A NARROW ESCAPE
Though he was much interested in beginning on his long-cherished plan
of becoming a pilot, Nat did not lose sight of the fact that there was
some mystery concerning his father, in which the mate had a part. He
had not given up his belief that Mr. Bumstead had Mr. Morton's wallet,
in spite of the mate's denials. But Nat saw no way by which he could
get at the bottom of the matter.
"I guess I'll just have to wait until chance puts something in my
way," he said to himself. "At the same time I've got to be on the
watch against him. I believe he, or some one of his cronies, pushed
that bale on me. I don't suppose it would have killed me if it had
fallen flat on me, instead of only partly, but it looks as if he
wanted to drive me off of this ship. But I'll not go! I'll stay and
see what comes of it."
The freighter was on quite a long voyage this trip. After calling at
the last port on Lake Michigan it was to go through the Straits of
Mackinaw into Lake Huron. There, Mr. Weatherby told Nat, it would not
be such easy navigation, as there were many islands, for which a pilot
had to watch, day and night. Some were not indicated by lights, and
only a knowledge of the lake would enable the steersman to guide a
ship away from them, after dark, or during a fog.
"Do you think I'll ever be able to do it?" asked the boy.
"Some time, but I shouldn't attempt it right away," replied the pilot
with a smile.
Remembering the promise he had made to Nat, the pilot one day called
the boy into the little house where the wheel was, and said:
"Now, Nat, I'm going to give you a chance to appreciate what it means
to steer a big vessel. I'll tell you just what to do, and I think you
can do it. We have a clear course ahead of us, the lake is calm, and I
guess you can handle the wheel all right. You know about the compass,
so I don't have to tell you. Now take your place here, and grasp the
spokes of the wheel lightly but firmly. Stand with your feet well
apart, and brace yourself, for sometimes there will come a big wave
that may shift the rudder and throw you off your balance."
The pilot-house of the _Jessie Drew_ was like the pilot-houses on most
other steamers. The front was mainly windows, and the center space
was taken up with a big wheel, which served to shift the rudder from
side to side. So large was the wheel, in order to provide sufficient
leverage, that part of it was down in a sort of pit, while the
steersman stood on a platform, which brought his head about on a level
with the top spokes. On some of the lake steamers there was steam
steering gear, and of course a much smaller wheel was used, as it
merely served as a throttle to a steam-engine, which did all the hard
work.
Nat was delighted with his chance. With shining eyes he grasped the
spokes, and gently revolved the wheel a short distance.
"That'll do," spoke Mr. Weatherby. "She's shifted enough."
Nat noticed that, as he turned the wheel, the vessel changed her
course slightly, so readily did she answer the helm. It was a
wonderful thing, he thought, that he, a mere lad, could, by a slight
motion of his hands, cause a mighty ship to move about as he pleased.
"It's easier than I thought it was," he remarked to his friend the
pilot.
"You think so now," answered Mr. Weatherby, "but wait until you have
to handle a boat in a storm. Then the waves bang the rudder about so
that the wheel whirls around, and almost lifts you off your feet. More
than once it's gotten away from me, though, when there's a bad storm,
I have some one to help me put her over and hold her steady. I like
steam steering gear best, for it's so easy, but it's likely to get out
of order at a critical moment, and, before you can rig up the hand
gear, the boat has gone on the rocks."
"I hope we don't get wrecked on the rocks," said Nat, as, following
the directions he had received, he shifted the wheel slightly to keep
the vessel on her proper course.
"Well, we'll be approaching a dangerous passage in a few hours,"
replied the pilot. "There are a number of rocks in it, but I think
I'll be able to get clear of 'em. I always have, but this time we'll
arrive there after dark, and I like daylight best when I have to go
through there."
"Do you want to take the wheel now?" asked the boy, as he saw that Mr.
Weatherby was peering anxiously ahead.
"No, you may keep it a while longer. I just wanted to get sight of a
spar buoy about here. There it is. When you come up this route you
want to get the red and black buoy in line with that point, and then
go to starboard two points, so."
As he spoke Mr. Weatherby helped Nat put the wheel over. The big
freighter began slowly to turn, and soon was moving around a point of
land that jutted far out into the lake.
Nat remained in the pilot-house more than an hour, and, in that time,
he learned many valuable points. At the suggestion of his friend he
jotted them down in a note-book, so he might go over them again at his
leisure, and fix them firmly in his mind.
As the afternoon wore on, and dusk approached, a fog began to settle
over the lake. Nat, who had been engaged with the work in the purser's
office, had occasion to take a message to the pilot, and he found his
friend anxiously looking out of the big windows in front of the
pilot-house, while Andrew Simmon, the assistant, was handling the big
wheel.
"I don't like it, Andy; I don't like it a bit," Mr. Weatherby was
saying. "It's going to be a nasty, thick night, and just as we're
beginning that risky passage. I've almost a notion to ask the captain
to lay-to until morning. There's good holding ground here."
"Oh, I guess we can make it," replied Andrew confidently. "We've done
it before, in a fog."
"Yes, I know we have, but I always have a feeling of dread. Somehow,
now, I feel unusually nervous about it."
"You aren't losing your nerve, are you?" the young helper asked his
chief.
"No--but--well, I don't like it, that's all."
"Shall I ask the captain to anchor?"
"No, he's anxious to keep on. We'll try it, Andy, but we'll both stay
in the pilot-house until we're well past the dangerous point, that one
where the rocks stick out."
"But there's a lighthouse there, Mr. Weatherby."
"I know there is, but if this fog keeps on getting thicker, the light
will do us very little good."
Nat listened anxiously to the conversation. This was a part of the
responsibilities of piloting that had not occurred to him. More than
on a captain, the safety of a vessel rests on a pilot, when one is in
charge. And it is no small matter to feel that one can, by a slight
shift of his hand, send a gallant craft to her destruction, or guide
her to safety.
As night came on the fog grew thicker. Mr. Weatherby and his helper
did not leave the pilot-house, but had their meals sent to them.
Captain Marshall was in frequent consultation with them, and the speed
of the vessel was cut down almost one-half as they approached the
danger point.
From Mr. Dunn, Nat learned when they were in the unsafe passage, for
the purser had been over that route many times.
"We must be close to the point now," said Mr. Dunn, as he and Nat
stood at the rail, trying to peer through the fog. "We'll see the
lighthouse soon. Yes, there it is," and he pointed to where a light
dimly flashed, amid the white curtain of dampness that wrapped the
freighter.
They could hear the lookout, stationed in the bow, call the position
of the light. The course was shifted, the great boat turning slowly.
Suddenly there was a frightened cry from the lookout.
"Rocks! Rocks ahead!" he yelled. "Port! Port your helm or we'll be
upon 'em in another minute!"
The ship quivered as the great rudder was shifted to swing her about.
Down in the engine-room there was a crash of gongs as the pilot gave
the signals to stop and reverse.
Would the ship be turned in time? Could her headway be checked? Had
the lookout cried his warning quickly enough?
These questions were in every anxious heart aboard the _Jessie Drew_.
A shudder seemed to run through the ship. Nat peered ahead, and held
his breath, as if that would lighten the weight that was rushing upon
the dangerous rocks.
But skill and prompt action told. Slowly the freighter swept to one
side, and as at slackened speed she glided past the danger point, Nat
and Mr. Dunn, from their position near the rail, could have tossed a
biscuit on the rocks, so narrow was the space that separated the ship
from them.