THE STRANGE FATE OF A STEAMER.
So exciting had been the day, and so fully had its every minute been
occupied, that not until Cabot stood on the deck of the steamer
"Lavinia," curiously watching the bustling preparations for her
departure, did he have time to realise the wonderful change in his
prospects that had taken place within a few hours. That morning his
life had seemed wholly aimless, and he had been filled with envy of
those among his recent classmates whose services were in demand. Now
he would not change places with any one of them; for was not he, too,
entrusted with an important mission that held promise of a brilliant
future in case he should carry it to a successful conclusion?
[Illustration: On the deck of the steamer "Lavinia."]
"And I will," he mentally resolved. "No matter what happens, if I live
I will succeed."
In spite of this brave resolve our lad could not help feeling rather
forlorn as he watched those about him, all of whom seemed to have
friends to see them off; while he alone stood friendless and unnoticed.
Especially was his attention attracted to a nearby group of girls
gathered about one who was evidently a bride. They were full of gay
chatter, and he overheard one of them say:
"If you come within sight of an iceberg, Nelly, make him go close to it
so you can get a good photograph. I should like awfully to have one."
"So should I," cried another. "But, oh! wouldn't it be lovely if we
could only have a picture of this group, standing just as we are aboard
the ship. It would make a splendid beginning for your camera."
The bride, who, as Cabot saw, carried a small brand-new camera similar
to one he had recently procured for his own use, promptly expressed her
willingness to employ it as suggested, but was greeted by a storm of
protests from her companions.
"No, indeed! You must be in it of course!" they cried.
Then it further transpired that all wished to be "in it," and no one
wanted to act the part of photographer. At this juncture Cabot stepped
forward, and lifting his cap, said:
"I am somewhat of a photographer, and with your permission it would
afford me great pleasure to take a picture of so charming a group."
For a moment the girls looked at the presumptuous young stranger in
silence. Then the bride, flushing prettily, stepped forward and handed
him her camera, saying as she did so:
"Thank you, sir, ever so much for your kind offer, which we are glad to
accept."
So Cabot arranged the group amid much laughter, and by the time two
plates had been exposed, had made rapid progress towards getting
acquainted with its several members.
The episode was barely ended before all who were to remain behind were
ordered ashore, and, a few minutes later, as the ship began to move
slowly from her dock, our traveller found himself waving his
handkerchief and shouting good-byes as vigorously as though all on the
wharf were assembled for the express purpose of bidding him farewell.
By the time the "Lavinia" was in the stream and headed up the East
River, with her long voyage fairly begun, Cabot had learned that his
new acquaintance was a bride of but a few hours, having been married
that morning to the captain of that very steamer. She had hardly made
this confession when her husband, temporarily relieved of his
responsibilities by a pilot, came in search of her and was duly
presented to our hero. His name was Phinney, and he so took to Cabot
that from that moment the latter no longer found himself lonely or at a
loss for occupation.
As he had never before been at sea, the voyage proved full of interest,
and his intelligent questions received equally intelligent answers from
Captain Phinney, who was a well-informed young man but a few years
older than Cabot, and an enthusiast in his calling.
Up Long Island Sound went the "Lavinia," and it was late that night
before our lad turned in, so interested was he in watching the many
lights that were pointed out by his new acquaintance. The next morning
found the ship threading her way amid the shoals of Nantucket Sound,
after which came the open sea; and for the first time in his life Cabot
lost sight of land. Halifax was reached on the following day, and here
the steamer remained twenty-four hours discharging freight.
The capital of Nova Scotia marks the half-way point between New York
and St. Johns, Newfoundland, which name Cabot was already learning to
pronounce as do its inhabitants--Newfund-_land_--and after leaving it
the ship was again headed for the open across the wide mouth of the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. Thus far the weather had been fine, the sea
smooth, and nothing had occurred to break the pleasant monotony of the
voyage. Its chief interests lay in sighting distant sails, the
tell-tale smoke pennons of far-away steamers, the plume-like spoutings
of sluggishly moving whales, the darting of porpoises about the ship's
fore-foot, the wide circling overhead of gulls, or the dainty skimming
just above the wave crests of Mother Carey's fluffy chickens.
"Who was Mother Carey," asked Cabot, "and why are they her chickens?"
"I have been told that she was the _Mater Cara_ of devout Portuguese
sailors," replied Captain Phinney, "and that these tiny sea-fowl are
supposed to be under her especial protection, since the fiercest of
gales have no power to harm them."
"How queerly names become changed and twisted out of their original
shape," remarked Cabot meditatively. "The idea of _Mater Cara_
becoming Mother Carey!"
"That is an easy change compared with some others I have run across,"
laughed the captain. "For instance, I once put up at an English
seaport tavern called the 'Goat and Compasses,' and found out that its
original name, given in Cromwell's time, had been 'God Encompasseth
Us.' Almost as curious is the present name of that portion of the
Newfoundland coast nearest us at this minute. It is called
'Ferryland,' which is a corruption of 'Verulam,' the name applied by
its original owner, Lord Baltimore, in memory of his home estate in
England. In fact, this region abounds in queerly twisted names, most
of which were originally French. Bai d'espair, for instance, has
become Bay Despair. Blanc Sablon and Isle du Bois up on the Labrador
coast have been Anglicised as Nancy Belong and Boys' Island. Cape
Race, which is almost within sight, was the Capo Razzo of its
Portuguese discoverer. Cape Spear was Cappo Sperenza, and Pointe
l'Amour is now Lammer's Point."
While taking part in conversations of this kind both Cabot and Mrs.
Phinney, who were the only passengers now left on the ship, kept a
sharp lookout for icebergs, which, as they had learned, were apt to be
met in those waters at that season. Finally, during the afternoon of
the last day they expected to spend on shipboard, a distant white speck
dead ahead, which was at first taken for a sail, proved to be an
iceberg, and from that moment it was watched with the liveliest
curiosity. Before their rapid approach it developed lofty pinnacles,
and proved of the most dazzling whiteness, save at the water line,
where it was banded with vivid blue. It was exquisitely chiselled and
carved into dainty forms by the gleaming rivulets that ran down its
steep sides and fell into the sea as miniature cascades. So
wonderfully beautiful were the icy details as they were successively
unfolded, that the bride begged her husband to take his ship just as
close as possible, in order that she might obtain a perfect photograph.
Anxious to gratify her every wish, Captain Phinney readily consented,
and the ship's course was slightly altered, so as to pass within one
hundred feet of the glistening monster, which was now sharply outlined
against a dark bank of fog rolling heavily in from the eastward.
Both cameras had been kept busy from the time the berg came within
range of their finders, but just as the best point of view was reached,
and when they were so near that the chill of the ice was distinctly
felt, Cabot discovered that he had exhausted his roll of films.
Uttering an exclamation of disgust, he ran aft and down to his
stateroom, that opened from the lower saloon, to secure another
cartridge. As he entered the room, he closed its door to get at his
dress-suit case that lay behind it.
Recklessly tossing the contents of the case right and left, he had just
laid hands on the desired object and was rising to his feet when,
without warning, he was flung violently to the floor by a shock like
that of an earthquake. It was accompanied by a dull roar and an awful
sound of crashing and rending. At the same time the ship seemed to be
lifted bodily. Then she fell back, apparently striking on her side,
and for several minutes rolled with sickening lurches, as though in the
trough of a heavy sea.
In the meantime Cabot was struggling furiously to open his stateroom
door; but it had so jammed in its casing that his utmost efforts failed
to move it. The steel deck beams overhead were twisted like willow
wands, the iron side of the ship was crumpled as though it were a sheet
of paper, and with every downward lurch a torrent of icy water poured
in about the air port, which, though still closed, had been wrenched
out of position. With a horrid dread the prisoner realised that unless
quickly released he must drown where he was, and, unable to open the
door, he began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of its
panels.
[Illustration: He began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of
its panels.]
With his first effort in this direction there came another muffled roar
like that of an explosion, and he felt the ship quiver as though it
were being rent in twain. At the same moment his door flew open of its
own accord, and he was nearly suffocated by an inrush of steam.
Springing forward, and blindly groping his way through this, the
bewildered lad finally reached the stairs he had so recently descended.
In another minute he had gained the deck, where he stood gasping for
breath and vainly trying to discover what terrible thing had happened.
Not a human being was to be seen, and the forward part of the ship was
concealed beneath a dense cloud of steam and smoke that hung over it
like a pall. Cabot fancied he could distinguish shouting in that
direction, and attempted to gain the point from which it seemed to
come; but found the way barred by a yawning opening in the deck, from
which poured smoke and flame as though it were the crater of a volcano.
Then he ran back, and at length found himself on top of the after
house, cutting with his pocket knife at the lashings of a life raft;
for he realised that the ship was sinking so rapidly that she might
plunge to the bottom at any moment.
Five minutes later he lay prone on the buoyant raft, clutching the
sides of its wooden platform, while it spun like a storm-driven leaf in
the vortex marking the spot where the ill-fated. "Lavinia" had sunk.