AN ACT OF COURTESY.
“Captain Penniman, I have been tempted to jump overboard and drown
myself,” said Van Wolter, as he grasped my hand when I stepped on board
of the Ucayga.
His face was the impersonation of abject misery, and I realized that he
was suffering intensely.
“Don’t take it so hard, captain,” I replied, pressing his hand.
“Accidents do happen to the best of men.”
“I am ruined!” groaned he.
“Not at all! There is no ruin about it. How did it happen?”
“I hardly know. I suppose I gave her a little too much helm, and she
got to swinging.”
“Did you stop her wheels?”
“Yes; but I had to hug the port side to keep her from swinging, and
then she ran on.”
“She has gone on pretty hard, I see.”
“Yes, she has; I have done everything I could to haul her off; but she
sticks tight.”
“You had nothing to work with, and you could hardly expect to get her
off. But what have you done?” I inquired.
“I have doubled up all the hawsers, and carried them ashore to that
tree on the Shooter. Then we heaved on the capstan, till the hawser
parted. But I have tied the parts together, and we were going to try
again just as you came.”
“All right. That’s a good idea,” I added.
“But I don’t see what you can do with that boat in the Horse Shoe
Channel. If you attempt to haul us off with her, you must keep her in
the deep water, and that will only pull us on the harder.”
“I think we can manage that,” I replied, moving towards the
engine-room, where my father was in charge.
The passengers crowded around me, and not a few of them were unkind
enough to say things which must have wounded the feelings of Van
Wolter. I found that my father had kept steam up, and I told him in
brief the plan upon which I intended to operate. I have said before
that I had always been a diligent student in scientific subjects,
especially in the department of mechanics and machinery. I am confident
now that I could never have taken the Ucayga through the narrow
and curving channel of the Horse Shoe without the information thus
obtained; and it was the want of this scientific knowledge which had
caused Van Wolter to run the boat on the shore. He knew the channel,
and had the bearings, but he had made his blunder in handling the boat.
“Now, captain, we will go to work,” said I. “Let your men bring that
hawser to the shaft.”
He promptly followed my directions, without asking any questions.
“Pass the rope under and over the shaft. Give it about three turns,” I
continued.
“I see the idea,” replied Van Wolter; “but I am afraid the hawser will
part.”
“You must not let it part. If it strains too hard, ease it off,” I
answered, giving him a fuller explanation of my plan.
Having seen the hawser properly adjusted, I returned to the jolly-boat
at the bow. While I was engaged at the shaft, Waddie had been talking
with the passengers, and as he joined me, I heard him assure a group of
them that I should be restored to my former position.
“You must not be too fast, Waddie,” said I, as the boat pulled towards
the tug, which had by this time arrived at the upper end of the channel.
“I am not too fast.”
“I think you are. You are very kind; but I am not sure that your
promises can be redeemed.”
“If they cannot be, the Steamboat Line is ruined. The passengers say
they will never go in the Ucayga again while she is under her present
management; and I don’t blame them either,” added Waddie, warmly.
“But I am not sure that your father will consent to any change.”
“He must consent.”
We boarded the tug-boat, which was plentifully supplied with hawsers
for towing canal-boats. I ran her under the starboard quarter of the
Ucayga, and carried off a stout rope, which was made fast to a big
cleat on deck. I pointed out a barn on the main shore, and directed the
captain to run for it when I gave him the signal.
Taking one of the tow-boat’s heaviest hawsers into the boat, the end
of which had been made fast at the stern of the Ucayga, I carried it
to the Ruoara, where it was secured. By the several arrangements I had
made, four different forces were to act upon the grounded steamer--her
own paddles, the hawser on her shaft, made fast to the tree on the
Shooter, the line to the tow-boat, and the one to the Ruoara. The last
two, however, were to form a compound force. The tug-boat was to pull
at right angles with the keel of the Ucayga, while the Ruoara was to
act, at an acute angle, on the opposite side of the keel. The latter
line would haul her more on the sand, while the former would pull her
square off. The resultant of these two forces would carry her in the
direction opposite that in which she had run on the bank. The hawser
fastened to the tree, and the Ucayga’s wheels, would both act in the
same direction.
Returning to the jolly-boat again, I took position near the grounded
steamer, where the captains of the three boats could see me. I had told
the mate of the Ruoara to steer for a point which would keep him in the
channel. At the word from me, all three steamers were to start their
wheels, the Ucayga back, and the other two forward.
“Are you all ready?” I shouted.
“All ready,” replied the captains, one after another.
“Go ahead!” I called.
I confess that my heart beat wildly as the wheels of the three steamers
began to turn. I had laid my plan very carefully, and a minute more was
to decide whether it was success or failure. The hawser to the tree
straightened, strained, and groaned, and the water splashed and rolled
behind the wheels of the boat.
“She moves!” cried Captain Van Wolter; and I thought I could hear the
keel grate upon the sand.
The moment the Ucayga felt the full force of the power exerted, she
slid off the bank and righted. The crowd of passengers on deck gave
three deafening cheers.
“Stop her!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs, at the same time making
violent gestures to the three boats.
The order was promptly obeyed.
“Go ahead, Ucayga!” I continued, fearful that she would take the ground
on the other side of the channel.
Van Wolter started the wheels, and checked her; but she lay obliquely
across the channel, where it was impossible to start her.
“Cast off the hawser on the quarter!” I called to Van Wolter, as my
boat pulled under the Ucayga’s counter. “Go ahead, Ruoara!” I added, to
the captain of this boat.
The Ruoara went ahead until I told her to stop, and the effect was
to haul the stern of the Ucayga round, so that she lay square in the
channel. After the hawser to the tree had been cast off, I went on
board of her, and hastening to my accustomed place in the wheel-house,
I started her ahead, taking the helm myself. As she had no headway on,
it was not necessary to hug the port side of the channel as closely as
usual--an apparent neglect which bothered Van Wolter. I explained to
him the reasons for my action, assuring him that the only difficulty in
going through the passage was in correctly providing for the swing of
the boat.
“I shall never take her through there again,” said he.
“You will soon get the hang of it,” I replied, as I rang to stop her.
“I will help you.”
“Are you not going down with us?”
“No; I must return to Centreport. You can go round the Horse Shoe on
your up trip,” I answered, as I hastened to the jolly-boat, which was
towing astern.
The passengers greeted me very warmly, and said ever so many
complimentary things; but I did not want to hear any of them. I assured
them that they were in season for the afternoon trains; and Waddie
and I leaped into the boat, which pulled for the Ruoara. As we passed
the tug-boat, she was directed to return to Centreport. I piloted
the steamer in which I had come up out of the narrow passage, and we
arrived at Middleport in ample season for her to make her trip up the
lake.
Major Toppleton and Tommy were on the wharf when we landed, and I
informed them of the success of the plan we had adopted. The father
seemed to be a little nervous; and I think he was really pleased with
what he had done, though his pride would not permit him to say so.
“Do you think your father would do as much for me, Waddie, if one of my
boats got aground?” said he, after we had discussed the matter.
“I am afraid not, sir; but I would,” replied Waddie.
“Give my regards to your father, and tell him I am glad the Ucayga has
got off;” added the major, laughing, so that we could not tell whether
he was in jest or in earnest.
“I will, with pleasure, sir,” answered Waddie, as the major left the
spot.
“Does he mean it?” asked Waddie, after musing a moment.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Neither do I,” said Tommy; “but I have sometimes thought that, if
Colonel Wimpleton would meet him half way, he would be glad to heal up
all the old sores.”
“Well, I must go home,” continued Waddie. “Good by.”
“Hold on; I am going over with you,” I interposed. “I have your
father’s check, which I intended to draw, though I suppose the bank is
closed by this time.”
“No matter if it is. You shall have your money, if they have to open
the bank for you.”
I went over with him in the Raven, more because I wanted to hear what
people said on the other side than because I was anxious to get my
money that day. Colonel Wimpleton was on the wharf, talking with the
captain of the tug-boat, which had just arrived. He had heard the
result of the efforts to relieve the Ucayga by this time, and the
captain appeared to be giving him the details of the movement. He saw
me as we landed, but he took no notice of me.
“Major Toppleton sends his regards to you, and says he is glad the
Ucayga has been got off,” said Waddie.
“What!” exclaimed the magnate, his cheeks reddening.
His son repeated the message, and I waited with intense interest to
observe the effect upon him. To my surprise, he did not go into a
passion, though I saw him frown,--perhaps from the force of habit.
For my own part, I could not see how the colonel, after this kind and
conciliatory act by his rival, could say or think any harsh thing. It
was true we, the young peacemakers, had rather extorted the courteous
deed from the major; but it had been done.
“Did you pay for the use of the boat?” asked the colonel, after
frowning and pursing up his lips for a moment, as if to hide his
vexation.
“No, sir; certainly not. It would have been little less than an insult
to offer to pay for what was done simply as an act of courtesy.”
Colonel Wimpleton was evidently very much troubled; but, instead of
pursuing the matter any farther, he began to question the captain of
the tow-boat in regard to the event of the day. I did not consider
myself justified in listening to the conversation, and so I walked up
the wharf. Waddie followed me.