The Battery and the Boiler

Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Battery and the Boiler, by
R.M. Ballantyne

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Title: The Battery and the Boiler Adventures in Laying of Submarine
Electric Cables
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: June 7, 2007 [EBook #21716]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
BATTERY AND THE BOILER ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

THE BATTERY AND THE BOILER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.

IN WHICH THE HERO MAKES HIS FIRST FLASH AND
EXPLOSION.
Somewhere about the middle of this nineteenth century, a baby boy
was born on the raging sea in the midst of a howling tempest. That boy
was the hero of this tale.
He was cradled in squalls, and nourished in squalor--a week of dirty
weather having converted the fore-cabin of the emigrant ship into
something like a pig-sty. Appreciating the situation, no doubt, the baby
boy began his career with a squall that harmonised with the weather,
and, as the steward remarked to the ship's cook, "continued for to squall
straight on end all that day and night without so much as ever takin'
breath!" It is but right to add that the steward was prone to
exaggeration.
"Stooard," said the ship's cook in reply, as he raised his eyes from the
contemplation of his bubbling coppers, "take my word for it, that there
babby what has just bin launched ain't agoin' to shovel off his mortal
coil--as the play-actor said--without makin' his mark some'ow an'
somew'eres."
"What makes you think so, Johnson?" asked the steward.
"What makes me think so, stooard?" replied the cook, who was a huge
good-natured young man. "Well, I'll tell 'ee. I was standin' close to the
fore hatch at the time, a-talkin' to Jim Brag, an' the father o' the babby,
poor feller, he was standin' by the foretops'l halyards holdin' on to a
belayin'-pin, an' lookin' as white as a sheet--for I got a glance at 'im two
or three times doorin' the flashes o' lightnin'. Well, stooard, there was
lightnin' playin' round the mizzen truck, an' the main truck, an' the fore
truck, an' at the end o' the flyin' jib-boom, an' the spanker boom; then
there came a flash that seemed to set afire the entire univarse; then a
burst o' thunder like fifty great guns gone off all at once in a hurry. At
that identical moment, stooard, there came up from the fore-cabin a yell
that beat--well, I can't rightly say what it beat, but it minded me o' that
unfortnit pig as got his tail jammed in the capstan off Cape Horn. The
father gave a gasp. `It's born,' says he. `More like's if it's basted,'

growled Jim Brag. `You're a unfeelin' monster, Brag,' says I; `an'
though you are the ship's carpenter, I will say it, you 'aven't got no
more sympathy than the fluke of an anchor!' Hows'ever the poor father
didn't hear the remark, for he went down below all of a heap--head,
legs, and arms-- anyhow. Then there came another yell, an' another, an'
half a dozen more, which was followed by another flash o' lightnin' an'
drownded in another roar o' thunder; but the yells from below kep' on,
an' came out strong between times, makin' no account whatever o' the
whistlin' wind an' rattlin' ropes, which they riz above--easy.--Now,
stooard, do you mean for to tell me that all that signifies nothink? Do
you suppose that that babby could go through life like an or'nary babby?
No, it couldn't--not even if it was to try--w'ich it won't!"
Having uttered this prophecy the cook resumed the contemplation of
his bubbling coppers.
"Well, I suppose you're right, John Johnson," said the steward.
"Yes, I'm right, Tom Thomson," returned the cook, with the nod and air
of a man who is never wrong.
And the cook was right, as the reader who continues to read shall find
out in course of time.
The gale in which little Robin Wright was thus launched upon the sea
of Time blew the sails of that emigrant ship--the Seahorse--to ribbons.
It also blew the masts out of her, leaving her a helpless wreck on the
breast of the palpitating sea. Then it blew a friendly sail in sight, by
which passengers and crew were rescued and carried safe back to Old
England. There they separated--some to re-embark in other emigrant
ships; some to renew the battle of life at home--thenceforward and for
ever after
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