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"Bah!" said the guide, contemptuously, "if you had seen the real geysers in the Upper Basin, you would not look at this." Meantime, for half an hour we had been hearing, more and more distinctly, a dull, persistent roar, like the escape of steam from a transatlantic liner. At last we reached the cause.
And then, snapping his watch: "Three minutes past ten!" The chief engineer of a liner is always a gentleman and frequently a Christian. He knows, you see, how much his engines can do and how little. It is not his engines alone that conquer the sea, nor his engines plus his own mother wit. It is engines plus wit plus x, and the x is God's mercy.
"Oh, yes," the steward said. "This is only the shuttle that we're on now. We transfer to the liner for the remainder of the trip. I'm sure that was explained to you at the time you purchased your tickets." He hurried away. Mel was quite sure no such thing had been explained to him when he purchased tickets.
The launch Princess May was swung aboard the big Allan liner Corean and shipped to St. John's, and on June second Doctor Grenfell and his staff sailed from Queenstown on the Albert. Grenfell was as fond of sports as ever he was in his boyhood and college days, and now, when the weather permitted, he played cricket with any on board who would play with him.
I sailed from New York February 13th, 1915, on the first American passenger liner to run the von Tirpitz blockade. On February 20th we passed Queenstown and entered the Irish Sea at night. Although it was moonlight and we could see for miles about us, every light on the ship, except the green and red port and starboard lanterns, was extinguished.
The three shook hands and Jack and Frank returned to the Essex. "Recognize that, Jack?" asked Frank, pointing across the water. The lads were standing on the forward deck of a great trans-Atlantic liner that was edging its way into New York harbor. Jack looked in the direction Frank indicated. "Rather," he said, "although I only saw it once before. That's the Statue of Liberty."
As he stood at the rail, staring ahead through this blackness, Blake could see a light here and there along the horizon. These lights increased in number as the boat steamed slowly on. Then, far away in the roadstead ahead of them, he made out an entire cluster of lights, like those of a liner at anchor. Then he heard the tinkle of a bell below deck, and he realized that the engines had stopped.
A stout woman upholstered in velvet, her flabby cheeks too much massaged, swirled by with her poodle straining at its leash the effect being given of a tug bringing in an ocean liner. Just behind them a man in a striped blue suit, walking slue-footed in white-spatted feet, grinned at the sight and catching Anthony's eye, winked through the glass.
And another notable instance was on February 11, 1915, when the Lusitania, another Cunard liner, arrived at Liverpool flying the American flag in obedience to orders issued by the British admiralty. It was only the prominence of these vessels which gave them notoriety in this regard; the same practice was indulged in by many smaller ships.
My thoughts went back to the last time, nearly a year before, when I had been on that river. I saw it then, in flood of moonlight as I stepped on the boat deck of the giant liner Rotterdam. The soft strains of a waltz floated up from the music room, adding enchantment to the windmills and low Dutch farmhouses strung out below the level of the water.
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