A FEAT OF SEAMANSHIP
“Ease her up a bit, boys,” Mac shouted. “Steady an’ strong, an’ take
yer time.”
Then the steersman and engineer began a “Yeo ho.” And it was well he
did. The tired lads were in no condition to duplicate their sprint
seaward. But, taking up the slow, long stroke, they began to get their
second wind. There were no means of knowing whether the _Escambia_ was
having any effect on the steamer. But the hawser was taut, the oars
rose and fell to Mac’s chanty of the sea, and the busy little engine
kept the propeller churning ceaselessly.
“Mac,” called Tom Allen, at last, “is she comin’?”
“How kin I tell,” shouted Mac. “But Captain Joe sure ain’t waved any
light fur us to stand by. Steady, boys, take yer time.”
Perhaps a quarter of an hour went by. With the lessening of their
speed, the four oarsmen had fallen into a swinging sweep that permitted
talk. It was agreed that it must be after eleven o’clock.
“We’ll save her or lose her by midnight,” suggested Tom. “An’, whatever
happens, I ain’t a goin’ to shut an eye till I’ve had a hot suppah an’
get dried out befoah a rousin’ fiah.”
“Bet yer life,” exclaimed Hal. “If I ever get warm again, don’t bother
about callin’ me in the mornin’.”
“Ah reckon you all’s gwine be busy ’nough in de mornin’,” interrupted
Jerry. “Allowin’ ef we git dis steamer in de bay who gwine to boss
gittin’ her out agin?”
“And the sick captain?” suggested Bob. “Looks to me as if we won’t have
much chance to get up to camp――”
“She’s a comin’ boys,” exclaimed Mac suddenly. “She’s sure a comin’.
We’re a gettin’ out o’ the lee of her. Yeo ho, yeo ho.”
If that was an indication, the work of the _Escambia_ was telling. So
far, the steamer had been drifting in the trough of the waves parallel
with the beach. The life boat, working to starboard, had been more or
less protected by the steamer from the sweep of wind and water. As Mac
could not hold the life boat in one position, it was impossible to tell
from the fire ashore or Captain Joe’s lantern whether the steamer was
altering her position. But, when Mac discovered that the _Escambia_
was no longer in the lee of the helpless vessel, it was an indication
that her bow was at last coming about shoreward.
“Hit her up, Kids,” whispered Hal. “Let’s show what we kin do.”
“Hey there, none o’ that,” yelled Mac. “Yer doin’ good ’nough. Stick to
the stroke. Yeo ho, yeo ho.”
As the boys fell back into their stride, the _Escambia_ came further
out from the steamer’s protection, and once more the life boat was
climbing the waves.
“Dat’s it,” yelled Jerry. “We sho’ got ’er. We’s got her a comin’.
She’s nigh head on now. Mac,” he called anxiously, “who gwine bring dem
jibs about?”
It was certain that the _Escambia_ could not force the drifting hulk up
into the gale. If the headway so far obtained was sufficient to bring
the vessel on to a starboard tack, the jibs would have to come over.
“He wants us,” replied Mac. “Captain Joe’s a callin’. Ship them oars,
Kids, an’ give us a hand on this line.”
Any change was welcome. A few minutes later, the _Escambia_ had been
drawn up to the steamer’s side, and, although the little boat pounded
against the iron plates with terrorizing crashes, Jerry and Mac
clambered up the cable like monkeys.
“Cast off!” yelled Mac in the darkness. “Keep the engine goin’ Tom and
youse other kids do what ye kin at the oars.”
Both Jerry and Mac were right. Captain Joe was hanging on to the wheel,
which was hard over. The cargo owner was crouched beneath the rail,
wrapped in a blanket.
“Free dem jib sheets, but don’t haul in on ’em till ye git de word,”
commanded Captain Joe at once, but offering no explanations. “Take the
light,” he added.
The nimble Mac and Jerry were off on a bound and a few moments later
the slapping sails were free in the wind. For five minutes or more the
two boys stood waiting the word to haul in, the jib sheets in hand.
Below them, the _Escambia_, feebly but ceaselessly, pulled at the
straining cable, and far astern Captain Joe, with adroit use of the
wheel, coaxed the drifting steamer little by little into the wind.
At last came the long-waited-for order. The two boys fell to their task
like storm scarred sea dogs. One sheet at a time, they hauled in,
against the gale.
“He’ll make it,” panted Mac, as he saw the great triangular canvas fill
out over the port bow. As he and Jerry made fast the second sheet they
could almost feel the steamer respond. “Captain Joe’ll put her there
now, if any one could. But it’s goin’ to be close work,” added Mac.
“Hear them breakers, Jerry?”
“He’s sho’ haidin’ her up,” answered Jerry.
After another trip to Captain Joe, the boys were ordered into the
_Escambia_ again. The instructions were to give every aid to the
unwieldly steamer; if she fell off before the storm again, to use the
engine and oars to the best advantage, and, if she made the bay, to
hasten aboard to let go the anchor. Neither Mac nor Jerry took the
trouble to haul in on the _Escambia’s_ hawser. Throwing their arms and
legs about the stiff cable, they shot downward into the life boat’s
stern.
Mac now told his oarsmen off in relays, and to Bob the relief came none
too soon. Braced in the bow, he took his rest and found time to look
about. The campfire on the shore was wholly dead.
“How’ll Captain Joe make the pass now?” he yelled to the other boys.
“The fire’s out.” Jerry was by his side baling the boat with his hat.
“Yo’ all don’ know Captain Joe, Ah reckon,” he answered. “He jes’ knows
de place; he ain’t gwine to have to see it.”
In about a quarter of an hour, Mac burst out in a new exclamation.
“He’s fetched her,” the boy shouted. “Captain Joe’s headin’ in.”
“Headin’ in!” exclaimed Bob. “Into what?”
“Into de pass,” volunteered Jerry. “He shorely is.”
“I can’t see anything,” added Bob, straining his eyes shoreward.
“He ain’t seein’”, repeated Jerry enthusiastically. “But don’ you be
afeared. Whar de steamer’s pintin’ now, dat’s de pass.”
For the first time, the movement of the black hulk behind the
_Escambia_ became apparent. Captain Joe, even with his imperceptible
headway, had at last permitted the steamer to pay off before the wind,
and it was now drifting straight shoreward――bow on. Mac’s orders came
at once. All four boys fell to the oars, the steering sweep brought the
straining life boat about on to the new course and then the _Escambia_
pointed ahead at last fairly before the gale.
If there were any doubt as to the accuracy of old Romano’s instinct
it was soon settled. The monotonous sound of the wash of the water on
the beach rose louder but the sucking roar of the breakers was now no
longer in front. The sounds that had chilled the amateur life savers
all evening came from the right and left.
“We’re in the channel,” shouted Hal.
Mac soon confirmed the belief of the other boys. Bow on, the steamer
crept slowly forward. The _Escambia_, little as it may have helped,
stuck to her work, straining at its cable like a river tug snorting at
a liner’s nose.
“We’re off the point,” explained Mac some minutes later, and then the
low sky line of the black sand spit rose above the yeasty water.
“There she goes!” yelled Mac suddenly as the two jibs filled with an
explosive bang. “Can’t do any more with this boat.” As he spoke he shut
off the engine. “Ship them oars and git busy. Everybody on the steamer
to bear a hand. We got to get an anchor out now or drift on to the mud.”
A half hour previously, a few stars had attempted to show themselves,
but they had been blotted out again, and for the last ten minutes, a
drizzle of rain had been falling. As the jibs banged, the long laboring
steamer thrust her bow behind the sheltering point of the peninsula,
and the dying waves rushing up the pass fell away into swirling angry
currents.
“Up ye go,” shouted Mac, and the benumbed and stiff oarsmen hauled the
life boat alongside the just moving iron hulk. Mac and Jerry led the
way, and their tireless hands were waiting to give help to their less
seasoned companions.
The steamer was not wholly within the protection of the point, but
the scanty sails and the _Escambia_ could do no more. Again nearly
broadside on to the still driving wind, the hulk was already drifting
toward the marsh-lined shore of the bay behind the sand spit. Captain
Joe met the boys, lantern in hand. He seemed in no way elated over his
feat.
“De port anchor,” were his only words, and Mac, Jerry and Tom hastened
to their new task. Captain Joe thrust the lantern upon Bob, and gave a
hand himself. Bob, excited as he was, glanced at his watch. It was a
quarter of one o’clock. Then, with a sudden crash, the port anchor shot
into the sea, and the four hours battle was at an end.
Captain Joe, Tom and Mac visited the captain’s cabin at once, and
found that seaman unconscious from either fever or drink, or both. The
shivering owner of the mahogany cargo was maudlinly grateful, but still
so disturbed mentally that he was conducted to his cabin and ordered to
bed.
All idea of going aboard the cabinless _Three Sisters_, or of
attempting to set up the shore tent in the rain and wind had been
abandoned. Captain Joe led his bedraggled, sore and shivering party to
the fo’castle. In a moment, he had the big swinging lantern ablaze.
“Now, Kids,” exclaimed Mac, “git busy. Dig into them slop chests and
git some rags to warm ye up an’ sleep in. An’ Jerry,” he added, “if yer
ever goin’ to make good as a cook, ye got the chanst to-night. They’s a
cook’s galley aboard, I reckon, an’ the least we’re a goin’ to have is
coffee.”
“An’ don’t stop at that if there’s anything you can fry,” added Hal.
“We might as well make a night of it.”
After the long, wearying hours in the _Escambia_, the crew’s quarters
of the steamer seemed like the welcome glow of a big fireplace. It was
like the preparation for a masquerade. In the midst of the jovial
melee, Captain Joe disappeared. But while the boys, white and black
alike, were getting out of their own soaked clothes and trading or
stealing each other’s finds, the slow speaking Romano reappeared. Under
his arm he carried a small leather case. The boys crowded forward.
“The boss’ medicine box,” explained Captain Joe.
Jerry fell back at once. While the others laughed the old seaman opened
the little case and after long examination extracted a bottle labeled:
“Quinine――5 grains.” Four other youngsters immediately joined Jerry.
But without explanation or argument Captain Joe poured a generous dose
into his brawny hand and then motioned the boys to him.
“I want some water,” began Hal with a wry face.
For answer the old skipper caught the boy by the shoulder, shoved the
quinine into his mouth, clapped his hand over it and the deed was done.
Plainly, there was no escape. In turn, the other boys marched up,
opened their mouths and took their medicine. Jerry was last.
“Captain Joe,” he pleaded, “dat shorely make me sick. Mah mammy done
put mah powdahs in sugah. Ah――”
Before he could say more, the thoughtful Romano had the frightened
Jerry in his arms and was forcing the tonic through his tightly closed
lips. The colored boy fought valiantly, but an instant later, the four
white boys, roaring with laughter, had the squirming Jerry on the floor
where the medicine was forced down his unwilling throat.
With rub downs, dry garments of one kind and another, the increasing
warmth of the fo’castle and the endless pranks that followed, the storm
soaked youngsters were soon aglow with new life and vigor. Then came
the raid on the cook’s galley. Jerry was not entrusted with the work of
preparing the refreshment. Tom and Mac did that, and they went at the
task as if time were no object.
Under Captain Joe’s direction, the other boys returned to the
fo’castle, bundled up all the wet clothes and carried them to the
engine room below deck. Hanging them on hastily strung lines, Captain
Romano opened the ash pit doors below one of the boilers to provide a
draft, and then boldly started a fire of wood on the iron floor of the
room.
At two o’clock, each member of the party filed into the cook’s galley,
and was handed his supper, a tin plate piled high with hot pork and
beans, a thick section of canned corn beef――cold――two bananas, a half
dozen freshly warmed ship’s biscuits and a big tin cup of sweetened
coffee.
When the noisy feast was at an end, there was one more visit to the
deck. The gale still held, but the rain had ceased, and the wind was
going down. A few stars had reappeared, and the tossing shape of the
_Three Sisters_ could be made out in the distance. But it had grown
decidedly cool, the biting spray of the still angry sea filled the air,
and there was a moan on both sea and land.
“All snug,” was Captain Joe’s only comment. As he disappeared below to
replenish his clothes-drying fire on the engine room floor, the weary
boys made their way back to the fo’castle. Bob had selected an upper
bunk well in the bow, and Mac was just beneath him. The moment the two
boys were alone, Mac said, in a low voice:
“Say, Balfour, are you holdin’ anything agin me?”
“Are you still sore at me?” asked Bob in turn, with a smile.
Mac reached out his hand and Bob grasped it. After a moment’s silent
embarrassment, Mac said:
“I reckon the storm’ll blow itself out by mornin’.”