RIDING THE STORM
True to their promise, when the _Wanderer_ returned, Florence and Katie
prepared a grand feast of roast chicken, hot biscuits and coffee for the
weary young fire-fighters. None enjoyed this more than did Mike and Tony.
“When the next war comes,” Tony laughed, “you join up as Captain and
we’ll be your privates!” Coming from Tony this was high praise.
“One thing sure,” Dave said, after the feast was over, “if you ever again
need help from those boys you’ll get it without a murmur.”
“Chickens come high!” was Florence’s strange reply. “But I guess it’s
worth it.”
Yes, chicken did come high. All those dressed birds must be replaced, and
the little company’s purse was very flat. There was a worried note in
Dave’s voice as he said, “Tomorrow we must return to the mainland for
fuel oil. I wonder if we get it? The last bill isn’t paid yet!”
That worry was still with them as, after unloading the fishermen’s goods,
they headed away across the glassy waters of Superior. But when Father
Superior is in a happy mood, who can worry? “Never,” Florence thought,
“was the water so smooth or the sky so blue.”
With Indian John at the wheel and Katie’s galley sending out delicious
odors, the three of them, Dave, Florence and Jeanne, sat on deck looking
dreamily off across the water.
“There is a phantom fisherman off the end of Edward’s Island,” Jeanne
murmured, half talking to herself.
“A fisherman, but no phantom,” Dave insisted.
“It is our privilege in this life,” said Jeanne, “to have what we want,
provided we tread on no one’s toes. I want a phantom fisherman, so I
shall have one. You want a real fisherman. You may have him, too. Neither
of us wishes any fish, so what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dave agreed.
“One thing is important,” Florence insisted. “Are those fires on the
island being set?”
“No,” said Dave.
“But I’ve been told they were,” insisted his cousin. “Twice I’ve heard
it.”
“Who told you?”
“I—I don’t know. That’s the queer part.” She went on to tell of the
strange voice.
“Probably some ignorant fisherman talking nonsense,” was Dave’s verdict.
“They cling to these crags trying to eke out a living until they get a
little cracked in the head.”
To this, Florence would not agree. She had heard the voice. She had seen
the mysterious youth and was sure she would see him again.
“Questions that interest me more are—shall we be allowed to continue
carrying passengers?” said Dave, “and can we get more fuel oil on credit?
Upon these answers depends our future.”
“And perhaps the future of the island,” Florence added soberly.
“Yes, even that,” Dave admitted.
“Well,” Dave laughed as, late that day, his boat tied up at Houghton, he
slowly paced the dock, “we won’t have to worry about the future for a day
or two. This nor’wester will keep us in port, come what will.” Just as
they entered the canal, ten miles from Houghton, a wild storm had come
booming in.
“Couldn’t we make a trip if we had to?” Florence asked.
“Well, if we had to, I suppose we could.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” a brusque voice interrupted.
“Why?” Dave stared. He found himself looking into the keen, gray eyes of
the elderly man whom with his granddaughter, they had rescued some days
before from Greenstone Ridge on Isle Royale.
“They are having a hard time on the island,” the man explained. “Chips
wants more pumps and hose. There are pumps here—twenty of them—and ten
thousand feet of hose. I’d like—”
“But I don’t see—” Dave broke in.
“You don’t see how that affects me,” the man laughed. “I happen to be an
assistant national park commissioner; so this is my job. I am Colonel
Colby.”
“Oh-o,” Dave breathed, “and you want us to make a trip to Isle Royale?”
“It is imperative. The pumps must go. The _Iroquois_ is in port, but she
is old and clumsy. She’d not be safe, but your boat—”
“She’d do all right, but—” Dave hesitated, “our passenger license expires
tonight.”
“Passenger license!” The old man’s voice rose. “Who said anything about
passengers? Of course,” he added, “I shall go with you, but—I,” he
hesitated. “Well, you may ship me as freight,” he laughed heartily.
“Anyway, I represent the Government.”
“All right. Bring on your pumps. We’ll run down for fresh fuel. Be back
here in half an hour,” was the young skipper’s reply.
“One thing more,” he hesitated, “I hate to tell you this. You may think
we’re whining, but I doubt if our credit for fuel is good.”
“I’ll attend to that also,” the colonel replied without a second’s
hesitation.
“O.K. We’ll be with you in an hour.”
“That’s the talk!” The colonel gripped Dave’s hand for an instant, then
was away.
When two hours later the _Wanderer_ nosed her way out of the smooth water
of the canal into the surging seas that swept Lake Superior, Dave caught
his breath. Had he, for once, overestimated the cruising power of his
stout little craft? Only time would tell. The _Wanderer_ appeared to
glory in its battle with the waters. Climbing one monstrous wave, it
glided down the breaker’s slope, only to start climbing again. Great
splashes of white spray were dashed against the pilothouse window. The
deck was all awash; yet the _Wanderer’s_ motors throbbed sweetly as the
gallant boat forged its way ahead.
Night came. The storm increased. The black waves of night seemed more
terrible than those of the day. Struggling into her little galley, Katie
braced herself stiff-legged against a screwed-down table while she
prepared sandwiches for the weary men.
Below deck, one of the twenty pumps, breaking its moorings, threatened to
smash the others into bits. Only after many bumps and bruises was Rufus
able to restore it to its proper place.
“Wi-wild night,” Dave’s words were blown down his throat as he reached
gratefully for his sandwich.
“Tho-thought I saw a light,” Florence screamed.
“Sure! Sure! There it is!” Dave shouted. “Must be Passage Island. And
boy, oh, boy! If it is, we’re right on our course!”
They were on their course. They had Indian John to thank for that. One
peril still lay before them—the narrow, rocky entrance of Rock Harbor.
Could they make it? There was a prayer in every heart as they neared the
dark bulks looming out of the night.
“Little islands that guard the channel,” Dave explained, playing his
ship’s light upon them. “They’re all solid rock. And you don’t see all of
them. Some are just under the water. One touch on a night like this, and—
“There! There’s the gap!” he exclaimed excitedly. “It’s straight ahead of
us, one marker to the right and one to the left. Thank God, the waves are
striking the island squarely! We’ll ride them like a bucking broncho.
“Now!” he breathed, as a huge breaker bore them forward.
“Now!” Florence exclaimed, as a second, larger than the first, broke with
a hiss under the _Wanderer’s_ prow.
“And now!” shouted the gray-haired colonel, as the stout little craft
glided off the last wave to the calm of Rock Harbor. “That—that was
marvelous!” He gripped Florence and Dave by the hands. “I wouldn’t have
missed it for the world. And now,” he added quietly, “now for Chips.
He’ll be waiting.”
Chips was waiting, and it was the privilege of the young navigators to
witness his marvelous efficiency. With the smoothness of clockwork, his
men marched aboard the boat, thrust rope-lashed poles beneath each pump,
then disappeared into the night.
“That’ll lick the fire,” Chips murmured. “Besides, the wind’s shifting,
and there’s the smell of rain in the air.”
“There are good beds down at the lodge at the other end of the harbor,”
the gray-haired colonel turned to the _Wanderer’s_ crew. “You all need
some real rest. It’s smooth going all the way. What do you say we go down
and tie up there for twenty-four hours?”
“That,” exclaimed Florence, “would be keen!”
“And so say we all,” Dave echoed.
“O.K.,” he exclaimed, “John, you know this channel. Suppose you take the
wheel.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Indian John saluted.
“And now, how about a few words over a cup of coffee?” suggested the
colonel.
It was a very friendly chat they had with the colonel, as, with the light
of the moon streaming in at their window, they sat contentedly listening
to the distant roar of dashing waves.
Without seeming to pry into their affairs, the gray-haired man found out
just how matters stood with them.
“You’ve been doing a grand work,” he rumbled at last. “In a most splendid
spirit. Before I left I told Addison, the fuel man you know, to supply
all your needs. I shall stand back of you in this.”
“Oh, that—that’s grand!” Florence choked a little.
“I don’t know how we can thank you, sir!” Dave said huskily.
“You don’t need to. This is perhaps but the beginning. I hope we have
much better things in store for you.”
“The little we have done has been for the good of the kindly people of
the island,” said Florence.
“And for the good of all,” added the colonel. “You must not forget that
Isle Royale is to be a national park. That it is to belong to all the
people of America. When you save a square mile of that virgin beauty you
are saving it for all the American people.
“By the way,” he said after a moment’s silence, “That man with the speed
boat doesn’t like you very well, does he? I suppose you know the reason
why.”
“No,” was Florence’s quick reply, “we have wondered about him ever since
we brought him to the island and he seemed ready to put us in chains
because we insisted on helping to save the camp at Siskowit.”
“He’s threatened to have our license revoked,” Dave put in. “It all seems
a bit fantastic. We really never did anything to him.”
“No, probably not,” the colonel agreed. “But your grandfather did and it
is his boat you are operating, I am told.”
“Grandfather! Grandfather?” they exclaimed. “He never wronged anyone.”
“He never did,” the colonel agreed, “but he got in bad by doing right.
This man who has chosen you for an enemy was once running a boat contrary
to regulations, carrying many more passengers than the law allows,
endangering people’s lives. The authorities asked your grandfather about
it. Being the sort of man who hates lies, he told the truth.”
“Good for Granddad!” Florence exclaimed.
“Right,” the gray-haired man agreed. “For all that, he made himself a
lifetime enemy. But,” he added, “you need not worry further about him. I
shall see that he is properly taken care of.
“Look!” he exclaimed springing to the window, “we are at Snug Harbor—our
night of storm is over. I shall arrange at once for your accommodations
at the Lodge.”
“We are to have a hot bath and sleep between clean, white sheets,”
Florence whispered to Jeanne. “How perfectly grand!”
Scarcely had their boat touched the dock when Katie began talking in her
own tongue to a fisherman whose small boat was tied up to the dock.
“He says,” she exclaimed eagerly, “that he is going to the camp at
Siskowit where mine brother is. I do so wish to see him.”
“Is he coming back?” Florence asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Let her go,” said Dave. “She’ll catch up with us somewhere.”
So the happy Katie went gliding away through the dawn with her new-found
friend. She had dinner that day with her brother and his companions at
camp. That night, fired with enthusiasm by the talk of the boys who had
only words of praise for the _Wanderer_ and her crew, she returned to
Rock Harbor in plenty of time to take up her duties.