Abbott Jacob
Rollo on the Atlantic
Chapter X.
The End of the Lottery
In almost all cases of betting and lotteries, the operation of the system is, that certain persons, called the knowing ones, contrive to manage the business in such a way, by secret manœuvres and intrigues, as to make the result turn out to their advantage, at the expense of those parties concerned who are ignorant and inexperienced, or, as they term it, "green." Very deep plans were laid for accomplishing this object in respect to the lottery described in the last chapter; though, as it happened in this case, they were fortunately frustrated.
The principal of these manœuvres were the work of the man whom they called the Colonel. He had formed the plan, with another man, of secretly watching the operation of heaving the log every time it was performed, and making a note of the result. By doing this, he thought he could calculate very nearly how many miles the ship would make, while all the other passengers would have nothing to guide them but such general estimates as they could make from recollection. He accordingly arranged it with his confederates that one or the other of them should be on deck whenever the men were called to heave the log, and, without appearing to pay any particular attention to the operation, carefully to obtain the result, and make a memorandum of it. This plan was sufficient for the daytime. For the night—inasmuch as it might excite suspicion for them to be up at unseasonable hours to watch the operation—they resorted to another method. They bribed one of the seamen of each watch to find out the result of each trial during his watch, and to give them the answers in the morning. When the last time for heaving the log, previous to making up the accounts for the day, came, which was at ten o'clock, they took that result, and then, shutting themselves up in their state room, they made a calculation, and ascertained pretty certainly, as they thought, that the distance would be about 267 miles. It might possibly be 266, or 268; but they thought that they were sure that it would be one of those three numbers. The next thing was to circulate statements, and to express opinions in private conversation here and there among the passengers, in a careless sort of way, to produce a general impression that the rate of the ship would be not less than 270 miles. This was to lead the owners of the tickets, and the betters generally, not to attach a high value to the numbers below 270. By doing this, they expected to depress the value of these tickets in the general estimation, so that they could buy then easily. They calculated that, if their plans succeeded, they could buy 266, 267, and 268 for about a sovereign apiece—the holders of them being made to suppose, by their manœuvres that those numbers would have very little chance of obtaining the prize.
The plan was very deeply laid, and very skilfully executed; and the men were so far successful in their efforts that they did produce a general impression that the ship's run could not be below 270. They also bought ticket 268, though they had to give two sovereigns for it. It has already been shown how their attempts to get possession of 267 failed, by Hilbert's refusal to sell it. They of course also failed to get 266, for that ticket was not to be found. They could not make any very open and public inquiries for it, as it was necessary that every thing which they did should be performed in a very unconcerned and careless manner. They, however, made repeated inquiries privately for this ticket but could not get any tidings of it. A certain sailor told some of the betters that an Irishwoman on the forward deck had a ticket which she offered to sell for two shillings; but when, on being asked what the number was, he answered 99, they laughed at him, supposing that somebody had been putting a hoax upon the poor Irishwoman, as there was no such number as that in the lottery.
Besides the manœuvres of these two confederates, there was another man who was devising a cunning scheme for obtaining the prize. This was the mate of a merchant ship that had put into the port of New York in a damaged condition, and had there been sold. The mate, being thus left without a vessel, was now returning as a passenger in the steamer, to Scotland, where he belonged.
This man was accustomed to navigation; and he had the necessary books for making the computations in his trunk. He conceived the idea of being present on deck at twelve o'clock, when the captain made his observation, and of learning from him, as it were accidentally, what the sun's altitude was observed to be. This he could very easily do, for it was customary to have the observation made not only by the captain, but by one or two of the chief officers of the ship also, at the same time, who are all always provided with sextants for the purpose. The results, when obtained, are compared together, to see if they agree—each observer telling the others what altitude he obtains. Thus they are more sure of getting the result correctly. Besides, it is important that these officers should have practice, so that they may be able to take the observation when the captain is sick, or when they come to command ships themselves.
Now, the mate above referred to thought that, by standing near the captain and his officers when they made the observations, he could overhear them in comparing their results, and then that he could go down into his state room immediately; and that there, by working very diligently, he could ascertain the run of the ship before it should be reported on the captain's bulletin, and so know beforehand what ticket would gain the prize. Or, if he could not determine absolutely what the precise ticket would be,—since his computation might not agree precisely with that made by the captain,—he could determine within two or three of the right one, and then buy three tickets—that is, the one which agreed with his calculation, and also the one above and below it—for perhaps a sovereign or so apiece: he would thus get the ten sovereigns by an expenditure of three or four. His plan, in fact, was similar to that of the Colonel; only his estimate was to be based on the observation, while that of the Colonel was based on the dead reckoning. They both performed their computations in a very skilful manner, and they came to nearly the same result. The mate came to the conclusion that the run of the ship would be 266 miles; while the Colonel, as has already been stated, made it 267. While, therefore, the Colonel, to make sure of the prize, wished to buy tickets 266, 267, and 268, the mate wished to secure 265, 266, and 267. The mate, after making some inquiry, found who had 265; and, after some bargaining, succeeded in buying it for two sovereigns and a half. But he could not hear any thing of 266. As for 267, he discovered that Hilbert had it, just as the bell rang for luncheon. He told Hilbert that if he wished to sell his ticket he would give him thirty shillings for it, which is a sovereign and a half. But Hilbert said no.
It is, however, time that this story of the lottery should draw to a close; were it not so, a great deal more detail might have been given of the manœuvres and contrivances which both the Colonel and the mate resorted to, to induce Hilbert to sell his ticket. These efforts attracted no special attention, for all the others were buying and selling tickets continually, and making offers for those which they could not buy. Some were put up at auction, and sold to the highest bidder, amid jokes, and gibes, and continual shouts of laughter.
At length, when the time drew nigh for the captain's bulletin to appear, the mate offered Hilbert three pounds for his ticket, and Hilbert went and asked his father's advice about accepting this offer. His father hesitated for some time, but finally advised him not to sell his ticket at all. Hilbert was satisfied with this advice, for he now began to be quite sure that he should get the prize.
At length, about fifteen minutes after the party had come up from luncheon, and were all assembled around the paddle-box settee, a gentleman came up one of stairways with a slip of paper in his hands, and, advancing to the group, he attempted to still the noise they were making, by saying,—
"Order, gentlemen, order! I've got the bulletin."
Every body's attention was arrested by these words, and all began to call out "Order!" and "Silence!" until at length something like quiet was restored. The persons assembled were all very much interested in learning the result; for, in addition to the prize of the lottery, there were a great many bets, some of them quite large, pending, all of which were to be decided by the bulletin.
When, at length, the gentleman found that he could be heard, he began to read in a very deliberate voice,—
"Latitude forty-eight, thirty-one."
"Never mind the latitude," exclaimed the company. "The distance. Let's have the distance."
"Longitude," continued the reader, "ten, fourteen."
"Nonsense!" said the company. "What's the distance?"
"Distance," continued the reader, in the same tone, "two hundred and sixty-six."
"Sixty-six!" they all exclaimed together; and great inquiries were immediately made for the missing ticket. But nobody knew any thing about it. At last, Mr. Chauncy's companion, Charles, who happened to be there, said,—
"Why, Chauncy had 66, I believe." Then calling out aloud to Mr. Chauncy, who had come up on the deck after luncheon, and was now sitting on one of the settees that stood around the skylight, he added,—
"Chauncy! here! come here! Where is your ticket? You have got the prize."
"No," said Mr. Chauncy, in a careless tone, without, however, moving from his seat. "I have not any ticket."
Two or three of the gentlemen, then, headed by Charles, went to the place where Mr. Chauncy was sitting, to question him more particularly.
"Where's your ticket?" said Charles.
"I gave it to one of the deck passengers," said Mr. Chauncy.
"You did!" said Charles. "Well, it has drawn the prize. What was the number of it?"
"Ninety-nine, I believe," said Mr. Chauncy.
"Ninety-nine!" repeated Charles, contemptuously. "Nonsense! There was no ninety-nine. It was sixty-six."
Then, shouting with laughter, he said, "O, dear me! that's so exactly like Chauncy. He gives half a sovereign for a ticket, then reads it upside down, and gives it away to an Irishwoman. O Gemini!"
So saying, Charles, and those with him, went away, laughing vociferously at Chauncy's expense.
The remainder of the adventurers in the lottery had in the mean time dispersed, having slunk away, as is usual in such cases, to conceal their mortification and chagrin. It was not merely that they had each lost a half sovereign; but they had all calculated, with greater or less certainty, on getting the prize; and the vexation which they experienced at the disappointment was extreme. Some of them had bought up several tickets, in order to make sure of the prize. These were, of course, doubly and trebly chagrined. Some had been offered good prices for their tickets, but had refused to accept them, hoping, by keeping the tickets, to get the prize. These persons were now vexed and angry with themselves for not accepting these offers. Then there was a feeling of guilt and condemnation which mingled with their disappointment, and made it very bitter and hard to bear.
The Colonel and the mate, when they learned that the Irishwoman held the winning ticket, both immediately began to saunter slowly along toward the stairways that led down to the forward deck, each having formed the plan of going and buying the ticket of the woman before she should hear that it had gained the prize. They moved along with a careless and unconcerned air, in order not to awaken any suspicion of their designs. They were suspected, however, both of them, by Mr. Chauncy. He accordingly walked forward, too; and he reached a part of the promenade deck that was near the smoke pipe, where he could look down upon the place where the woman was sitting. He reached the spot just as the two men came before her, one having descended by one staircase, and the other by the other. When they met each other, close before where the woman was sitting, they each understood in an instant for what purpose the other had come. They knew, too, that it would defeat the object altogether if they both attempted to buy the ticket; and yet there was no time or opportunity to make any formal stipulation on the subject between them. Such men, however, are always very quick and cunning, and ready for all emergencies. The mate, without speaking to the woman, gave a wink to the Colonel, and said in an undertone, as he sauntered slowly along by him,—
"Colonel! half!"
"Done!" said the Colonel.
So the mate passed carelessly on, leaving the Colonel to manage the negotiation, with the understanding that they were to share the profits of the transaction between them.
Just at this moment, Mr. Chauncy, who was looking down upon this scene from above, called out to the woman,—
"My good woman, your ticket has drawn the prize. The Colonel has come to pay you the money."
The Colonel was overwhelmed with astonishment and vexation at this interruption. He looked up, with a countenance full of rage, to see from whom the sound proceeded. There were one or two other gentlemen standing with Chauncy as witnesses of the scene; and the Colonel saw at once that his scheme was defeated. So he made a virtue of necessity, and, taking out the purse, he poured the ten sovereigns into the poor woman's lap. She was overwhelmed and bewildered with astonishment at finding herself suddenly in possession of so much money.
As for Hilbert, there were no bounds to the vexation and anger which he experienced in the failure of all his hopes and expectations.
"What a miserable fool I was!" said he. "I might have had that very ticket. He as good as offered to exchange with me. Such a stupid dolt as I was, not to know when it was upside down! Then, besides, I was offered two pounds for my ticket, sure—and I believe I should have taken it, if my father had not advised me not to do it. That would have come to almost fifteen dollars, and that I should have been sure of. So much for taking my father's advice. I hope they'll get up another lottery to-morrow, and then I'll buy a ticket and do just as I please with it, and not take any body's advice. I shall be sure to make fifteen dollars, at least, if I don't do any better than I might have done to-day."
The rest of the company felt very much as Hilbert did about their losses and disappointments, though the etiquette of gambling, which they understood better than he, forbade their expressing their feelings so freely. In fact, one source of the illusion which surrounds this vice is, that the interest which it excites, and the hilarity and mirth which attend it during its progress, are all open to view, while the disappointment, the mortification, the chagrin, and the remorse are all studiously concealed. The remorse is the worst ingredient in the bitter cup. It not only stings and torments those who have lost, but it also spoils the pleasure of those who win. That is, in fact, always the nature and tendency of remorse. It aggravates all the pain and suffering that it mingles with and poisons all the pleasure.
Chapter XI.
The Arrival
Day after day of the voyage thus glided away, the time being beguiled by the various incidents which occurred, until at length the ship began to draw near toward the land. As the time passed on, the interest which the passengers felt in their approach toward the land began to be very strong. Some of them were crossing the Atlantic for the first time; and they, of course, anticipated their first view of the shores of the old world with great anticipations of delight. The first land to be "made," as the sailors say, that is to be seen, was Cape Clear—the southern point of Ireland. There is a lighthouse on this point; and so well had the captain kept his reckoning, and so exact had been his calculations in his progress over the mighty waste of waters, that on the morning of the last day he could venture to predict to an hour when the light would come into view. He said it would be between nine and ten. When Maria and the two children went to their berths, Maria asked the chambermaid to come and tell them when the light was in sight. She accordingly did so. Rollo, in order to know how near the captain was in his calculations, asked her what o'clock it was. She said twenty-five minutes after eight. How astonishing must be the accuracy of the instruments and the calculations which can enable a man to guide a ship across so utterly trackless a waste, aiming at a lighthouse three thousand miles away, and not only come out exactly upon it, but come there, too, so exactly at the time predicted by the calculation!
When the children went on deck the next morning, the southern coast of Ireland was all in full view. Those who feel an interest in seeing the track of the ship, will find, by turning to a map of Great Britain and Ireland, that her course in going in from the Atlantic toward Liverpool lay at first along the southern coast of Ireland, and then along the western coast of Wales. This route, though it seems but a short distance on the map, requires really a voyage of several hundred miles, and more than a day in time, for the performance of it. The voyage of the ship is, therefore, by no means ended when she reaches the land at Cape Clear. There is still a day and a night more for the passengers to spend on board the vessel. The time is, however, very much beguiled during this last day's sail by the sight of the land and the various objects which it presents to view—the green slopes, the castle-covered hills, the cliffs, the lines of beach, with surf and breakers rolling in upon them; and sometimes, when the ship approaches nearer to the shore than usual, the pretty little cottages, covered with thatch, and adorned with gardens and shrubbery.
The children stood by the railing of the deck for some time after they came up from below, gazing at the shores, and admiring the various pictures of rural beauty which the scene presented to the eye. At length, becoming a little tired, they went and sat down upon one of the settees, where they could have a more comfortable position, and still enjoy a good view. Not long afterward, the captain, who had been walking up and down the deck for some time, came and sat down by them.
"Well, children," said he, "are you glad to get to the end of the voyage?"
"Yes, sir," replied Jennie. "I am glad to get safe off of the great sea."
"And I suppose that you must be very glad, sir," added Rollo, "to get to the end of your responsibility."
"Ah, but I have not got to the end of my responsibility yet, by any means," said the captain.
As he said this, he rose from his seat, and looked out very attentively forward for a minute or two. At length he seemed satisfied, and sat down again.
"Well, you have got through all the danger, at any rate," said Rollo, "now that we are inside the land."
"On the contrary," said the captain, "we are just coming into the danger. There is very little danger for a good ship, whether it is a sailing ship or a steamer, out in the open sea. It is only when she comes among the rocks, and shoals, and currents, and other dangers which thicken along the margin of the land, that she has much to fear. Ships are almost always cast away, when they are cast away at all, near or upon the land."
"Is that the way?" replied Rollo. "I thought they were cast away at sea. I am sure it looks a great deal safer here than it does out in the middle of the ocean."
"I suppose so, to your eyes," replied the captain. "But you will see, by reflecting on the subject, that it is, in fact, just the contrary. If a very violent storm comes up when the ship is out in the open sea, it can ordinarily do no harm, only to drive the ship off her course, or perhaps carry away some of her spars or sails. If there is no land in the way, she is in very little danger. But it is very different if a gale of wind comes up suddenly in such a place as this."
"And how is it here?" asked Rollo.
"Why, in the case of a good steamer like this," said the captain, "it makes no great difference here; for we go straight forward on our course, as long as we can see, let it blow as it will. But a sailing vessel would very probably not be able to stand against it, but would be driven off toward any rocks, or sand banks, or shores that might happen to be in the way."
"And so she would certainly be wrecked," said Rollo.
"No, not certainly," replied the captain. "As soon as they found that the water was shoaling, they would anchor."
"How do they know when the water is shoaling?" asked Rollo.
"By the lead," replied the captain. "Did you never sound with the lead and line?"
"No, sir," replied Rollo.
"Well, they have a lead, and a long line," rejoined the captain, "and they let the lead down to the bottom by means of the line, and so learn how deep the water is. The lead is round and long. It is about as large round, and about as long, as Jennie's arm, from her elbow to her wrist, and there is a small cavity in the lower end of it."
"What is that for?" asked Rollo.
"That is to bring up some of the sand, or mud, or gravel, or whatever it may be, that forms the bottom," replied the captain. "They put something into the hole, before they let the lead down, to make the sand or gravel stick. When they see the nature of the bottom in this way, it often helps them to determine where they are, in case it is a dark night, or a foggy day, and they have got lost. It is very easy to measure the depth of the sea in this way, where it is not over a few hundred fathoms."
"How much is a fathom?" asked Rollo.
"Six feet," replied the captain; "that is as far as a man can reach by stretching out both hands along a wall. If the water is only a few hundred fathoms deep," continued the captain, "we can sound; but if it is much deeper than that, it is very difficult to get the lead down."
"Why, I should think," said Rollo, "that the lead would go down to the bottom of itself, no matter how deep the water was."
"It would," said the captain, "were it not for the line. But the line has some buoyancy; and, besides, it makes a great deal of friction in being drawn through the water; so that, when the line begins to get very long, it becomes very difficult for the lead to get it down. As they let out the line from the ship, it goes more and more slowly, until at last it does not seem to move at all."
"Then the lead must be on the bottom," said Rollo.
"No, that is not certain," said the captain. "It may be only that the quantity of line that is out is sufficient to float the lead. Besides that, the currents in the water, which may set in different directions at different depths, carry the line off to one side and the other, so that it lies very crooked in the water, and the weight of the lead is not sufficient to straighten it."
"Then they ought to have a heavier lead, I should think," said Rollo.
"Yes," said the captain; "and for deep-sea soundings they do use very heavy sinkers. Sometimes they use cannon balls as heavy as a man can lift. Then they take great pains, too, to have a very light and small line. Still, with all these precautions, it is very difficult, after some miles of the line are run out, to tell when the shot reaches the bottom. In some of the deepest places in the sea, the line, when they attempt to sound, is all day running out. I knew one case where they threw the shot overboard in the morning, and the line continued to run out, though slower and slower, of course, all the time, until night. It changed its rate of running so gradually, that at last they could not tell whether it was running or not. It seemed to float idly in the water, sinking slowly all the time; and yet they could not tell whether it was drawn in by the drifting of the portion of the line already down, or by the weight of the shot. So they could not tell certainly whether they had reached bottom or not.
"There is another thing that is curious about it," added the captain; "and that is, that, when a line is let out to such a length, they can never get it back again."
"Why not?" asked Rollo.
"It is not strong enough," said the captain, "to bear the strain of drawing such an immense length out of the water. There is a very considerable degree of friction produced in drawing a line of any kind through the water; and when the line is some miles in length, and has, besides, a heavy ball at the end of it, the resistance becomes enormous. Whenever they attempt to draw up a sounding line of such a length, it always parts at a distance of a few hundred fathoms from the surface, so that only a small part of the line is ever recovered."
"I should not suppose it would be so hard to draw up the line," said Rollo. "I should have thought that it would come up very easily."
"No," said the captain. "If you draw even a whiplash through the water, you will find that it draws much harder than it does on the grass; and if a boy's kite were to fall upon a pond at a great distance from the shore, I don't think he could draw it in by the string. The string would break, on account of the friction of the string and of the kite in the water. Sometimes, in naval battles, when a ship is pretending to try to escape, in order to entice another ship to follow her, away from the rest of the fleet, they tow a rope behind, and this rope, dragging in the water, retards the ship, and prevents her from going very fast, notwithstanding that all the sails are set, and she seems to be sailing as fast as she can."
"That's a curious way of doing it," said Rollo; "isn't it, Jennie?"
Jennie thought that it was a very curious way indeed.
"There is no difficulty," said the captain, resuming his explanations, "in finding the depth of the sea in harbors and bays, or at any place near the shore; for in all such places it is usually much less than a hundred fathoms. So when in a dark night, or in a fog, the ship is driven by the wind in a direction where they know there is land, they sound often; and when they find that the water is shoal enough, they let go the anchor."
"And so the anchor holds them," said Jennie, "I suppose, and keeps them from going against the land."
"Yes," said the captain, "generally, but not always. Sometimes the bottom is of smooth rock, or of some other hard formation, which the flukes of the anchor cannot penetrate, and then the ship drifts on toward the land, dragging the anchor with her."
"And what do they do in that case?" asked Rollo.
"Very often there is nothing that they can do," said the captain, "except to let out more cable, cautiously, so as to give the anchor a better chance to catch in some cleft or crevice in the bottom. Sometimes it does catch in this manner, and then the ship is stopped, and, for a time, the people on board think they are safe."
"And are they safe?" asked Rollo.
"Perhaps so," replied the captain; "and yet there is still some danger. The anchor may have caught at a place where the cable passes over the edge of a sharp rock, which soon cuts it off, in consequence of the motion. Then the ship must go on shore.
"At other times," continued the captain, "the ground for the anchor is too soft, instead of being too hard; and the flukes, therefore, do not take a firm hold of it. Then the anchor will drag. Every sea that strikes the ship drives her a little in toward the shore, and she is, of course, in great danger."
The captain would, perhaps, have gone on still further in his conversation with the children, had it not happened that just at this time, on rising to look out forward, he saw a large ship, under full sail, coming down the channel. So he rose, and went up upon one of the paddle boxes, to see that a proper lookout was kept, to avoid a collision.
The seas which lie between England and Ireland are so wide, and they are so provided with lighthouses and buoys, that no pilot is necessary for the navigation of them; and the pilot boats, therefore, which contain the pilot who is to take the vessel into port, generally await the arrival of the ship off the month of the Mersey, at a place which the steamer reaches about twenty-four hours after making Cape Clear. When the steamer in which Rollo made his voyage arrived at this place, almost all the passengers came on deck to witness the operation of taking the pilot on board. There were ships and steamers to be seen on every side, proceeding in different directions—some going across to Ireland, some southwardly out to sea; and there were others, still, which were, like the steamer, bound in to Liverpool. Among these, there was a small vessel at a distance from the steamer, with a certain signal flying. This signal was to show that this boat was the one which contained the pilot whose turn it was to take the steamer in. The captain gave the proper orders to the helmsman, and the steamer gradually turned from her course, so as to approach the spot where the pilot boat was lying. As she came near, a little skiff was seen at the stern of the pilot boat, with men getting into it. In a moment more, the skiff pushed off and rowed toward the steamer. A sailor stood on a sort of platform abaft the wheel house to throw the men in the skiff a rope when they came near. The engine was stopped, and the monstrous steampipe commenced blowing off the steam, which, being now no longer employed to work the engine, it would be dangerous to keep pent up. The steam, in issuing from the pipe, produced a dense cloud of smoke and a terrific roaring.
In the mean time, the skiff approached the ship, and the men on board of it caught the rope thrown to them by the sailor on the platform. By this rope they were drawn up to the side of the ship at a place where there was a ladder; and then the pilot, leaving the skiff, clambered up and came on board. The men in the skiff then pushed off and turned to go back toward the pilot boat. The roaring of the steam suddenly ceased, the paddle wheels began again to revolve, and the ship recommenced her motion. The pilot went up upon the paddle box and gave orders to the helmsman how to steer, while the captain came down. His responsibility and care in respect to the navigation of the ship for that voyage was now over.
