THE RACE BETWEEN THE STEAMERS.
“Confound this infernal fog! Look ahere, pilot, can you see anything of
that new steamer?”
“Not yet in sight, colonel.”
“That does not say she is not within beam’s length.”
“What’s that you are saying, Colonel Darringford?”
“Is that you, Captain Bumpstead? Say, has the engineer got on all the
steam she will stand? This seems like a sail’s pace.”
“The fastest we’ve made, colonel. The _Warrior_ has behaved
unaccountably well so far. God grant she may hold out until we reach
Springfield.”
“How soon shall we make Landlock?”
“In an hour, colonel, if we can keep up this speed.”
“Put on all the steam you can. I have sworn that we would show the
fools at Millville that we have still the best boat. We win to-day, or
Ebenezer Darringford doesn’t own this boat. Do you hear me, Martin?”
The officer simply bowed, while the speaker sought his cabin.
Captain Martin Bumpstead went directly to the pilot house, muttering
something about “when liquor is in, wit is out.”
The above conversation took place on the _Warrior_ in the midst of the
greatest excitement that had ever come upon the old boat.
Colonel Darringford, in the delirium of drink and the excitement caused
by the appearance of the rival steamer, had ordered that the _Warrior_
make an early start in order to keep ahead of the _Spray_ and in
reaching Springfield first to show that she was the equal of the other.
But owing to the fog slower progress had been made than might have been
accomplished under more favorable conditions.
“Where are we now?” demanded Captain Bumpstead, as he gained the pilot
house.
“Off Loon Point, sir. We would have been to Landlock if they had given
us all the steam I’ve called for,” exclaimed the grizzled man at the
wheel.
“More likely we should have been in the air,” declared the captain. “I
tell you, Dan Dame, the old hulk can’t stand any more.”
“I believe I see the new steamer now!” broke in the lookout at this
juncture.
Captain Bumpstead swore a round oath, as he demanded where.
“A mile in our rear.”
“We’re in for it,” cried the commander. “It all lies with you, boys.”
“Give me all the steam I call for and I’ll rip the lake but I’ll get
the ol’ tub in ahead.”
“The fog is lifting!” cried the lookout.
“I am afraid that will make it no better for us.”
“Give me all the steam I want and the fog will not run this race,”
cried the man at the wheel, showing by his manner that he was laboring
under great excitement.
The _Warrior_ was plowing furiously through the water.
The passengers, without dreaming of the peril which the steamer was
madly courting, gathered in groups upon the decks, trying to penetrate
the gloom around them in vain.
So fifteen minutes passed without any material change in the situation,
except that the fog had continued to lift.
The _Spray_ was now in plain sight to the lookout.
“Is she gaining on us?” asked the captain, “or does it look so because
the light is growing better?”
“We are holding our own, captain.” Under his breath he added:
“But we shan’t long, now the fog has lifted.”
For the next ten minutes the fog lifted so rapidly that the _Spray_ was
now in plain sight and bearing swiftly down upon them.
“She’s gaining on us!” panted Captain Bumpstead.
“Gaining, did you say?” cried a voice at his elbow, and he turned to
find that Colonel Darringford had reached the pilot house.
“This is no place for you at this time, colonel,” said the captain.
“It’s just the place for me, and I’m going to stay here till we have
run that hound out of the race.”
The others knew it would be useless to argue with the maddened owner of
the boat, and so they contented themselves with their respective duties.
A silence fell on the speakers, save for the growls of the man at the
wheel as he called down the tube every other minute for more steam.
“Blow her to perdition and be spiked, but I must hev more steam.”
The _Spray_ had begun to show greater life, and it was apparent to
all that she was rapidly overtaking the older boat. New machinery and
improved conditions made this easy. Had Captain Bumpstead known that
even then the _Spray_ had not shown her best, he might have been more
hopeless.
“She’ll make the Point first!” he exclaimed.
“Then it will be her ruin!” thundered Colonel Darringford.
The _Warrior_ was trembling from fore to aft, groaning like a huge
creature in its dying agonies.
The captain had joined the group on the deck, though he was watching
the twain in the pilot house more than the oncoming steamer, that
even he could not help denying made a beautiful sight as she swept
gracefully onward, throwing out deep furrows of foaming water very much
as a huge plow would rend and throw out the mellow soil of the earth.
Almost before the commander realized it, the _Spray_ was abreast of the
_Warrior_!
“We are lost!” he gasped. “She will win the right of way to the Point.”
Aye, at that very moment Jack Carboy had seized the handle on the cord
attached to the whistle, and was blowing a signal which in navigation
language said:
“The right of way is mine, and I am to cross your bows. Change your
course or shut down.”
Dan Dame at his post on the _Warrior_ heard and understood. As reckless
as he was, he shrank from his foolhardy course.
At that moment Rodney Darringford reached his father’s side, and as he
realized their awful peril, cried:
“Come with me, father!”
The man at the wheel was in the act of signaling to the engineer to
shut off steam and reverse the power, when Colonel Darringford, as
white as a ghost, sprang forward and dashing Dan Dame aside seized the
wheel in his own frenzied clutch.
“Port your helm!” shrieked Jack Carboy in a voice heard by all of the
terrified spectators. “Hard-a-port, or we’ll run you down!”
The next moment he gasped in a husky voice:
“That madman will send us to the bottom!”
Seeing the inevitable fate in store for both steamers, Dean Mercer
shouted:
“Shut off the power! Reverse----”
Jack Carboy, as true as steel, threw his giant strength to the lever in
a wild endeavor to save the steamer.
Too late!