_WRECK_
Shorn of her power, the _Holter_ still followed her helmsman's course.
But it became a listless, sluggish course. The ship was like a suddenly
freed slave that does not know what to do with his own freedom.
For six years she had plodded Lake Michigan, always with the biggest
possible paying load and always working at top speed. Many times she had
groaned and protested, but she had been forced to obey the dictates of
the engine that turned her side wheel. Now the engine, the tyrant, was
dead from misuse of its own power. But without it the _Holter_ had
neither mind nor will of her own.
She smashed head-on into a mountainous wave that set her decks awash.
For another moment or two she held her course, carried by her own
momentum. Then, slowly and unwillingly, as though afraid to do such a
thing and not trusting herself to do it, she swung broadside to the
waves.
A muffled shout floated out of the engine room. Fat little Captain
Schultz, a slicker covering his round body and anxiety written on his
face, was peering down an opened hatch. Sluicing rain pelted the slicker
and bounded off. Ramsay's eyes found the deck hand.
Eyes wide and mouth agape, he was standing near the wheelhouse. Naked
terror was written on his face as he stared at something out in the
lake. Ramsay followed his gaze.
To the starboard, the right side of the _Holter_, the lake seemed
strangely calm. It was as though the wind and the storm did not strike
with outrageous strength there, and oddly as if that part of the water
might be commanded by some inexplicable force. Unable to tear his gaze
away, expecting to see something special, Ramsay kept his eyes riveted
on the calm water.
He saw a ripple, but not one born of storm and wind. There was something
here that had nothing to do with the driving wind, or the cold rain, or
even the tremendous waves. The deck hand covered his eyes with his hand.
At that instant, a great white apparition swam up through the water. It
was a ghost, a creature of nightmares, a terrible thing seen only in
terror-ridden moments. Ramsay controlled an impulse to shout or to flee.
The thing came up to within inches of the surface and wallowed there
like a greasy fat hog. Whitish-gray, rather than pure white, it flipped
an enormous tail while it sported near the surface.
The thing, a fish, seemed fully nine feet long and possibly it carried a
hundred pounds of weight for every foot. It bore no scales but seemed to
be clothed in an overlapping series of armored plates. Its snout,
pointed somewhat like a pig's, was tipped with barbels, or feelers. Dull
eyes showed.
Again Ramsay controlled his fear. The thing, sober judgment told him,
was nothing more or less than a great sturgeon, the mightiest fish of
these inland waters. The fact that it was white, rather than the
conventional gray-green or olive-green, was of no significance whatever.
All living creatures, from elephants down to mice, occasionally produced
an albino. It was not beyond reason that there could be an albino
sturgeon.
Ramsay watched while it swam, and some semblance of cool control
returned to his fevered imagination. This was no grotesque monster from
another world. Telling himself again that it was nothing more or less
than an unusual fish, he watched it sink back into the churning depths
from which it had arisen. He put a shaking hand on the _Holter's_ rail.
It was a fish and nothing else. None but superstitious people believed
in superstition. Then the deck hand's terrified shriek rose above the
keening wind.
"It's him! We seen it! The White Sturgeon! _Gar-hhh!_"
Mouth agape, the deck hand kept his eyes on that place where the White
Sturgeon had disappeared. A great wave washed across the deck, and when
it rolled away the deck hand was no longer visible. Ramsay shook his
head to clear it and looked again at the place where the deck hand had
been standing. Lake Michigan could swallow a man even easier than a pond
swallowed a pebble, for there had not been even a ripple to mark the
place where the deck hand had disappeared. There was not the slightest
possibility of rescuing him. The deck hand had seen the White Sturgeon!
A battering ram of a wave crashed into the _Holter's_ starboard side,
and Ramsay felt a cold chill travel up and down his spine. Fear laid its
icy fingers there, but he shook them off. The fact that the water had
been calm when the White Sturgeon made its appearance and was angry now
had nothing whatever to do with the fish. Rather, the calm water could
be attributed to some quirk, some phenomenon inherent in the storm
itself. Probably the White Sturgeon appeared because, for the moment,
the lake had been calm. Knowing that, the big fish had nosed its way to
the surface. Now that the lake was again storm-deviled, the White
Sturgeon was gone.
Bracing himself against the wind, Ramsay made his way across the deck to
the wheelhouse. He shivered, for the first time aware of the fact that
his clothing was rain-drenched and that he was very cold. It was a
penetrating, creeping cold that reached the inmost marrow of his bones.
When another wave smashed the _Holter_, Ramsay caught hold of the little
horse's cage to steady himself. Within the enclosure, nervous but still
not terrified, the black horse looked hopefully at him.
Ramsay reached the wheelhouse, and came face to face with Captain
Schultz. The little captain's slicker had blown open, so that now it was
of no use whatever in warding off the rain, but he had not seen fit to
close it again. It would do him no good if he did; his clothing was
already soaked.
Ramsay shouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. "What
happened?"
"The enchin, she kaput. Like that, she kaput."
Ramsay revised his opinions of the little Captain. At the pier, Captain
Schultz had been only a fat, fussy little man. Facing this dire
predicament, he was not terrified and had not given way to panic. He had
risen to the emergency. Maybe, Ramsay thought, anyone who sailed Lake
Michigan had to be able to rise to any emergency if he would continue
to sail. He shouted again, "Will the ship sink?"
"Ach, I don't know! If we can't get the enchin to go, she might."
"What do we do then?"
"Find somet'ing. Find anyt'ing, poy, an' swim. Be sure you find
somet'ing that does not sink mit you."
"How far are we from land?"
"Ach! That I cannot tell you."
"Did you see the White Sturgeon?"
"Yaah. We still try."
Captain Schultz went all the way into the wheelhouse and disappeared
into the hold. Dimly, out of the open hatchway, came the sound of
ringing hammers. There was a desperate tone in them, as though the men
working in the _Holter's_ hold were fully aware of the grave danger they
faced. On sudden impulse Ramsay ducked into the wheelhouse and descended
into the engine-room.
Captain Schultz held an oil lamp to illumine the labors of two men whom,
so far, Ramsay had not seen. Presumably they were the _Holter's_
engineer and fireman. Another deck hand and the mate stood by, passing
tools requested by the workers.
Down here, in the bowels of the _Holter_, the storm seemed a faraway and
almost an unreal thing. The howling wind was heard faintly, and if the
ship had not been tossing so violently, they might have been in the
power-room of any industrial plant.
The sweating engineer, his face grease-streaked, turned from his labors
to face Ramsay. He spoke with a nasal New England twang. "Was that
White Sturgeon really off the ship?"
"I--I didn't see anything," Ramsay answered.
Captain Schultz flashed him a grateful smile. The workers went on with
their toils.
Obviously, among Lake Michigan sailors, or anyhow some of them, there
was a firm belief in the evil powers of the White Sturgeon. Ramsay
looked again at the little Captain's face.
It was a concerned, worried face, what one might expect to see in a man
who was in danger of losing his ship. At the same time, and even though
Captain Schultz remained completely in command, there was about him a
certain air that had nothing to do with getting the _Holter's_ engine
working again. Ramsay sought for the answer, and finally he found it. A
strong man in his own right, Captain Schultz had seen the White Sturgeon
and he believed in it.
Ramsay climbed the narrow ladder-way leading back to the deck. The
_Holter_ was strong, he assured himself. There was little danger that it
could be pounded to pieces by any sea. Then he looked at the wild and
angry lake and knew the fallacy of his reasoning.
The _Holter_ was strong, but the lake was stronger. Waves, the color of
steel and with the strength of steel, smashed into the ship and made her
shiver. Ramsay heard a shrieking protest as some plank or stay beneath
the deck tore loose.
The _Holter_ shuddered, like a big horse in pain, and settled so low in
the water that waves washed continuously across her deck. There was
another shriek, and she settled deeper into the lake. She was a very
sluggish craft now, with no control or direction, and Ramsay guessed
that the hides in the hold were getting soaked. The ship's nose dipped
to meet a wave, and it did not come up again.
The imprisoned horse bugled his fright. Captain Schultz, the engineer,
the fireman and the deck hand appeared on deck. There was no sign of the
mate; perhaps he had already gone over. The engineer and the fireman
struggled under the weight of a crude raft which they had knocked
together from such timbers as were available. Ramsay looked uncertainly
toward them, and the engineer glared back.
"Get your own!" he snarled. "Me an' Pete made this, an' me an' Pete are
goin' to use it!"
They carried their makeshift raft to the settling nose of the ship, laid
it down, mounted it, and let the next wave carry them off. Ramsay felt a
turning nausea in the pit of his stomach. As the raft went over the
rail, the man called Pete was swept from it. Only the engineer stayed
on, clinging desperately as he was washed out into the angry lake. In a
second or two he had disappeared.
Captain Schultz rolled frightened eyes and said to Ramsay, "Get a door,
or hatch cover, an' ride that."
Suiting his actions to his words, Captain Schultz seized a fire axe that
was hanging near and pounded the wheelhouse door from its hinges. He
dragged the door to the rail, threw it into the lake, and jumped after
it. The deck hand wrestled with a hatch cover, finally pried it loose,
and rode that away.
Ramsay was left alone on the sinking _Holter_. He tried to keep a clear
head, but he could not help an overwhelming fear. This was nothing he
had ever faced before and now, facing it, he did not know what to do.
Finding anything that would float and riding it away seemed to be the
answer. Then the little horse bugled and he knew that he was not alone.
Water crept around his feet as he made his way across the deck to the
cage. He put his hand on the bar, and as soon as he did that the little
horse thrust a soft, warm nose against it. He muzzled Ramsay's hand with
almost violent intensity. All his life he had depended upon men for
everything. Now, in this peril, men would not desert him.
Softly Ramsay stroked the soft muzzle, but only for a second. The
_Holter_ was going down fast. Soon, as the gloomy deck hand had
forecast, she would be on the bottom of Lake Michigan. There was no time
to lose. Ramsay unlatched the door of the cage, opened it, and when he
did that the horse walked out.
He stayed very near to the boy, fearing to leave, and once or twice
bumped Ramsay with his shoulder. Ramsay studied the angry lake, and
looked back at the horse. Again he glanced out on the stormy water.
There was nothing else in sight. Those who, by one way or another, hoped
to reach shore were already lost in swirling sheets of rain. Ramsay bit
his lower lip so hard that he drew blood.
The men had either jumped, or else had merely ridden over the rail on a
wave that set the decks awash, but the horse could not do that. There
was real danger of his breaking a leg, or becoming otherwise injured, if
he tried. Ramsay turned and caught up the axe with which Captain Schultz
had stricken down the door.
The black horse crowded with him, afraid to be alone, and the boy had to
go around him to get back to the rail. The horse pushed close to him
again and Ramsay spoke soothingly, "Easy. Take it easy now."
He raised the axe and swung it, and felt its blade bite deeply into the
wooden rail. He swung again and again, until he had slashed through it,
then moved ten feet to one side, toward the rail's supporting post, and
cut it there. The severed section was whisked into the wave-tormented
lake as a match stick disappears in a whirlpool. Ramsay threw the axe
back onto the _Holter's_ sinking deck and stepped aside.
Get something that would float, Captain Schultz had said, and be sure
that it would keep him above water. But suddenly he could think of
nothing that would float. Wildly he cast about for a hatch cover or a
door. There was not one to be seen.
The _Holter_ made a sudden list that carried her starboard deck beneath
the lake. A wave surged across her. Even the little horse had unsteady
legs. Ramsay tried hard to overcome the terror within him.
Then, together, he and the little horse were in the lake. He threw wild
arms about the animal's neck, and a huge wave overwhelmed them. Gasping,
he arose.
The lake was wilder and fiercer and colder than he had thought it could
be. Every nerve and muscle in his body seemed chilled, so that he was
barely able to move. Another wave washed in, over both the little black
horse and himself, and for a moment they were deep beneath the churning
waters. They broke onto the surface, Ramsay with both hands entwined in
the horse's mane, and the horse turned to look at him.
There was uncertainty in the animal's eyes, and fright, but no terror.
The little horse knew his own power, and the fact that a human being
stayed with him gave him confidence in that strength.
Ramsay spoke reassuringly. "We're all right. We'll do all right, Black.
Let's get out of it."
The words were a tonic, the inspiration the horse needed. The next time
a wave rolled in, he did not try to fight it. Rather, he rose with it,
swimming strongly. He had adjusted himself to many situations, now he
met this one without panic. An intelligent beast, he had long ago
learned that every crisis must be met with intelligence.
Ramsay stayed easily beside him, keeping just enough weight on the
swimming animal to hold his own head above water and doing nothing that
would interfere with the furious fight the horse was waging to keep from
drowning.
The lake was indeed cold, colder than any other water the boy had ever
known, and he had to exercise every particle of his mind and will just
to cling to the horse. The wind blew furiously, and sluicing rain poured
down. Then the rain dwindled away and heavy mist settled in. Ramsay knew
a moment's panic.
It was impossible to see more than a few feet or to tell which way the
shore lay. The lake was huge, and should they be heading towards the
Michigan shore, they would never get there. Ramsay tried to remember all
he had ever known of wind and drift and currents on Lake Michigan, and
discovered that he could remember nothing. Any direction at all could be
north and he was unable to orient himself, but he controlled the rising
panic. It would do no good at all to lose his head.
The wind seemed to be dying, and the waves lessening. Ramsay kept his
hold on the little horse's mane. He saw a floating object pass and tried
to catch it, but when he did so he almost lost his hold on the horse.
Kicking hard to catch up, he twined both hands in the horse's mane and
tightened them there.
Then he felt a rebirth of confidence. Already they had been in the lake
for a long, long time and he had been able to hold his own. It was
impossible to get much colder, or more numb, than he already was and he
could still hang on. Besides, the horse seemed to know where he was
going.
He swam strongly, and apparently he was swimming straight. At any rate,
there was no evidence that he was traveling in circles or choosing an
erratic course. Ramsay had been told that animals have an instinct
compared to which the most sensitive human's is coarse and blunted and
maybe that was true. Maybe the horse did know where it was going.
Now that the waves were not rising so high, the horse swam faster. The
wind died almost completely, so that the lake's surface was merely
ruffled, and Ramsay felt a mounting confidence in his ability to live
through this. In the overcast a gull cried, and things had started going
wrong with the _Holter_ when the gulls left it. Now they were back.
Probably they, too, had known of the approaching storm and had flown to
safety off the lake.
The swimmers broke out of the mist and Ramsay saw the beach.
It was about a hundred yards away, a sand beach behind which a rocky
cliff rose. This wore a crest of evergreens, and its face was spotted
here and there with smaller trees. A cloud of white gulls screamed into
the air as Ramsay and the horse approached.
They reached the shallows, and the little horse's back emerged from the
water like that of some suddenly appearing sea monster. Ramsay let go
his hold on the animal's mane and swam. Then, coming to waist-high water
in which he could wade, he splashed toward the beach.
The wind had died, but waves still pounded the beach and it was very
cold. The near borders of this wild lake, Ramsay decided, probably never
warmed up. With an immense body of cold water lapping them, they were
perpetually chilled.
While the little horse looked gravely on, Ramsay stripped his clothing
off, wrung it out, and put the wet garments back on. The horse crowded
very close, as though he were afraid to go away. He nibbled Ramsay with
his lips. As soon as the boy moved, he moved with him.
He stayed very near as Ramsay walked up the beach, a stretch of
driftwood-spotted sand that varied from sixty to two hundred feet in
width and reached clear back to the rising bluff. A belt of wet sand
showed where the lake had crawled up onto the beach and fallen back.
The boy stopped suddenly, and the little horse stopped with him. Just
ahead, in the belt of wet sand which the highest waves had washed, lay
two tumbled figures. The little horse tossed his head uneasily, not
liking this at all, and Ramsay felt a cold lump rise in his throat. He
advanced at a slow walk and, after some hesitation, the horse trotted to
catch up with him. Ramsay stopped again.
The two drowned people were Captain Schultz of the _Holter_ and the deck
hand who had wished so fervently that he was somewhere else. Ramsay
cleared the lump in his throat, and was struck by the notion that at
last the deck hand had gone somewhere else. Then the black horse raised
his head and nickered, and the boy looked around to see a man on a
spotted black-and-white horse riding toward him.
He rode at full trot, the reins hanging loosely around his mount's
throat, and he wore an outlandish sort of affected cowboy's hat pulled
low over his eyes. His features were heavy, and would be flabby when he
had aged a few more years. Blue jeans clung tightly around his legs, and
straight black hair lay thick on his head. As he rode, he leveled a
heavy pistol.
"Go on! Beat it!"
"But ..."
"This is my find! I said beat it!"
The pistol roared, and a heavy ball buried itself in the sand at
Ramsay's feet. The boy felt a quick anger and a disinclination to obey
the order to leave. He took a step toward the horseman, knowing that he
would need a few seconds to re-load his pistol. But almost by magic
another pistol appeared in the man's hand and he leveled it steadily.
"Your last warnin'. Go on!"
Ramsay shrugged, and the black horse followed him as he walked on. This
was indeed a strange land, where men were willing to fight for the
possession of corpses. What did the horseman want with them? The loot
they might have in their pockets? Perhaps, but that seemed very
unlikely. Captain Schultz was not the type of person who would carry a
great deal of money in his pockets, and certainly the deck hand wouldn't
have enough to bother about. But obviously the horseman wanted the two
bodies.
Ramsay walked on up the sand beach. Gulls rose protestingly as he came
in sight, and flocks of ducks scudded across the water. A pair of Canada
Geese hissed at him as he passed. They were guarding a nest and they
were ready to fight for it. Ramsay gave them a wide berth and the horse
walked faithfully beside him.
The afternoon was half-spent when Ramsay smelled wood smoke. He
quickened his pace, but remained cautious. This was a wild land, with no
part of it wilder than this lonely Lake Michigan Beach, and there was
never any certainty as to just what anyone would find or how he would be
received. Nevertheless, if these people were friendly, other humans
would be welcome. Ramsay was both hungry and tired to the point of
exhaustion. He fingered the two dollars in his pocket. He could pay his
way. He rounded a long, forested nose of land where the bluff cut the
sand beach to a narrow five feet and looked out on a peaceful bay.
The bluff gave way to gently rising, treeless hills. A rail fence hemmed
part of them in, and black-and-white cattle grazed inside the fence. A
stone house, of Dutch architecture, stood on a knoll that commanded a
view of the lake, and a suitable distance from it was a snug wooden
barn. A small lake, or large pond, separated from Lake Michigan by a
narrow neck of land, glowed like a blue sapphire. Chickens, ducks and
geese crowded noisily together in the barnyard, and a man with a wooden
pail in his hand came out of the barn door.
Ramsay walked forward, as first uncertainly and then very steadily. A
man might be afraid, but it was always to his advantage not to let the
enemy, if enemy this might be, know he was afraid. The man at the barn
door hesitated, and then stood still while the boy approached.