CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CLUB MEN GO A FISHING.
Captain Bloomsbury was perfectly right when he said that almosteverything was ready for the commencement of the great work which theClub men had to accomplish. Considering how much was required, this wascertainly saying a great deal; but here also, as on many otheroccasions, fortune had singularly favored the Club men.
San Francisco Bay, as everybody knows, though one of the finest andsafest harbors in the world, is not without some danger from hiddenrocks. One of these in particular, the Anita Rock as it was called,lying right in mid channel, had become so notorious for the wrecks ofwhich it was the cause, that, after much time spent in the considerationof the subject, the authorities had at last determined to blow it up.This undertaking having been very satisfactorily accomplished by meansof _dynamite_ or giant powder, another improvement in the harbor hadbeen also undertaken with great success. The wrecks of many vessels layscattered here and there pretty numerously, some, like that of the_Flying Dragon_, in spots so shallow that they could be easily seen atlow water, but others sunk at least twenty fathoms deep, like that ofthe _Caroline_, which had gone down in 1851, not far from Blossom Rock,with a treasure on board of 20,000 ounces of gold. The attempt to clearaway these wrecks had also turned out very well; even sufficienttreasure had been recovered to repay all the expense, though thepreparations for the purpose by the contractors, M'Gowan and Co. hadbeen made on the most extensive scale, and in accordance with the latestimprovements in the apparatus for submarine operations.
Buoys, made of huge canvas sacks, coated with India rubber, and guardedby a net work of strong cordage, had been manufactured and provided bythe _New York Submarine Company_. These buoys, when inflated and workingin pairs, had a lifting capacity of 30 tons a pair. Reservoirs of air,provided with powerful compression pumps, always accompanied the buoys.To attach the latter, in a collapsed condition, with strong chains tothe sides of the vessels which were to be lifted, a diving apparatus wasnecessary. This also the _New York Company_ had provided, and it was soperfect in its way that, by means of peculiar appliances of easymanagement, the diver could walk about on the bottom, take his ownbearings, ascend to the surface at pleasure, and open his helmet withoutassistance. A few sets likewise of Rouquayrol and Denayrouze's famoussubmarine armor had been provided. These would prove of invaluableadvantage in all operations performed at great sea depths, as itsdistinctive feature, "the regulator," could maintain, what is not doneby any other diving armor, a constant equality of pressure on the lungsbetween the external and the internal air.
But perhaps the most useful article of all was a new form of diving bellcalled the _Nautilus_, a kind of submarine boat, capable of lateral aswell as vertical movement at the will of its occupants. Constructed withdouble sides, the intervening chambers could be filled either with wateror air according as descent or ascent was required. A proper supply ofwater enabled the machine to descend to depths impossible to be reachedotherwise; this water could then be expelled by an ingeniouscontrivance, which, replacing it with air, enabled the diver to risetowards the surface as fast as he pleased.
All these and many other portions of the submarine apparatus which hadbeen employed that very year for clearing the channel, lifting thewrecks and recovering the treasure, lay now at San Francisco, unusedfortunately on account of the season of the year, and therefore theycould be readily obtained for the asking. They had even been generouslyoffered to Captain Bloomsbury, who, in obedience to a telegram fromWashington, had kept his crew busily employed for nearly two weeksnight and day in transferring them all safely on board the_Susquehanna_.
Marston was the first to make a careful inspection of every articleintended for the operation.
"Do you consider these buoys powerful enough to lift the Projectile,Captain?" he asked next morning, as the vessel was briskly headingsouthward, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the coast on theirleft.
"You can easily calculate that problem yourself, Mr. Marston," repliedthe Captain. "It presents no difficulty. The Projectile weighs about 20thousand pounds, or 10 tons?"
"Correct!"
"Well, a pair of these buoys when inflated can raise a weight of 30tons."
"So far so good. But how do you propose attaching them to theProjectile?"
"We simply let them descend in a state of collapse; the diver, goingdown with them, will have no difficulty in making a fast connection. Assoon as they are inflated the Projectile will come up like a cork."
"Can the divers readily reach such depths?"
"That remains to be seen Mr. Marston."
"Captain," said Morgan, now joining the party, "you are a worthy memberof our Gun Club. You have done wonders. Heaven grant it may not be allin vain! Who knows if our poor friends are still alive?"
"Hush!" cried Marston quickly. "Have more sense than to ask suchquestions. Is Barbican alive! Am _I_ alive? They're all alive, I tellyou, only we must be quick about reaching them before the air gives out.That's what's the matter! Air! Provisions, water--abundance! Butair--oh! that's their weak point! Quick, Captain, quick--They'rethrowing the reel--I must see her rate!" So saying, he hurried off tothe stern, followed by General Morgan. Chief Engineer Murphy and theCaptain of the _Susquehanna_ were thus left for awhile together.
These two men had a long talk on the object of their journey and thelikelihood of anything satisfactory being accomplished. The man of thesea candidly acknowledged his apprehensions. He had done everything inhis power towards collecting suitable machinery for fishing up theProjectile, but he had done it all, he said, more as a matter of dutythan because he believed that any good could result from it; in fact, henever expected to see the bold adventurers again either living or dead.Murphy, who well understood not only what machinery was capable ofeffecting, but also what it would surely fail in, at first expressed thegreatest confidence in the prosperous issue of the undertaking. But whenhe learned, as he now did for the first time, that the ocean bed onwhich the Projectile was lying could be hardly less than 20,000 feetbelow the surface, he assumed a countenance as grave as the Captain's,and at once confessed that, unless their usual luck stood by them, hispoor friends had not the slightest possible chance of ever being fishedup from the depths of the Pacific.
The conversation maintained among the officers and the others on boardthe _Susquehanna_, was pretty much of the same nature. It is almostneedless to say that all heads--except Belfast's, whose scientific mindrejected the Projectile theory with the most serene contempt--werefilled with the same idea, all hearts throbbed with the same emotion.Wouldn't it be glorious to fish them up alive and well? What were theydoing just now? Doing? _Doing!_ Their bodies most probably were lying ina shapeless pile on the floor of the Projectile, like a heap of clothes,the uppermost man being the last smothered; or perhaps floating about inthe water inside the Projectile, like dead gold fish in an aquarium; orperhaps burned to a cinder, like papers in a "champion" safe after agreat fire; or, who knows? perhaps at that very moment the poor fellowswere making their last and almost superhuman struggles to burst theirwatery prison and ascend once more into the cheerful regions of lightand air! Alas! How vain must such puny efforts prove! Plunged into oceandepths of three or four miles beneath the surface, subjected to aninconceivable pressure of millions and millions of tons of sea water,their metallic shroud was utterly unassailable from within, and utterlyunapproachable from without!
Early on the morning of December 29th, the Captain calculating from hislog that they must now be very near the spot where they had witnessedthe extraordinary phenomenon, the _Susquehanna_ hove to. Having to waittill noon to find his exact position, he ordered the steamer to take ashort circular course of a few hours' duration, in hope of sighting thebuoy. But though at least a hundred telescopes scanned the calm oceanbreast for many miles in all directions, it was nowhere to be seen.
Precisely at noon, aided by his officers and in the presence ofMarston, Belfast, and the Gun Club Committee, the Captai
n took hisobservations. After a moment or two of the most profound interest, itwas a great gratification to all to learn that the _Susquehanna_ was onthe right parallel, and only about 15 miles west of the precise spotwhere the Projectile had disappeared beneath the waves. The steamerstarted at once in the direction indicated, and a minute or two beforeone o'clock the Captain said they were "there." No sign of the buoycould yet be seen in any direction; it had probably been driftedsouthward by the Mexican coast current which slowly glides along theseshores from December to April.
"At last!" cried Marston, with a sigh of great relief.
"Shall we commence at once?" asked the Captain.
"Without losing the twenty thousandth part of a second!" answeredMarston; "life or death depends upon our dispatch!"
The _Susquehanna_ again hove to, and this time all possible precautionswere taken to keep her in a state of perfect immobility--an operationeasily accomplished in these pacific latitudes, where cloud and wind andwater are often as motionless as if all life had died out of the world.In fact, as the boats were quietly lowered, preparatory for beginningthe operations, the mirror like calmness of sea, sky, and ship soimpressed the Doctor, who was of a poetical turn of mind, that he couldnot help exclaiming to the little Midshipman, who was standing nearest:
"Coleridge realized, with variations:
The breeze drops down, the sail drops down, All's still as still can be; If we speak, it is only to break The silence of the sea. Still are the clouds, still are the shrouds, No life, no breath, no motion; Idle are all as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean!"
Chief Engineer Murphy now took command. Before letting down the buoys,the first thing evidently to be done was to find out, if possible, theprecise point where the Projectile lay. For this purpose, the Nautiluswas clearly the only part of the machinery that could be employed withadvantage. Its chambers were accordingly soon filled with water, its airreservoirs were also soon completely charged, and the Nautilus itself,suspended by chains from the end of a yard, lay quietly on the oceansurface, its manhole on the top remaining open for the reception ofthose who were willing to encounter the dangers that awaited it in thefearful depths of the Pacific. Every one looking on was well aware that,after a few hundred feet below the surface, the pressure would grow moreand more enormous, until at last it became quite doubtful if any linecould bear the tremendous strain. It was even possible that at a certaindepth the walls of the Nautilus might be crushed in like an eggshell,and the whole machine made as flat as two leaves of paper pastedtogether.
Perfectly conscious of the nature of the tremendous risk they were aboutto run, Marston, Morgan, and Murphy quietly bade their friends a shortfarewell and were lowered into the manhole. The Nautilus having roomenough for four, Belfast had been expected to be of the party but,feeling a little sea sick, the Professor backed out at the last moment,to the great joy of Mr. Watkins, the famous reporter of the _N.Y.Herald_, who was immediately allowed to take his place.
Every provision against immediate danger had been made. By means ofpreconcerted signals, the inmates could have themselves drawn up, letdown, or carried laterally in whatever direction they pleased. Bybarometers and other instruments they could readily ascertain thepressure of the air and water, also how far they had descended and atwhat rate they were moving. The Captain, from his bridge, carefullysuperintended every detail of the operation. All signals he insisted onattending to himself personally, transmitting them instantly by his bellto the engineer below. The whole power of the steam engine had beenbrought to bear on the windlass; the chains could withstand an enormousstrain. The wheels had been carefully oiled and tested beforehand; thesignalling apparatus had been subjected to the rigidest examination; andevery portion of the machinery had been proved to be in admirableworking order.
The chances of immediate and unforeseen danger, it is true, had beensomewhat diminished by all these precautions. The risk, nevertheless,was fearful. The slightest accident or even carelessness might easilylead to the most disastrous consequence.
Five minutes after two o'clock, the manhole being closed, the lamps lit,and everything pronounced all right, the signal for the descent wasgiven, and the Nautilus immediately disappeared beneath the waters. Adouble anxiety now possessed all on board the _Susquehanna_: theprisoners in the Nautilus were in danger as well as the prisoners in theProjectile. Marston and his friends, however, were anything butdisquieted on their own account, and, pencil in hand and noses flattenedon the glass plates, they examined carefully everything they could seein the liquid masses through which they were descending.
For the first five hundred feet, the descent was accomplished withlittle trouble. The Nautilus sank rather slowly, at a uniform rate of afoot to the second. It had not been two minutes under water when thelight of day completely disappeared. But for this the occupants werefully prepared, having provided themselves with powerful lamps, whosebrilliant light, radiating from polished reflectors, gave them anopportunity of seeing clearly around it for a distance of eight or tenfeet in all directions. Owing to the superlatively excellentconstruction of the Nautilus, also on account of the _scaphanders_, orsuits of diving armor, with which Marston and his friends had clothedthemselves, the disagreeable sensations to which divers are ordinarilyexposed, were hardly felt at all in the beginning of the descent.
Marston was about to congratulate his companions on the favorableauspices inaugurating their trip, when Murphy, consulting theinstrument, discovered to his great surprise that the Nautilus was notmaking its time. In reply to their signal "faster!" the downwardmovement increased a little, but it soon relaxed again. Instead of lessthan two minutes, as at the beginning, it now took twelve minutes tomake a hundred feet. They had gone only seven hundred feet inthirty-seven minutes. In spite of repeated signalling, their progressduring the next hour was even still more alarming, one hundred feettaking exactly 59 minutes. To shorten detail, it required two hours moreto make another hundred feet; and then the Nautilus, after taking tenminutes to crawl an inch further, came to a perfect stand still. Thepressure of the water had evidently now become too enormous to allowfurther descent.
The Clubmen's distress was very great; Marston's, in particular, wasindescribable. In vain, catching at straws, he signalled "eastwards!""westwards!" "northwards!" or "southwards!" the Nautilus moved readilyevery way but downwards.
"Oh! what shall we do?" he cried in despair; "Barbican, must we reallygive you up though separated from us by the short distance of only a fewmiles?"
At last, nothing better being to be done, the unwilling signal "heaveupwards!" was given, and the hauling up commenced. It was done veryslowly, and with the greatest care. A sudden jerk might snap the chains;an incautious twist might put a kink on the air tube; besides, it waswell known that the sudden removal of heavy pressure resulting fromrapid ascent, is attended by very disagreeable sensations, which havesometimes even proved fatal.
It was near midnight when the Clubmen were lifted out of the manhole.Their faces were pale, their eyes bloodshot, their figures stooped. Eventhe _Herald_ Reporter seemed to have got enough of exploring. ButMarston was as confident as ever, and tried to be as brisk.
He had hardly swallowed the refreshment so positively enjoined in thecircumstances, when he abruptly addressed the Captain:
"What's the weight of your heaviest cannon balls?"
"Thirty pounds, Mr. Marston."
"Can't you attach thirty of them to the Nautilus and sink us again?"
"Certainly, Mr. Marston, if you wish it. It shall be the first thingdone to-morrow."
"To-night, Captain! At once! Barbican has not an instant to lose."
"At once then be it, Mr. Marston. Just as you say."
The new sinkers were soon attached to the Nautilus, which disappearedonce more with all its former occupants inside, except the _Herald_Reporter, who had fallen asleep over his notes, or at least seemed tobe. He had probably made up his mind as to the likelihood of theNautilu
s ever getting back again.
The second descent was quicker than the first, but just as futile. At1152 feet, the Nautilus positively refused to go a single inch further.Marston looked like a man in a stupor. He made no objection to thesignal given by the others to return; he even helped to cut the ropes bywhich the cannon balls had been attached. Not a single word was spokenby the party, as they slowly rose to the surface. Marston seemed to bestruggling against despair. For the first time, the impossibility of thegreat enterprise seemed to dawn upon him. He and his friends hadundertaken a great fight with the mighty Ocean, which now played withthem as a giant with a pigmy. To reach the bottom was evidentlycompletely out of their power; and what was infinitely worse, there wasnothing to be gained by reaching it. The Projectile was not on thebottom; it could not even have got to the bottom. Marston said it all ina few words to the Captain, as the Clubmen stepped on deck a few hourslater:
"Barbican is floating midway in the depths of the Pacific, like Mahometin his coffin!"
Blindly yielding, however, to the melancholy hope that is born ofdespair, Marston and his friends renewed the search next day, the 30th,but they were all too worn out with watching and excitement to be ableto continue it longer than a few hours. After a night's rest, it wasrenewed the day following, the 31st, with some vigor, and a good part ofthe ocean lying between Guadalupe and Benito islands was carefullyinvestigated to a depth of seven or eight hundred feet. No traceswhatever of the Projectile. Several California steamers, plying betweenSan Francisco and Panama, passed the _Susquehanna_ within hailingdistance. But to every question, the invariable reply one melancholyburden bore:
"No luck!"
All hands were now in despair. Marston could neither eat nor drink. Henever even spoke the whole day, except on two occasions. Once, whensomebody heard him muttering:
"He's now seventeen days in the ocean!"
The second time he spoke, the words seemed to be forced out of him.Belfast admitted, for the sake of argument, that the Projectile hadfallen into the ocean, but he strongly denounced the absurd idea of itsoccupants being still alive. "Under such circumstances," went on thelearned Professor, "further prolongation of vital energy would be simplyimpossible. Want of air, want of food, want of courage--"
"No, sir!" interrupted Marston quite savagely. "Want of air, of meat, ofdrink, as much as you like! But when you speak of Barbican's want ofcourage, you don't know what you are talking about! No holy martyr everdied at the stake with a loftier courage than my noble friendBarbican!"
That night he asked the Captain if he would not sail down as far as CapeSan Lucas. Bloomsbury saw that further search was all labor lost, but herespected such heroic grief too highly to give a positive refusal. Heconsented to devote the following day, New Year's, to an exploringexpedition as far as Magdalena Bay, making the most diligent inquiriesin all directions.
But New Year's was just as barren of results as any of its predecessors,and, a little before sunset, Captain Bloomsbury, regardless of furtherentreaties and unwilling to risk further delay, gave orders to 'boutship and return to San Francisco.
The _Susquehanna_ was slowly turning around in obedience to her wheel,as if reluctant to abandon forever a search in which humanity at largewas interested, when the look-out man, stationed in the forecastle,suddenly sang out:
"A buoy to the nor'east, not far from shore!"
All telescopes were instantly turned in the direction indicated. Thebuoy, or whatever object it was, could be readily distinguished. Itcertainly did look like one of those buoys used to mark out the channelthat ships follow when entering a harbor. But as the vessel slowlyapproached it, a small flag, flapping in the dying wind--a strangefeature in a buoy--was seen to surmount its cone, which a nearerapproach showed to be emerging four or five feet from the water. And fora buoy too it was exceedingly bright and shiny, reflecting the red raysof the setting sun as strongly as if its surface was crystal or polishedmetal!
"Call Mr. Marston on deck at once!" cried the Captain, his voicebetraying unwonted excitement as he put the glass again to his eye.
Marston, thoroughly worn out by his incessant anxiety during the day,had been just carried below by his friends, and they were now trying tomake him take a little refreshment and repose. But the Captain's orderbrought them all on deck like a flash.
They found the whole crew gazing in one direction, and, though speakingin little more than whispers, evidently in a state of extraordinaryexcitement.
What could all this mean? Was there any ground for hope? The thoughtsent a pang of delight through Marston's wildly beating heart thatalmost choked him.
The Captain beckoned to the Club men to take a place on the bridgebeside himself. They instantly obeyed, all quietly yielding them apassage.
The vessel was now only about a quarter of a mile distant from theobject and therefore near enough to allow it to be distinguished withoutthe aid of a glass.
What! The flag bore the well known Stars and Stripes!
An electric shudder of glad surprise shot through the assembled crowd.They still spoke, however, in whispers, hardly daring to utter theirthoughts aloud.
The silence was suddenly startled by a howl of mingled ecstasy and ragefrom Marston.
He would have fallen off the bridge, had not the others held him firmly.Then he burst into a laugh loud and long, and quite as formidable as hishowl.
Then he tore away from his friends, and began beating himself over thehead.
"Oh!" he cried in accents between a yell and a groan, "what chuckleheadswe are! What numskulls! What jackasses! What double-treble-barrelledgibbering idiots!" Then he fell to beating himself over the head again.
"What's the matter, Marston, for heaven's sake!" cried his friends,vainly trying to hold him.
"Speak for yourself!" cried others, Belfast among the number.
"No exception, Belfast! You're as bad as the rest of us! We're all a setof unmitigated, demoralized, dog-goned old lunatics! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Speak plainly, Marston! Tell us what you mean!"
"I mean," roared the terrible Secretary, "that we are no better than alot of cabbage heads, dead beats, and frauds, calling ourselvesscientists! O Barbican, how you must blush for us! If we wereschoolboys, we should all be skinned alive for our ignorance! Do youforget, you herd of ignoramuses, that the Projectile weighs only tentons?"
"We don't forget it! We know it well! What of it?"
"This of it: it can't sink in water without displacing its own volumein water; its own volume in water weighs thirty tons! Consequently, itcan't sink; more consequently, it hasn't sunk; and, most consequently,there it is before us, bobbing up and down all the time under our verynoses! O Barbican, how can we ever venture to look at you straight inthe face again!"
Marston's extravagant manner of showing it did not prevent him frombeing perfectly right. With all their knowledge of physics, not a singleone of those scientific gentlemen had remembered the great fundamentallaw that governs sinking or floating bodies. Thanks to its slightspecific gravity, the Projectile, after reaching unknown depths of oceanthrough the terrific momentum of its fall, had been at last arrested inits course and even obliged to return to the surface.
By this time, all the passengers of the _Susquehanna_ could easilyrecognize the object of such weary longings and desperate searches,floating quietly a short distance before them in the last rays of thedeclining day!
The boats were out in an instant. Marston and his friends took theCaptain's gig. The rowers pulled with a will towards the rapidly nearingProjectile. What did it contain? The living or the dead? The livingcertainly! as Marston whispered to those around him; otherwise how couldthey have ever run up that flag?
The boats approached in perfect silence, all hearts throbbing with theintensity of newly awakened hope, all eyes eagerly watching for somesign to confirm it. No part of the windows appeared over the water, butthe trap hole had been thrown open, and through it came the pole thatbore the American flag. Marston made f
or the trap hole and, as it wasonly a few feet above the surface, he had no difficulty in looking in.
At that moment, a joyful shout of triumph rose from the interior, andthe whole boat's crew heard a dry drawling voice with a nasal twangexclaiming:
"Queen! How is that for high?"
It was instantly answered by another voice, shriller, louder, quicker,more joyous and triumphant in tone, but slightly tinged with a foreignaccent:
"King! My brave Mac! How is that for high?"
The deep, clear, calm voice that spoke next thrilled the listenersoutside with an emotion that we shall not attempt to portray. Exceptthat their ears could detect in it the faintest possible emotion oftriumph, it was in all respects as cool, resolute, and self-possessed asever:
"Ace! Dear friends, how is that for high?"
They were quietly enjoying a little game of High-Low-Jack!
HOW IS THAT FOR HIGH?]
How they must have been startled by the wild cheers that suddenly rangaround their ocean-prison! How madly were these cheers re-echoed fromthe decks of the _Susquehanna_! Who can describe the welcome thatgreeted these long lost, long beloved, long despaired of Sons of Earth,now so suddenly and unexpectedly rescued from destruction, andrestored once more to the wonderstricken eyes of admiring humanity? Whocan describe the scenes of joy and exuberant happiness, and deep feltgratitude, and roaring rollicking merriment, that were witnessed onboard the steamer that night and during the next three days!
As for Marston, it need hardly be said that he was simply ecstatic, butit may interest both the psychologist and the philologist to learn thatthe expression _How is that for high?_ struck him at once as with a kindof frenzy. It became immediately such a favorite tongue morsel of histhat ever since he has been employing it on all occasions, appropriateor otherwise. Thanks to his exertions in its behalf all over thecountry, the phrase is now the most popular of the day, well known andrelished in every part of the Union. If we can judge from its presenthold on the popular ear it will continue to live and flourish for many along day to come; it may even be accepted as the popular expression oftriumph in those dim, distant, future years when the memory not only ofthe wonderful occasion of its formation but also of the illustrious menthemselves who originated it, has been consigned forever to the darktomb of oblivion!