Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 101: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SHIP THAT CRUMBLED. He observed that the motor generator commutators were black as ink, covered with a rich scum of caked oil and carbon dust. The lead-in insulator was cracked where it joined the roof. One of the prongs of the aerial switch was broken off at the slate base., The head phones were lying on the floor, probably cracked, or with the magnetism jarred out of them. He examined the storage batteries, part of the emergency set, used in case the steamer’s dynamo went out of commission. The acid solution had receded far below the tops of the plates. He shook his head despairingly. There was no crystal for the detector; the starting-box was hanging from a single screw; the room was rank with salt mois- ture. It needed a thorough airing and drying. He went next door—his stateroom—and turned on the light over the washstand. A horde of tiny mosquitoes rose singing from the unmade bunk. The sheets were damp, dirty. The atmosphere here was one of mold, the heavy, sour, fragrance suggestive only of tropical habitations and dungeons. He shook out the sheets, flattened some of the singing blue devils with a tattered copy of a Spanish newspaper, switched off the light, and went out on deck. - The cargo cluster in the after well had been extinguished. He went aft to investi- gate. The great beamwise hatch had been battened down and tarpaulined. One man was standing there, almost hid- den in the darkness, leaning out over the rail. him, drumming on the hatch cover with a soft, hollow note. Riley heard some one stumbling along the pier. ‘¢ Stand by that stern line!’”’ The second mate’s voice was irritable. “Aye, sir. Getting there as fast as I can,’ came an equally petulant reply from the pier. ° “How soon do we pull out?” Riley called down to the mate. He was conscious that the man had turned his head, was trying to establish the identity of the strange voice. “T don’t know. Ask them up forward. I’m not running this ship. Who is that?” The rain was streaming down on. 443 “The wireless operator.” ‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,’’ rejoined the mate, no less irritably than before. ‘“‘ Have you got a raincoat? I’m freezing down here.” “Aren’t there any oilskins forward?”’ asked Riley. ‘‘ There should be.” Somehow he felt it his duty to pacify this irked seaman. ‘““There’s a lot that should be on this ship that ain’t,” was the retort in a high whine of complaint. ‘‘ This ship is a mad- house. I wish to hell I was ashore, I do.” He was leaning out at an almost reckless angle. ‘‘ Have you found that stern line yet?” he shouted into the rain. “‘ Aye, sir!” said-a disgruntled voice on the pier. The second mate addressed himself to Riley again. “I am freezing stiff. Have you anything on you?” ‘““Not a drop,” answered Riley in hu- mility. He could not make out the other’s comments plainly, although several pointed phrases stood above the patter of falling water, bearing generally upon the damn- able crews that were put on ships nowa- days, and the equally unblessed ignorance of the gentlemen who were sent to preside over wireless cabins in particular. Donn Riley left him to his sour mood, and sought the engine-room. He was be- ginning to suspect that the Barracouda was going to sea with as unpleasant a lot of sour-faces and skull-duggerers for a crew that any ship had ever been cursed with. Rounding the after cabin he barked his shins on a long cylinder of thin metal. It sent out a tinny clamor, vibrating with the sound of shivering sheet-metal. More cautiously he picked his way among stacks of labeled cans—for the Barracouda’s dis- guise, no doubt. It struck him, as he paused at the nar- row iron doorway over the engine-room, that this voyage could never begin. The whole scheme of it was like a waking thought born of an unfinished nightmare, plausible enough to stupefied senses, but — incredible—wild—on clear analysis. And the more he pondered the wilder the scheme appeared. — He slid down the polished hand-bars of connie VOO S (C(O) inn