"Kipling, Rudyard - With the Night Mail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kipling Rudyard)

beam to an incoming Washington packet.
No clouds cover the Atlantic; faint streaks of cream around Dingle Bay show
where driven seas hammer the coast. A big S.A.T.A. liner (Societe Anonyme des
Transports Aeriens) dives and lifts half a mile below, searching for some break
in the solid west wind. Lower still lies a disabled Dane, telling the liner all
about it in International. Our General Communication dial has caught her talk
and begins to eavesdrop. "Perhaps you'd like to listen," Captain Hodgson says.
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"Argol of St. Thomas," the Dane whimpers. "Report owners three starboard shaft
collar-bearings fused. Can make Flores as we are, but impossible further."
The liner acknowledges and recommends inverting the bearings. Argol answers that
she has already done so, and rants about cheap German enamels for
collar-bearings. The Frenchman assents cordially, cries, "Courage, mon ami," and
switches off.
Their lights sink under the curve of the ocean.
"That's one of Lundt & Bleamers' boats," says Captain Hodgson. "Serves 'em
right, putting German compos in their thrust-blocks. Reminds me, wouldn't you
like to look around the engine-room?"
I eagerly follow Captain Hodgson from the Control Platform, stooping to avoid
the bulge of the tanks. Fleury's gas can lift anything, as the famous trials of
'89 showed, but its almost infinite powers of expansion necessitate vast tank
room. Even in this thin air the lift-shunts are busy taking out one-third of its
normal lift, and still "162" must be checked by an occasional downdraw of the
rudder or our flight would become a climb to the stars. Captain Purnall prefers
an overlifted to an underlifted ship; but no two captains trim ship alike. "When
I take the bridge," says Captain Hodgson, "you'll see me shunt 40% of the lift
out of the gas and run her on the upper rudder. With a swoop upward instead of a
swoop downward, as you say. Either way will do. It's only habit. Watch our
dip-dial! Tim fetches her down once every 30 knots, regular as breathing."
So the dip-dial confirms. For five minutes the arrow creeps from 6,700 to 7,300.