THE RESCUED PASSENGER.
The stern of the burning canal-boat was to windward, so that the flames
were driven over the entrance to the cabin. I made fast the cable of
the Belle to the bow of the burning craft.
“Now, Tom, take the wind on your port beam, and let her drive as hard
as she will.”
“I see; you want to sling her round.”
“Yes, Waddie, you and I will help her with the oars, for it will be a
hard pull to swing that heavy canal-boat.”
We took the oars; and, when the Belle came up with a jerk, which nearly
threw us overboard,--for the wind was quite fresh,--we strained our
muscles at the oars.
“Pull, Waddie!” I cried, anxiously, for I felt that the safety of
the man in the cabin of the burning boat depended entirely upon the
success of our movement.
Tom helped Waddie with one hand, while he steered with the other.
Though the burning boat was very long and heavy, it did not require
much power to turn her, balanced as she was on the water. The sails of
the Belle pulled strong, our efforts at the oars increased the force,
and we soon had the satisfaction of seeing that we were accomplishing
our purpose. As soon as the vessel began to turn, her inertia being
overcome, the work was easy, and we whirled her on her axis like a top.
“Hold on, now!” I shouted, boating my oar. “She will swing the rest of
the way without any help. Come about, Tom, and run up to her bow before
the fire makes it too warm there to cast off the cable.”
“Won’t you bring my hatchet out of the cook-room, Wolf?” added Tom.
I brought a small hatchet from the cuddy, which Tom used in splitting
up his wood.
The canal-boat continued to swing under the impetus we had given her.
As soon as she had turned into a position so that the wind struck her
broadside, and carried the flames away from the cabin door, we saw a
man rush up the steps.
“There he is!” shouted Waddie. “Bear a hand, Tom! Let her drive.”
“She is driving all she will,” replied Tom. “Wolf, we won’t wait to
untie that cable; just chop it off with the hatchet when I luff her up.”
“Help! Help!” shouted the man on the after-deck of the canal-boat.
“We will be there in a minute!” shouted Tom. “Keep cool!”
“It’s rather a warm place to keep cool in,” suggested Waddie.
“Now, luff up, Tom, and we will get clear of the cable.”
He put the helm hard down, and, as the boat came up into the wind,
the cable lay across the forward deck of the Belle. With one blow
of the hatchet I severed it, about thirty feet from the bow of the
canal-boat, so that Tom lost only a small portion of his line. The man
on deck had seated himself at the extreme end of the boat, with his
legs hanging over the water, in readiness to leap into the lake, if
the flames were again driven upon him. But the combustible material
seemed to be amidships, though the wood-work was now well kindled, and
the great volume of the flame was at this part of the boat. Tom ran the
Belle around under the stern of the burning vessel, and I fastened the
boat-hook to it, as she lost her headway.
“Drop down,” said I to the person above.
He first threw a black leather travelling-bag upon the forward deck,
whose contents rattled as though it were filled with old iron. With the
assistance of Waddie and myself, he came down himself, and stepped into
the standing-room. I picked up his valise, as Tom filled away again, in
order that it might not be lost overboard when the Belle heeled over
under the pressure of the sails.
“You came out of a warm place,” said Waddie, as the stranger seated
himself.
“Not very warm,” he replied. “I was in the cabin, and there was no fire
down there.”
“But there would have been very soon.”
“No doubt of that. There are two windows in the stern, but, as I
cannot swim, I did not like to jump out into the water,” continued the
stranger.
“You take it very coolly,” said Tom, with a grin.
“I don’t know that I was afraid of anything. I supposed those other
canal-boats were close by, and as soon as I saw or heard any one, I
meant to jump into the water, and let him pick me up.”
“Was there no one with you on board?” asked Waddie.
“Yes, a whole family; but they were on deck when the fire broke out,
and had only to step on board one of the other boats by her side. I
have been travelling a great deal lately, and I was tired and sleepy;
so I lay down in a bunk, and went to sleep. When the fire broke out,
the men yelled, and that waked me up. I sprang for the stairs, but
a sheet of flame lay right over the cabin doors, and I couldn’t go
through. So I shut the doors, and went to the windows. I yelled with
all my might, to let the boatmen know where I was; but none of them
came near me. Then I tried the doors again, and found the fire was
blowing off in another direction.”
“That was after we had swung the canal-boat around,” interposed Waddie.
“I did not know what did it, but when it was safe to do so I went on
deck.”
“How did the boat catch afire?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know. There is half a dozen barrels on deck, and they smelled
like petroleum. Very likely some smoker dropped his match into the
stuff. I heard something which I took to be the bursting of one of the
barrels; at any rate, they made a jolly fire. But now I am out of the
scrape, I don’t know that I care.”
“It won’t be pleasant for the owner to have his property destroyed,”
suggested Waddie; and I think none of us were pleased with the selfish
remark of the stranger.
The person whom we had rescued from the burning boat was a young man,
not more than twenty-five. He was very well dressed, and I judged from
his air and manner that he had seen the world. He interlarded his
narrative with much offensive profanity, with which I do not care to
soil my pages. On the whole, he did not produce an agreeable impression
upon any of us.
“Have you got that man out of the cabin?” shouted a man in the boat
from the steamer.
“Yes, he is safe,” replied Tom. “Why don’t you bring up your steamer,
and put the fire out?”
“No use; we couldn’t put it out now.”
“Haven’t you a fire engine on your tow-boat?” I asked.
“No; it is broke down.”
I was inclined to agree with the speaker, who was the captain of the
steamer, that it was useless to attempt to extinguish the fire, for the
canal-boat was now one mass of flame. She was drifting rapidly towards
the shore, and I was afraid she would set the woods on fire, for the
bushes hung over the bank, so that the flame would be blown directly
into them.
“Will you go on board one of those canal-boats, sir, or shall we put
you on shore?” asked Tom, addressing our passenger.
“I don’t know. I have had about enough canal-boat for one day,” he
replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“I will do just as you say,” added Tom.
“Is there any hotel around here?” inquired the stranger.
“Yes, a first-rate hotel, not far from the falls,” added our skipper,
pointing in the direction of the spot.
“Then I will go there.”
“All right,” answered Tom, heading the Belle towards the shore.
“My name is Schleifer,” continued the stranger. “I am a drummer for a
hardware house in New York.”
This seemed to be a satisfactory explanation to me of the nature of the
contents of his travelling-bag, which had rattled like old iron when he
threw it upon the deck, and which I found, when I lifted it, was very
heavy.
“I got into Hitaca too late to take the boat down the lake, for I
expect to sell some goods at the towns below. I had taken all the
orders I could get in Hitaca a few days before; so I had nothing to do,
and wanted to get to Middleport. I didn’t like the idea of lying around
Hitaca till the next morning; so I thought I would try a canal-boat,
just for the novelty of the thing.”
“Well, how did you like it?” asked Waddie.
“I liked it well enough till the fire interfered with the tranquillity
of my dreams; but I did not even get singed; so I have no reason to
complain.”
By this time the Belle had reached the shore at the point off which she
had been moored before. The burning canal-boat had grounded just above
us, on a shoal place. As her combustibles on deck had been consumed,
the flames were not so fierce, and did not reach the shore.
“I suppose I’m a lucky dog,” said Schleifer, as Tom lowered his sails,
having made fast to a tree on shore. “My life is not insured, and it
would have been an ugly investment for any office half an hour ago.”
“Thank God for preserving your life,” I added.
“That’s all very well; but I thank my own coolness that I wasn’t fool
enough to rush on deck, where the fire would have made an end of me in
a minute and a quarter. Do you happen to have any whiskey on board of
this craft?”
“Not a drop,” replied Tom, promptly. “We haven’t any use for the
article, and we don’t keep it.”
“They keep it at the hotel--don’t they?”
“I suppose they do. I never called for any,” added Tom.
“Are you the skipper of this craft?” asked Schleifer, in a kind of
contemptuous tone.
“I am; and the craft is a good deal better than the skipper.”
“That may be; and, if you don’t take any whiskey, I should say you were
half right, at least. I should think, with so much cold water under you
and all around you, you would want a little drop of whiskey, just to
help keep up an equilibrium, you know.”
“I find that people who take whiskey find it the most difficult to keep
up an equilibrium.”
“Every one to his fancy; but I can’t sell goods without a little
whiskey. I generally carry a pocket pistol in my bag; but it got
smashed against the hardware, the other day, and I’ve been dry ever
since.”
“That was because you did not keep up the equilibrium,” laughed Tom.
“What kind of hardware do you sell, Mr. Schleifer?”
“Iron, of course.”
“Pickaxes and crowbars?”
“Not exactly. I couldn’t carry samples in my bag very well. I think I
will try to find that hotel now. Did I understand you to say that you
were the skipper of this boat?”
“I have that honor; and I wouldn’t swap it off to be governor of the
state,” replied Tom.
“Do you keep her to let?”
“That’s what I keep her for.”
“She is a good-looking boat; but I should like her better if she
carried a little whiskey on board,” said Schleifer. “Haven’t you just a
thimbleful, say forty drops, in the medicine chest?”
“Not the twentieth part of a drop.”
“How long does it take you to run from here down to Cent-- down to
Middleport?” asked the drummer.
“That depends on the wind.”
“Well, as the wind is to-night.”
“I could fetch it in four hours. The wind would be fair after I got by
Priam.”
“Well, skipper, seeing it’s you, I will give you a five-dollar bill if
you will land me in Centre-- I mean in Middleport.”
“Well, seeing it’s you, Mr. Schleifer, I won’t do it.”
“Not for five dollars?”
“No, nor for ten. My boat is engaged to these gentlemen for the rest of
the week.”
“We will let you off, Tom,” whispered Waddie.
“I don’t want to be let off.”
“I have an invitation from Captain Portman for Waddie and myself to
sleep at his house,” I added.
“Is that so? Then I will take him down to Centreport for ten dollars.”
“Middleport,” said Schleifer. “I will give you five.”
“No; nothing short of ten for a night run down the lake. I like to
sleep a little once in a while.”
After some bickering the drummer agreed to give ten dollars for his
passage; but he insisted upon going to the hotel first for a “drop of
whiskey.”