A SEA VOYAGE.
It was not long after this little conversation that the tug-boat was
bravely puffing out to sea. The wind was strong and the waves ran
pretty high, but the boat made her way over the rough water without
difficulty.
The boys were delighted with the motion of the vessel as it plunged
over the waves, and none of them felt in the least degree sick.
Chap wished to go out on the bow, where he could stand and see the boat
“breast the billows;” but he was not allowed to do this, for every now
and then a shower of spray came over the bows, and he would have been
drenched to the skin in ten minutes. Even where they sat in the stern,
the boys were frequently treated to a shower of spray; but this, as
they wore their overcoats, they did not mind in the least.
It took them longer to near the schooner than they had supposed it
would, for she was making very slow headway against the wind, and in
some of her long tacks she seemed to the boys as if she were trying to
keep out of their way.
At last, however, they reached her, and the tug steamed close enough to
her side to allow the people on board to be hailed. But, to the disgust
of the captain of the tug-boat, his offers to tow the disabled vessel
into shelter were declined.
Her captain believed that he could work her in without any help, and he
did not wish to incur the expense of being towed.
“All right, then!” said the captain of the tug-boat to the boys, who
stood near him. “She can run in by herself, and perhaps she’ll make
the Breakwater in a week or two. We have lost nothing but some of our
owners’ coal, and you fellows have had a sea trip. And now we will run
back again.”
The captain made two mistakes that day. One was when he thought he was
going to make some money by towing a schooner and the other was when he
thought he was going to run in again.
The tug-boat had not gone ten minutes on her returning course, when
suddenly her machinery stopped, and in a few moments the boat turned
about and began to roll in the trough of the sea.
There was now a good deal of confusion in the engine-room, and there
the boys made their way, not without difficulty, for the rolling motion
of the boat made it very hard for them to keep their feet.
In the engine-room they found the captain, the engineer, and one or two
others of the small crew. Something had broken, the boys knew not what,
for no one seemed to have time to explain the matter to them.
Efforts were being made to repair the injury. There was a great deal of
hammering and banging and loud talking, and presently the engine let
off the steam from the boiler, which made such a noise it was almost
impossible to hear anything that was not shouted into one’s ear.
Perceiving that they were in the way, and could find out nothing, and
were to be told nothing, the boys prudently retired into the inner
cabin. Here Phil and Chap became quite sick. They could stand the
pitching and tossing of the boat as she rose over and plunged down the
waves, but this rolling motion was too much for them.
The two unfortunates crawled into the little bunks in which they had
slept the night before, while Phœnix, with an air of brave resignation,
braced himself against the cabin-door, and waited to see what would
happen next.
Nothing seemed to happen next. After awhile the noise of the escaping
steam grew less, and then it stopped. The hammering and banging had
also ceased, and thinking that everything was all right now, Phœnix
went forward to see how things were going on.
It was not easy to see much, for the engine-room was lighted only by
a hanging lantern, but he met the captain, who informed him that they
were in a bad way. One of the connecting-rods had been broken, and
as the engine was not stopped soon enough, some other parts of the
machinery had been damaged.
“We have tried to patch her up,” said the captain, “but it is no go.
All we can do is to make everything tight, and lie here until some
vessel comes along to give us a tow in. This has been a pretty bad day
for us, for we’re not going to take any steamer up the river to-morrow.”
“How long do you think you’ll have to stay here?” asked Phœnix.
“Don’t know,” answered the captain. “Something may come along pretty
soon, and we may not be towed in till morning. But you needn’t be
afraid. We’ll make everything tight, and though we may roll and pitch,
we won’t take in any water.”
“I suppose that vessel with a broken mast couldn’t help us?” said
Phœnix.
“No,” said the captain, “it is more than she can do to take care of
herself, and she is out of sight now, although she isn’t any nearer
the Breakwater than we are.”
“Perhaps some steamboat will come out after us when they find we don’t
come back,” suggested Phœnix.
“That may be,” said the captain, willing to give his young passengers
as much encouragement as possible. “But you fellows had better get
something to eat, and turn in. You’ll be more comfortable in your bunks
while we are rolling about in this way.”
But Chap and Phil did not want anything to eat. The very idea was
horrible to them. And so Phœnix ate his hard biscuit and some cold
meat, for there seemed to be no intention of even boiling a pot of
coffee, and then he crawled into his little bunk.
“Boys,” groaned Chap, “I don’t care for a tug-boat as much as I used
to.”
“Care for it!” said Phil, in a weak voice. “I hope I may never----”
And here his remark ended; he was too sick to say what he hoped.
The night was a horrible one. Occasionally the boys slept; but as they
found, whenever they dropped into a doze, they were very apt to roll
out of their bunks, they were obliged to keep awake most of the time.
As soon as daylight appeared, they were all anxious to go outside,
feeling that a breath of fresh air would be better than anything
else in the world. This the captain, who seemed to have been up all
night, would not allow.
[Illustration: The rescue.]
“You’d be washed overboard,” he said, “and things are bad enough as
they are, without any of you getting drowned. There’s a regular gale
off shore, and we haven’t sighted an inward-bound steamer yet.”
In the course of an hour or two, it was evident that a vessel ought
to be sighted very soon, for the tug, which was not built for such
rough work as this, had, in spite of the efforts of the crew to make
everything tight on the decks, shipped a good deal of water, and it was
necessary to work the pumps. But this did not help matters, for it was
found that a leak had sprung somewhere, and the water came in faster
than it could be pumped out.
The tug was now far from the land, and in the path of coastwise
steamers; and before noon the welcome sight of a line of smoke appeared
on the horizon. It was a steamer which was approaching them, but,
unfortunately, it was going southward, and not northward.
“She’s a Savannah steamer,” said the captain, “but we’ve got to git on
board of her, no matter where she is going; for this old boat can’t
stand this sort of thing much longer. We’ve been blowing out from
shore all night, and there’s no time for anything to come out after us
now.”
The boys looked aghast.
“Savannah!” they cried. “We don’t want to go to Savannah!”
“It’s a good sight better place than the bottom of the ocean,” said the
captain.
It was a bad bargain for the boys, but they had to make the best of it.
“What are you going to do in Savannah?” asked Phœnix, in a tone of
dismay.
“It can’t take us more than a couple of days to get there,” said Phil,
“and then we can telegraph home. As soon as our folks know where we
are, I shall feel that everything is all right.”
“I shan’t feel that anything is all right until we know where we are
ourselves,” said Chap, looking out of one of the little windows of the
cabin. “Did you ever see such a pokey old steamer as that is? I believe
we shall sink before she gets to us.”
But this unfortunate event did not happen, although the tug was very
deep in the water and rolling heavily when the steamer lay to, with her
bow to the wind, a few hundred yards away from them.
A large boat was speedily lowered and rowed to the tug. In less than
half an hour the unfortunate occupants of the sinking tug-boat had been
taken on the steamer.
A few articles were brought away from the tug, and the boys were
allowed to carry with them their valises.
As soon as the boat-load of people was on the steamer, and the boat
hauled up to its davits, the vessel put about, and proceeded on her way.
As the boys looked back, they saw the little tug, with her smoke-stack
very much on one side, and but little of her hull visible, tossing and
pitching on the waves.
“She isn’t good for another half-hour,” said the engineer, who stood by.
The party rescued from the sinking tug-boat was very kindly received on
board the steamer, but it was quite evident, even to the hopeful and
enthusiastic Chap, that there was no intention of putting back for the
Breakwater.
The boys had never been on an ocean steamer before, and would have been
greatly delighted with their present experience had it not been for the
feeling that every movement of the ponderous engine beneath them was
taking them farther and farther from their homes.
It would be impossible for their friends to hear from them for at least
two days, and the news that the tug-boat had gone out to sea, and never
returned, would probably reach Boontown very soon.
All three were very much dejected when they thought of the misery and
grief which the intelligence would cause in their families, and Phœnix
seemed more downcast than either of the others.
“If father believes I’m drowned,” he said, “it’ll be just his way to
go about grieving that he worked me too hard. I know I made him think
that, but I didn’t do so much after all.”
“If my folks look at the thing in that light,” said Chap, “they’ll
grieve that they didn’t get more out of me before I was drowned.”
“I don’t believe there’ll be as much mourning as you think,” said Phil.
“Uncle will be on hand, and he’s been in so many scrapes, and pulled
through them all, that he knows just about how things will turn up. I
bet it won’t be half an hour after he hears the news before he thinks
out the whole thing, and has made all your people see that it’s as
clear as daylight that we’ve been carried out to sea, and picked up by
some steamer, and that we’ll be heard from soon after she gets to her
port. He’ll know that there wasn’t storm enough to wreck a good, stout
tug-boat, and that something must have got out of order, so that she
was carried out to sea.”
“If that one-masted schooner ever got in,” said Phœnix, “she’d let them
know there was something wrong with us, for she must have seen or heard
us blowing off steam.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Chap, “for before I turned into my
sick-bed, the vessel was pretty well out of sight. We were going in
opposite directions, as well as I could make out.”
“That was because she was sailing against the wind, and had to make
long tacks,” said Phœnix.
“Do you suppose I didn’t know that?” asked Chap, drawing himself up in
such an erect position that a great lurch of the vessel nearly threw
him off his feet.
“We might as well make the best of it,” said Phil, “and have a good
time. In a couple of days we will be in Savannah, and when we have
telegraphed home, everybody’ll be all serene, if they are not now.”
“Your head’s level, Phil,” said Chap. “Let’s go and explore the ship.”
On the breezy deck of the steamer, none of the boys felt in the least
degree sea-sick, and they went about in high spirits. The purser, a
good-natured man, took them in charge, and showed them the engine-room
and various parts of the vessel, but it was not long before he gave
them a piece of information which nearly took their breath away.
In answer to an inquiry in regard to the time at which they might
expect to reach Savannah, the purser told them that the vessel could
not stop at that port at all. The captain of the tug-boat had been
right in saying that this was a Savannah steamer, but she had been
temporarily withdrawn from that line, and was now bound for Nassau, in
the Bahamas.
“When will we get there?” asked Chap. “Can we telegraph from Nassau?”
“We shall reach Nassau in about four days,” said the purser, “but there
is no cable from those islands. You will have to carry the news of your
safety yourselves when we bring you back to New York.”
“Can’t we send a letter?” asked Phil.
“Not any sooner than you can come yourselves,” said the purser, “for we
shall bring back the mail from Nassau to the United States.”
“And how long will it be before you get back to New York?” asked Phil.
“I don’t know just how long we shall lie at Nassau,” said the
good-natured purser; “but I think it will be ten or twelve days before
we are in New York again.”
“Won’t we meet some ship that will take us back or carry a letter?”
asked Phœnix.
“I can’t say,” replied the purser. “The captain will do what he can
for you, but I don’t know that he will have a chance of putting you
on board a northern-bound steamer, or of sending news of you to your
friends.”
[Illustration]