BOARDING THE ADMIRAL
“You will take the boys over to Niagara to see the Falls, I suppose,”
observed Mrs. Atwood, looking at her husband when breakfast was
finished.
“Oh, jolly! I’ve always wanted to go there, and this may be our only
chance for years,” exclaimed Ted, eagerly.
Mr. Atwood, however, did not enthuse over the suggestion, being
seemingly occupied in some mental calculation, but finally he said:
“I suppose I can, though I had not thought of it. Yes, we’ll go. A
couple of hours more or less will not make much difference now that I
have held the boat so long.”
His last words quickly checked the delight the boys were expressing at
the opportunity to see the glorious spectacle, and Phil asked, in
evident concern:
“Do you mean you have held the Admiral for Ted and me, Mr. Atwood?”
“It doesn’t matter,” smiled their host. “Come, we must—”
“But indeed it _does_ matter,” interrupted Phil. “Did you hold the
boat?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. She would have sailed at midnight for Toledo
to load coal had I not received Bronson’s wire.”
“For Toledo?” exclaimed Mrs. Atwood. “Why can’t you load here, and then
the boys would have plenty of time to enjoy the falls and inspect the
power-house on the Canadian side? I thought it was your policy never to
send a boat up Lake Erie empty when you could help it?”
“This is one of the times when it cannot be helped. There is a report
that some one has put dynamite in the coal at the docks, and none of the
fleet managers, certainly _I_ do not, care to run the risk of losing any
boat by loading here. But come on, boys, we are only losing time by
talking. Will you go with us, my dear?” and Mr. Atwood looked at his
wife. Ere she could reply, however, Phil spoke. “We could not think of
causing any more delay, Mr. Atwood,” he declared. “It was more than kind
of you to hold the boat as long as you have. We’ll leave Niagara as a
sight for the future; it won’t do to see everything at once, there’ll be
nothing left, you know.”
The look of relief that showed on Mr. Atwood’s face at the words made
both boys glad they had renounced the trip to the Falls. And after
thanking Mrs. Atwood for her hospitality, they followed the ship-owner
to the piazza, expecting to see his automobile ready to take them to the
dock.
“We will go out to the Admiral in my launch,” said he, reading the boys’
thoughts. “It will save any unpleasantness along the waterfront.” And
without more ado he set out at a brisk pace along a path which led
through spacious grounds to a float at the shore of Lake Erie.
As they proceeded, they met several big powerful men, with whom their
host spoke, and saw several others in the distance, evidently patrolling
the estate.
Their presence, coupled with the incident at the station and Mr.
Atwood’s remark about the coal, suddenly filled the boys with an
appreciation of the gravity of the situation, and they could not but
admire the manner in which the ship-owner went about his business when
he knew his movements were fraught with a danger so menacing that police
offered him escort protection and watchmen guarded his home.
“Don’t you think we’d better go by train?” whispered Ted to his brother.
“And let Mr. Atwood and Mr. Bronson and Dr. Blair think we are
‘quitters’ after all the trouble to which they have been put?” retorted
Phil.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” returned the younger boy.
“Then keep your wits about you.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” exclaimed Mr. Atwood,
pausing until the boys came up with him. “I do not think there is any
danger, though I advise you—I’d forbid you if I had the authority—not to
go ashore wherever the Admiral touches. Our crew has been selected with
great care, and Captain Perkins is one of the best men on the lakes.
Still, if you prefer, I’ll get your tickets and you can go right through
to your destination by train.”
“We’d rather, at least _I_ should rather, go up the lakes on the
Admiral,” said Ted, flushing deeply to think his momentary lapse of
courage had been noticed.
“Then go you shall,” smiled the ship-owner, and without more ado they
went down to the float and entered a speedy-looking launch.
Scarcely had they seated themselves when the lines were cast loose,
three men on the dock stepped aboard, the man at the engine pressed some
levers, and the launch shot out into the lake.
“Look at those big boats anchored ’way out there,” exclaimed Ted, as the
launch rounded an arm of the inlet, which sheltered Mr. Atwood’s
boathouse and float, and gave them a glimpse of the city’s harbour
within the breakwater.
“The one farthest out, from which you can see smoke rising, is the
Admiral,” announced Mr. Atwood.
“What a beauty!” chorused both boys, while Phil added:
“How much ore can she carry?”
“A little more than thirteen thousand tons.”
“She must be a whopper,” enthused Ted.
“She is. She is one of the biggest carriers on the lakes, five hundred
and ninety-four feet over all and sixty-foot beam. She—”
His words were interrupted, however, by the movement, in the bow, of the
three men who had boarded the launch at the float.
So quickly that the boys could not see whence they had taken them, each
man laid a rifle across his knees, ready for instant use, while they
watched intently another launch that was bearing directly toward them.
Dazzlingly the sunlight glistened on the rifle barrels. Apparently the
occupants of the other launch understood the cause of the scintillant
flashes, for the boat suddenly veered, made a dangerously short turn,
and dashed away up the lake. But the guards in Mr. Atwood’s launch did
not lay aside their weapons.
As they approached the Admiral, several men came to the rail.
“Boat ahoy! What do you want?” challenged one of them.
“Owner,” answered a guard on the launch, and as the speedy craft ran
alongside, a rope-ladder was quickly lowered from the deck, towering
thirty feet above.
“I think you can climb aboard all right?” asked Mr. Atwood, as one of
his men caught the end of the ladder.
“Surely,” exclaimed Phil and Ted.
“Then good-bye, a pleasant trip and good luck with your homestead,”
exclaimed the ship-owner, shaking each boy cordially by the hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Atwood, and for your kindness too,” returned his young
guests. A nod and a smile was their answer as their host looked up and
called: “Tell Perkins to come to the rail.” Already their luggage was
being hauled aboard the ore carrier, as the word for the captain was
passed along the deck, and Ted gave his brother a nudge.
“Come on; everybody will think we’re afraid,” he whispered, then hurried
to the dangling ladder, grasped its rope sides, and scrambled,
monkey-like, up toward the deck, quickly followed by Phil.
“Steady, there, steady! Take your time,” admonished a kindly voice above
them, as the rope-ladder swung and banged against the vessel’s iron
plates. “That’s better. Keep a firm hold with your hands. There you
are.”
And as Ted reached the rail, two strong hands seized him under the arms
and lifted him aboard, repeating the action with his brother.
“Those are Phil and Ted Porter, Perkins,” called Mr. Atwood, “the boys
for whom you were waiting. Remember, I shall hold you personally
responsible for their safe arrival at Duluth.”
“They’ll get there O.K.,” smiled the captain, shaking each guest
cordially by the hand in completion of the introduction. “Any change in
orders, Mr. Atwood?”
“No. Clear as soon as you can and good luck to you,” returned the
ship-owner.
And while the boys waved and shouted goodbyes to Mr. Atwood as his
launch sped away, sailors scurried about the ore carrier’s deck, orders
were shouted. Captain Perkins mounted his bridge, and chains began to
clank, announcing the hauling up of the anchors.
Fascinated, Phil and Ted watched the big boat swing in answer to her
helm, then straighten out for her run through the breakwater entrance,
on the first leg of her trip.
“Look! look! There’s that launch coming toward us again,” suddenly cried
Ted, pointing excitedly to the boat that had fled at the action of Mr.
Atwood’s guards.
Others had heard the boys’ exclamation beside his brother, however, and
four quick-moving men sprang to the rail, while members of the crew did
likewise, stringing all along the length of the deck.
When the launch had come within an hundred feet of the Admiral, one of
the four men near the boys shouted:
“Stand clear!”
In response, the speed of the launch was cut down and the occupants
raised three megaphones, through which they shouted:
“Scabs! Scabs! You’ll never get to Duluth!”
At the hated epithet several members of the crew drew back to the other
side of the deck, out of sight from the launch, and only the presence of
the first mate beside them held the boys, for they felt that
indescribable something about the derisive word which has cowed many a
burly labourer.
From the bridge, however, Captain Perkins gave answer with several
groaning toots on the whistle, but as the launch continued to follow,
the megaphones barking their scorn, the skipper, fearing the effect on
his crew, increased the volume of the whistle, those of the other ore
carriers that had steam up adding with blasts from their whistles, until
the cries were lost in the pandemonium of toots.