split apart.
The first remark came from the New Englander, Abe Storms.
“That is curious, for there are no signs of crystallization, nor can I detect a flaw.”
“Nevertheless, it must be there, for perfect iron would not have broken in that manner,” said the chief engineer.
“I beg your pardon,” said the mate, courteously, “but it frequently happens. There has been some peculiar combination of the movement of the steamer on the swell of the sea, with the position of the screw at that moment–a convergence of a hundred conditions–some almost infinitesimal, but necessary, and which convergence is not likely to take place in a million revolutions of the screw–that has brought an irresistible strain upon the shaft–one that would have wrenched it off, had the diameter been twice what it is.”
The group looked wonderingly at the speaker, for every intelligent man felt that the theory of the New Englander had a stratum of truth beneath it. It was hard to make clear what the mate meant, but all to a certain extent understood, and no one ventured to gainsay it.
“However,” added Abe Storms, “there’s one good thing about this; it will be easy to mend it.”
Captain Bergen smiled, for he expected something of the kind, and he knew that that wonderful Yankee mate of his never boasted, and would demonstrate every assertion he made. But the others stared at the speaker with something like consternation, and seemed to be debating whether he was crazy or a natural born idiot.
CHAPTER IV
MISSING
“Mend a broken shaft?” repeated the chief engineer, in amazement. “How do you expect to do that?”
“I will show you,” replied the mate of the little schooner, who immediately proceeded to business.
The first thing he asked for was several coils of wire, which were immediately furnished him. Then, with great labor, the two parts of the shaft were fitted together and the wire was twisted tightly around the fractured portion over and over again.
As the tenacity of iron is tremendous, the shaft was securely fastened, but this was not enough. Ropes and chains were bound around the iron in turn, until there was really no room to bandage the broken shaft further.
“There, sir!” exclaimed Storms, as he stepped back and viewed his work. “That is as secure as before, though, if you can possibly do so, you should avoid reversing the screw until you reach Tokio, for you can understand that to reverse and start will wrench the shaft to a dangerous degree.”
The captain now told the engineer, who had been assisting in the operation, to start the engine slowly and with great care.
Captain Bergen ran on deck to see that the Coral was in position to receive no harm from the forward motion, while the rest of the group watched the movements with intense interest, standing away from the shaft so as to escape the “splinters,” that more than one thought might be flying about their heads the next minute.
There came the sound of steam, of plunging rods and cylinders from ahead, then there was heard a furious splash at the stern, and all saw that the shaft in its entirety was revolving.
The keen eyes of Abe Storms, who had leaned directly over his handiwork, lamp in hand, his nose almost touching the gleaming chains, detected the very yielding which he had prophesied. He heard the creaking of the chains, the faint gasping, as it may be called, of the rope, and the soft grinding of the fine wire beneath.
All this showed what an enormous strain was brought upon them, and almost any other person detecting the rasping of the ragged edges of iron against each other would have started back appalled, believing that everything was about to fly apart. But it was precisely what the mate expected, and what was inevitable under the circumstances. Then, at his request, the engineer was ordered to put on a full head of steam, and the Polynesia plowed forward, cleaving the water before her.
Abe Storms knelt down and bent almost lovingly over the round mass revolving on its axis. Then he beckoned to the engineer to approach and do the same. He obeyed, as did several others, and placing their ears close, they listened intently to the revolution of the shaft.
Not even the faintest noise