|IN the morning, directly after breakfast, Hunch went to see the foreman
of the elevator gang. “Where're you getting your timber, Murphy?” he
asked.
“Getting most of it up at Manistee.”
“Got it in yet?”
“More'n half of it. The rest of it's a late order.”
“How much is there to come?”
“About fifty thousand.”
“How's it delivered?”
“F. O. B. on the dock here. Why, you looking for a job?”
“Yes, wouldn't mind. I could get it down here cheaper'n the railroad,
and pretty near as quick.”
“Navigation's closed, though. I don't know as the Manistee folks 'd want
to risk it.”
“Yes, but look at that.” Hunch motioned toward the lake, which lay blue
and sparkling beyond the Buttersville sandspit. “Quiet as August and
it's a short run. There ain't hardly any ice either.”
“Well, you might talk to 'em up at Manistee, Hunch. Of course, they can
deliver anyhow they like, but I can't run chances of delay.”
So Hunch went over to the telegraph office in the railroad station,
and after a great deal of writing and rewriting made up the following
message:
_To Wm. F. Jackson, Esq.,_
_Pres't Manistee Timber Co.:_
_Will deliver the Liddington elevator bill of fifty thousand feet by
Lake, One Hundred Dollars. If terms satisfactory, wire reply, so I can
deliver while weather holds fair._
_J. Badeau._
When this message reached Jackson, he was sitting at his desk, with the
railroad rate figured out on a sheet of paper before him. He promptly
laid the two offers side by side and looked from one to the other. There
was no doubt that the lake route would be cheaper. But, on the other
hand, it was now after the first of December, and navigation was
nominally closed on the great lakes. Insurance he could get, if at all,
only at a prohibitive rate.
It was a question of judgment, and before deciding it, Mr. Jackson got
up and walked over to the window. The busy little city of Manistee shut
off his view of Lake Michigan, but he knew it was flat as a mirror. Not
many hours earlier he had stood by another window, in his big house on
the bluff, and as he shaved he had looked out over miles and miles of
blue water, as calm as in June. It was warm enough for mid-autumn; the
barometer promised continued dear weather. Altogether, Badeau's offer
had decidedly the best of it. So he sent a message to “J. Badeau,
Liddington,” asking him to bring up his schooner at once.
Hunch, on receiving the message, went up to Herve's saloon, and while
standing at the bar, let his eyes rove about the room until they settled
on a lank, middle-aged man in the corner.
“Hello, Herm Peabody.”
“Hello, Hunch.”
“What you doing in these parts?”
“Come up to see my niece--Joe Cartier's wife.”
“Busy nowadays?”
“No, ain't picked up anything for the winter yet.”
“What would you think of taking a trip with me?”
“The Dean?”
“Yes.”
“A little late for schooners, ain't it?”
“Not in this weather, no. It's only a little trip-up to Manistee.”
“Well, this ain't been a very flush season, Hunch, and I s'pose I ought
to take it.”
“Can you come right along? I'd like to overhaul her a little and run up
there this afternoon. If they're reasonable quick about loading, we can
get right back.”
A few hours later Hunch ran her out between the piers, with Peabody up
forward, and pointed north-east-by-north to clear Big Point Sable. The
breeze was light, and it was not until six o'clock that evening that
the _Dean_ ran into the harbor at Manistee. Hunch promptly looked up the
lumberman.
“How are you, Badeau. You came right up.”
“Yes, I did.”
“We'll put that timber aboard the first thing in the morning.”
“You can't do it to-night, then?”
“Oh, hardly.” Mr. Jackson glanced out at the starlit sky. “You don't
think there's any doubt about the weather, do you?”
“Maybe not. But if I could get it aboard now, I'd start right back. We
know we're all right to-night.”
The lumberman's supper awaited him; his men had scattered to their
homes. He glanced again at the sky, then said, “The morning 'll do, I
guess.”
“Well, it's just this way, Mr. Jackson. I made you the offer to take
this load down, but I don't feel like running any more risk than I have
to.”
“If you see anything to worry you in that sky, Badeau, you can just let
us run the risk.”
The thermometer dropped twenty-five degrees during the night. A film of
ice formed in the harbor. The wind swung around to the northeast, and
brought a bank of innocent looking clouds that spread slowly over the
sky. Out on the lake front the shore ice grew higher and whiter as the
waves beat tirelessly over it, and formed blocks and cones and miniature
mountain ranges.
When Jackson met Hunch on the wharf, he seemed to have forgotten what he
had said the evening before. “Well, Badeau, what do you make of it?”
“Of what?”
“The weather. Think you can make it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You ought to have gone out last night.”
To this Hunch made no reply; he kept one eye on the work of the timber
shovers.
“Still,” added Jackson, “you can run down in two or three hours with
this wind.”
A little later Hunch joined Peabody by the wheel. “Do you know of a good
man here, Herm?”
“For the schooner, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Why--I'll see if I can pick up Duke Buckingham.”
“Go ahead. Tell him we're short-handed.”
When the _Dean_ finally fell away from the wharf, in tow of Jackson's
tug, it was well on toward noon. And none of the three men on board was
over-cheerful when he looked out at the lake and felt the keen wind of
the open water. Even on shore it was a day for heavy jackets and gloves;
out here it was bitter cold.
“Set the tops'ls, Herm,” said Badeau, from the wheel.
Peabody looked at Buckingham, and then, without a word, the two men set
to work.
They ran nearly before the wind, that is, nearly southwest. Badeau kept
her up a few points to the westward in order to avoid the surf-currents
that bore down on Point Sable. The deck was piled so high with timber
that the schooner was unwieldy; her scuppers were nearly awash, and the
stem was down so low in the water that half the time the small boat,
hanging from the after davits, was afloat. When all sail was spread,
Hunch called his men aft and gave them a hand in hauling the boat aboard
and forward.
Rapidly the piers and the bluffs of Manistee fell off astern. Steadily
the sky thickened, and fine, hard flakes of snow began to blow about
their ears. Badeau alone did not mind the cold; his coat was open, his
hands bare.
“What do you think o' this business, Herm?” asked Buckingham.
“Oh--well, it ain't but three hours in this wind.”
“I don't like them tops'ls.”
Peabody had no reply to this.
“What the devil's he runnin' way out here for?”
Peabody turned toward Point Sable; and then they both looked in silence.
They could see the white line of the surf, due south. On the bluff the
trees were tossing and bending.
Buckingham was the first to turn away. “Look there!” he exclaimed,
gripping Peabody's arm. “Hi there, Hunch!” A black squall was sweeping
down from the north, as sharply defined on the water as if laid out
with a rule. Before the line were the leaden billows, behind it a black,
wrinkled surface, dotted with whitecaps. “Hi there, Hunch!”
But Hunch's eyes had been long trained to take in a full circle at a
glance. “Ready about!” he was bellowing, “Ready about!”
The wheel spun around, the jibs flapped, the schooner reeled as
she swung lazily up. The three men watched the squall.
Slowly--slowly--creaking angrily--Will she make it?--No--Yes--No----
“Struck, by----! Hold fast, boys! _Hold_ fast!”
Over she went, till the booms dipped and the waters of Lake Michigan
ran from stem to stem along the rail. Hunch left the wheel and sprang
forward for the main sheet. Before he had it in his hand he was drenched
through. Cursing like a Northern Peninsula lumberman, he hauled away.
Peabody and Buckingham were together at the foresheet, with white faces
and blue lips. Over again! They got up to the weather-rail--it was like
climbing a gable roof--and still hauled away. For thirty endless seconds
they fought, then her bowsprit, scooping deep into every wave, swung
around and pointed into the wind. Hunch, shaking the water from his
eyes, looked up and about; both topsails were gone, and a thousand feet
or so of timber.
They could breathe now. But only for a moment, for the storm was beating
them back toward the point. Another battle, and mainsail and foresail
were double reefed and the _Dean_ was slowly working up into the wind.
There was no thought now of rounding the point; it was a question of
getting sea room. Once Badeau thought of anchoring, but his judgment
warned him not to try. One fact was encouraging, they made a little
headway. By three o'clock in the afternoon they were back off the
Manistee piers, and three miles out.
“What's that comin' down the harbor,” shouted Buckingham, “a tug?”
“Looks like it. Yes, that's what it is.”
“See there, she's whistlin'.” They could see the steam, though no sound
reached them.
“She can't make it--hold fast, there!” The _Dean_ nosed deep into a
curling wave, struggled to rise, plunged on through, and the wave rushed
over them. When they could see again, a few more thousand feet of lumber
had disappeared.
“That was a soaker. Hunch all right, Henn?”
“Sure. See, she's putting back. Looks like the _Cecilia Smith_.”
“That's what she is. I never did think much o' Bill Peters.”
“Maybe he's right. He couldn't ever tow us in through that surf--say,
the boat's gone!”
“The-----it is!”
“Look for yourself.”
“Lord, you're right! Kind o' rough on Hunch. He'll be lucky to come
through this without losin' a wad. There's sixty or eighty dollars worth
o' timber gone a'ready.”
“Maybe he won't have to stand for that.”
“Somebody'll have to. You can't get insurance now, you know.”
“Look out, Duke--here comes another!”
When this wave had passed, Peabody missed his companion, and looked
around for him. At length he saw him, wedged in between the foremast and
the timbers, grinning sheepishly; and stepping back he hauled him out.
“What's the matter with you, man? Didn't you see it.”
“Oh, I saw it all right.”
“You'd better get hold here. What's the matter with your hands?”
“I dunno, sort o' numb, I guess.”
“Makes me think o' the time Ryerson's house burned--just such a day as
this. Three or four of us got there early and pitched in to help the
firemen.” He had to shout to make himself heard. “I was up on the
ladder, next under the nozzleman, holding up the slack of the hose.
Well, sir, do you know the water kept dribbling down from the nozzle
around my fingers until they were just about froze stiff. Finally, they
let go--I couldn't help it, my fingers just straightened out. Then
the slack of the hose fell and jerked the nozzle right out of the
nozzleman's hands. Well, sir, I didn't hardly know what I was doing,
it come so quick; but when that nozzle was tumbling down by me, and the
stream swinging all around, I made a grab for it and caught it by the
handles. And there I stood, holding on for all there was in me, and the
crowd yelling. All to once it struck me the nozzleman was yelling too,
and I looked up, and there I was squirting a four-inch stream up under
his rubber coat, and he was hanging on to the ladder for life. Getting
colder, ain't it?” Buckingham, with lips bluer than ever, made no reply;
he looked down at his hands. Peabody's eyes roved shoreward. The lines
in his face deepened as he looked; for he saw that the _Dean_ was making
no headway. Half an hour later Badeau beckoned him aft. When he returned
he took Buckingham by the shoulder, and shook him a little. “Here, Duke,
what you thinking of! Brace up! Hunch says we'll throw off the deck
load. He can't manage her at all this way. Come along--it's just what
you need.”
Through the afternoon, through the night, the storm sported with the
_Dean_. It swept down from the north and forced her nearer and nearer to
the breakers on Point Sable; it veered to the northeast, and blew her,
with a scurry of black water, out past the point and on--on, as if to
hurl her on the Wisconsin shore; it brought snow and sleet to blind
the tireless wheelman, whose hands never left the spokes; it ripped the
sails and set the shreds to flapping derisively; and still Badeau kept
the wheel, and still his crew held their places forward. There was no
talking now. There were no more yams of sea or shore; the two men up
forward were holding grimly to life, with fingers too stiffened to grip
firmly--with spirits that shivered and threatened to let go.
[Illustration: 0009]
Toward dawn Peabody groped aft. “I dunno what to do about Duke, Hunch.”
“Hammer 'im.”
“That don't help much. See any signs of it's letting up?”
Badeau shook his head.
“Do you know where we are?”
“Must be pretty near the middle of the lake. I'm going to try to work
back. Stand by to come about.”
For the twentieth time that night the _Bean_, under the jib and the
ruins of a foresail, pointed northeast. At Hunch's command, Peabody
climbed half-way up the shrouds and clung there. The dark began to fade,
the snow-flurries ceased. “Ho there! Hunch!--Ho there!”
“Ho-o!”
“Bray-ay-kers! Duke--Tell Hunch!” Buckingham crawled aft. “Hunch!
Bray-ay-kers!”
“Breakers be----!”
“Herm----” It was hard for Buckingham to hold his excitement, hard for
him to hold to anything. “Herm, he says---”
Badeau's eyes rested on the pitiable object before him, then peered
into the dark ahead. A flash came into his drawn face. “Stand by to come
about!” Buckingham gazed stupidly. Hunch plunged forward and gave him a
kick that sent him stumbling forward. “Ready about!”-Peabody was sliding
down a stay-“Ready about!--Hard a lee!”--The men up forward could not
hear him, could hardly see him; but Buckingham was fumbling with the lee
jib-sheet. She swung a little way, wavered, then, caught in the rush of
the surf, missed stays and floundered broadside on a bar. And the waves
came pounding in over the rail.
When the morning came they were lashed in the forerigging. The mainmast
was gone, the after-cabin was razed off flush with the deck, and the
seas flowed at will through the hold.
“Can you make out where we are, Hunch?”
“Off Clinton.”
“They'll see us here then?”
“The ------ they will. There ain't nobody lives there.”
“Not in Clinton?”
“Not a soul--. There's the Liddington piers, below.”
“But there ain't nobody on watch.”
“No--station's closed.”
“Hold on though--what's that?”
“Over the pier--little sails?”
“Yes.”
“That's the life-boat.”
“No.”
“Sure it is.”
“Well, I'll be------!” murmured Peabody fervently. “The fools--they'll
never make it without a tug.”
“Couldn't never get a tug out there.”
“Here they come! Is it the surf-boat?”
“Not much. It's the big English boat. Surf-boat don't carry any sail.”
“They've cleared the piers! Must be a volunteer crew. What's the matter
with 'em?”
“Too much sea--can't use the rudder. See there--rudder's up in the air.”
“Duke--Hi, wake up! They're coming, Duke!”
Buckingham groaned.
“See' em turning 'round--they can't manage her!”
Badeau shook his head. The life-boat, while they watched, was caught up
on the foaming crest of a wave, whirled around and jammed against the
end of the pier. She fell back with the wave, then, freed in some way
from her short masts, she rolled completely over on her high round
air-tanks, and righting, pitched about, buoyant as ever.
“See that? Did you see, Hunch? She went over!”
“Shut up, will you?”
“Look there--they're throwing ropes. My nephew--I've got a nephew on
that crew, Hunch.”
“He'd better look out for his uncle, then.”
“See 'em bobbing around. Must be they've got cork jackets on.”
By some unseen agency the boat was got back between the piers, and the
bobbing figures disappeared. The excitement passed; the beach, strewn
with wreckage and driftwood, and backed by sand hills and stunted pines,
looked bleaker than ever: the wind penetrated to their bones.
“What do you think o' that, Hunch? What do you think 'll become----”
“Oh, shut up!”
An hour--two hours--and nothing but the roar of the surf, the endless
white beach, the low sky.
Then Badeau reached up and shook Peabody's leg. “Wake up there, Herm!
Look down the beach.”
“Wha--what's that? I don't see anything.”
“What are your eyes for?”
“Oh--team o' horses, eh. What's the crowd doing?”
“Can't you see the beach cart?”
“No--is it? Coming right along, ain't they.”
The cart was hauled up at a spot opposite the _Dean_. Over the ice-cones
Badeau and Peabody could see the crew bustling about, until suddenly
the crowd fell back, and they caught the shine of a brass gun and saw a
projectile leap into the air trailing a line behind it.
“Not by fifty yards! It'll take a bigger charge than that.
There--they're getting out another.”
Another moment of preparation, and another projectile came spinning
toward them, passing high over their heads and directly between the
foremast and the stump of the mainmast.
“How're we going to get 'er, Hunch? The topmast stays are down; I
couldn't ever get down to that deck. Couldn't trust my hands, you
see--all right except for my hands.”
“You stay here, and keep still,” said Badeau. He drew out his knife
and cut the rope that lashed him to the shrouds; then worked his way
painfully down to the deck. Holding now to the rail, now to the loose
end of a stay, he fought through the waves, picked up the line, mounted
with it to the cross-trees, and unaided hauled the heavier line out
through the surf, and made the tackle fast to the foremast. The men on
shore fell to with a will and sent out the hawser; and in another moment
it was fast and taut, and the breeches buoy was dancing out to the
schooner.
“Easy now,” said Hunch, as they lowered Buckingham into the canvas
breeches.
“Lash 'im in, Hunch; lash 'im in! I'd do it--but my hands----”
They watched him without a word as the buoy went shoreward. The line
sagged so low under his weight that half a dozen waves passed over him.
“They'll drown 'im!” said Peabody. Badeau was silent.
Buckingham was lifted to the beach, and the empty buoy came back.
“You go next, Hunch.”
“Get in--don't stop to talk!”
“Well--you see how it is--I guess you're a little better off than I am.
You stand it better.”
“For God's sake, get in!”
Peabody snivelled a little as he swung off and went swinging down
the line, his legs dangling grotesquely. Hunch clung to the ratlines,
looking after him with a wild gleam in his eyes. When the buoy came back
for the last time he caught it with one hand, then hesitated. He glanced
down at the schooner's hull. Why should he go ashore at all? What was
the use now? He looked at the crowd. They were waving at him, probably
they were shouting. Then he found himself getting in and sliding off
toward the shore.