THE CUB PILOT.
IF the dumb brute at his side had been a human being, capable of
understanding and appreciating his feelings, Bob would not have parted
from him with greater reluctance. But there was no help for it. The
ringing of the steamer’s bell indicated that the freight was nearly all
aboard, and the next time it rang, which would be in a very few minutes,
it would sound the signal for casting off the lines. Bob had purposely
remained away from the boat as long as he could, for he knew that he
would run something of a risk in attempting to board her. What if the
constable had discovered his absence and was watching for him at the
landing? Or what if some of the numerous idlers he had seen at the store
in the morning should happen to be there and recognise him in spite of
his disguise? Bob was obliged to take his chances on this; and for fear
that the boat might be searched, in case his escape had been discovered,
he thought it best to keep away from her until she was ready to back out
into the stream. She was getting ready to do it now.
The first stroke of the bell seemed to put new life into Bob. He led his
horse into the road, turned his head toward home, and giving him a
parting slap to put him in motion, threw his valise over his shoulder,
and ran toward the landing at the top of his speed. He hurried down the
main street just as any honest traveller would have done who was a
little behind time, and while on the way told himself that if it were
only as dark at the landing as it was there in the road, he could effect
his escape without the least difficulty. But the landing-place was
lighted up so brilliantly that objects could be plainly distinguished
for a hundred yards around. The huge fire which had brought the boat to
the shore was kept well supplied with resinous wood, and in addition to
that there was a flaming torch on the steamer’s forecastle. In boarding
the vessel Bob would be obliged to pass along the gang-plank in the full
glare of both these lights, and in plain view of every man who might
happen to be at the landing. His courage almost failed him when he
thought of it; and perhaps if he had not just then recalled some of the
thrilling scenes in the lives of his favorite bordermen, Wild Bill and
Texas Jack, he would have turned back.
“They wouldn’t turn back if they were in my place,” said Bob, to
himself. “The more danger there was in any undertaking, the better they
liked it. I am in danger now, and it is a good time to show what I am
made of.”
With this thought to encourage him Bob kept on toward the shed in which
the corn was stored—or rather in which it had been stored, for he saw
that there were not more than half a dozen bags of it remaining. He saw,
too, that there were several men standing near the fire. Some of them he
put down as steamboat men, and in the others he was sure he recognised
some of the idlers he had seen at the store that morning. But he did not
take a second look in order to satisfy himself on this point. He turned
his head partly away from them, and passing through the shed fell in
between two of the deck-hands who were going up the gang-plank with bags
of corn on their shoulders. The nearer he approached to the end of the
plank, the easier he breathed; but just as he was about to step on the
steamer’s deck, he happened to look toward the man who was standing
under the torch beside the clerk, checking the bags as they came aboard,
and was almost ready to drop when he saw that it was the horseman he had
met in the morning—the one who had stopped in the road and watched his
movements so closely. The man looked at him as he stepped upon the
forecastle, but did not appear to recognise him; and Bob, trembling all
over with apprehension, hurried on past the stairs that led to the
boiler deck, and made his way through the engine-room to the
after-guard. There were some boxes piled there, and Bob quickly
concealed himself behind them.
“I did it, didn’t I?” said he, drawing a long breath of relief. “Five
minutes more will tell the story. If I am allowed to go in peace, so
much the better for me; but if that constable comes down here to search
the boat, I’ll take to the water. He is not going to carry me back to
Rochdale. That much is settled.”
Bob had been in his concealment scarcely more than five minutes when the
bell sounded the signal for letting go the lines. The steamer began to
move almost immediately, one engine working forward and the other
backward to throw her bow away from the bank. Then Bob felt perfectly at
his ease. He arose from his hiding-place and leaned over the rail to
take a farewell view of the little settlement which would always be
associated in his mind with the most unpleasant incidents of his life.
The first person on whom his eyes rested was the owner of the corn—the
man who checked the bags as they came aboard. He seemed to be looking
directly at the runaway, and as it was not yet too late for him to hail
the steamer and bring her back to the shore, Bob thought it would be a
good plan to get out of his sight. Besides, some of the officers or
deck-hands might have occasion to come back there, and what would they
say to him if they found him hidden away among the boxes? He did not
want to attract any attention if he could help it, so he picked up his
valise and made his way toward the forward part of the vessel. He
stopped for a few minutes in the engine-room to watch the working of the
machinery, and was walking slowly along the main deck when he was
startled by the sound of a commotion on the forecastle. There was a
hurrying of feet, accompanied by loud cries of “Stop her! stop her!” and
then a body of men, composed of officers, passengers and deck-hands,
rushed to the port side of the forecastle and looked over into the
water.
“There’s a man overboard, cap’in!” shouted the mate, looking up at the
master of the steamer, who was standing on the hurricane deck, “and he’s
going right under the wheel. Stop her!”
Just then, a gentleman came down the stairs from the boiler-deck, in two
jumps, and ran quickly to the side. “Who is it?” he exclaimed.
“Georgie Ackerman!” replied a dozen voices, in concert.
“And he can’t swim a stroke!” cried the gentleman, throwing off his coat
and hat. “Neither can I; but I will save him or go down with him. There
he is! I see his head!”
Bob saw it, too, and in an instant afterward he was in the water beside
it. Securing a firm hold of the man’s long hair, he raised his head from
the water so that he could breathe, and swam with him away from the
steamer. He knew he was in no danger of being drawn under the wheel, for
it was working backward, and that, in some degree, counteracted the
force of the current. The real peril to be apprehended was, that the
steamer, which was rapidly swinging around, might run over him, and
force him down under the water. In order to avoid this, Bob, who had all
his wits about him, swam with his utmost speed until he was out of the
influence of the eddy caused by the wheel, and then he struck the
current, and was carried down the stream at the rate of four miles an
hour.
The man floundered and struggled desperately at first, making blind
clutches at the empty air, and trying to turn about so that he could
take hold of Bob, and it was all the latter could do to manage him. But
after he had recovered his breath, wiped the water from his face, and
brushed the hair out of his eyes, he became calmer, and gave Bob the
first opportunity he had had to see what he looked like. The steamer’s
torch had by this time been transferred from the starboard to the port
side of the forecastle, and by the aid of the light it threw out Bob saw
that the person he had rescued was not a man, but a boy about his own
age. He felt much easier after he made this discovery. He was afraid of
a drowning man, but he did not doubt his ability to manage almost any
boy of his own size in the water.
“Say, you!” exclaimed Bob, shifting his grasp from the boy’s hair to his
collar, and giving him a little shake to stir up his ideas.
“All right!” was the reply. “Who are you? Anybody I know? I don’t
recognise your voice.”
Bob was so surprised at the calmness with which the boy spoke, that he
did not answer immediately.
“I hope you have got a good hold of me, whoever you are,” continued the
boy; “for if you let go I shall go down like a chunk of lead. I can’t
swim.”
“Well, can you understand what I say to you?”
“O, yes! I am not frightened now.”
“You are a cool one! that’s a fact,” said Bob. “Now, don’t kick and
thrash about any more, for that makes it hard for me to keep you afloat.
Remember, that every portion of your body that is out of the water helps
to sink you, while that which is in the water helps to buoy you up. So
keep your arms by your side, and throw back your head. That will give
you the best chance to breathe. They’ll send a boat after us directly.”
“I wish they would do it now,” said the boy, who implicitly obeyed every
one of Bob’s orders. “If they let us stay in this current much longer
they will find us at New Orleans. I don’t want to go there unless I can
go in my boat.”
“Do you belong on the steamer?”
“Yes; I am the cub pilot!”
[Illustration: SAVING GEORGIE ACKERMAN’S LIFE.]
“I say, George!” shouted a voice.
The boys looked up when they heard the hail, and saw that the strong
current had already carried them a hundred and fifty yards below the
steamer, whose bow was swinging around toward the landing again. On her
hurricane deck were a group of men, one of whom was the captain. He it
was who had hailed the young pilot.
“I say, George!” repeated the captain, “who is that in the water with
you?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” said George, in a low tone. “Who are you,
fellow?”
“I am Bob Owens. But don’t tell him that!” added Bob, quickly. He knew
that if George pronounced his name in a tone of voice so loud that the
captain could hear and understand it, it would also be heard and
understood by the men about the fire, who would recognise it on the
instant. “Just tell him that I am a passenger.”
“Is he swimmer enough to take you to the shore?” asked the captain, when
he had received George’s reply. “We can’t send our yawl after you for
she would sink before reaching you, she is so leaky!”
“I can take care of him,” shouted Bob.
This answer seemed to satisfy the captain, for he turned and walked
toward the pilot-house, while the rest of the group remained to watch
the boys.
“That yawl is like everything else about the old Sam Kendall—nearly
played out,” said George. “She has four boats, and I don’t believe that
any of them would float until they could be pulled across the river. You
are not going to let go?” he added, as he felt Bob loosen his grasp on
his collar.
“O, no. I didn’t jump into the water to let you go after I caught you. I
want to get you in such a position that I can tow you ashore. Put your
hand on my shoulder and keep it there. That’s the way. Now fall back
alongside of me so that—don’t, be afraid,” he added, as George seized
his collar and held on with all his strength. “Let go!”
The boy pilot was either blessed with more than an ordinary share of
courage, or else he had unbounded confidence in Bob, for he did just as
the latter told him, and without any words or hesitation. He let go his
hold, but he didn’t sink, Bob’s hand being promptly thrust out to
support him.
“You mustn’t clinch me that way,” said Bob, earnestly; “for if you do,
you’ll drown us both. Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” answered George. “I was afraid I was going under.”
“You needn’t be afraid of that. The weight of your finger on my shoulder
will keep your head out of water, and that is all you want. Now, fall
back so that I can have plenty of elbow-room. That’s the idea.”
George placed his hand upon Bob’s shoulder, allowed himself to swing
back out of the way so that the swimmer could freely use his arms, and
in this manner was towed toward the shore. Bob turned his head once or
twice to say an encouraging word to him, but finding that George was not
in the least frightened, he did not speak again until he reached the
shore. It was hard work to swim so long a distance in that swift
current, with his boots and all his clothes on, and dragging a boy
behind him as heavy as himself, and he needed all his breath. He struck
the bank fully a mile below the landing, and in an almost exhausted
condition. George was obliged to help him out of the water. He recovered
his breath in a few minutes, however, and as soon as he was able to
stand upon his feet, he divested himself of his coat, pulled off his
boots and stockings, and rolled up the legs of his trousers.
“It will be easier walking now,” said he, by way of explanation. “These
wet things are heavy, and I am so tired that I don’t want to carry any
unnecessary weight.”
But this was not the reason why Bob pulled off some portions of his
clothing. He knew that he would be obliged to board the steamer in full
view of the men at the landing, and he had been thinking about it ever
since he began towing George toward the shore. He had escaped
recognition once, it is true, but that thought did not encourage him. He
was famous now, and everybody would want to take a good look at the boy
who had nerve enough to jump overboard and save another from drowning.
He was glad that his valise was safe on board the boat. With that in his
hand his detection would have been almost certain.
After resting a few minutes, the two boys scrambled along the bank
toward the landing, but before they had gone half a mile they discovered
a party of men coming in search of them. When they had approached a
little nearer George informed his rescuer that he knew four of them—the
captain, first mate, and Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, the two pilots
belonging to the steamer. Bob recognised one of them, and after running
his eye over the party a second time, told himself that there was also
another whom he had met somewhere very recently. He was not as glad to
see them as George was to see his friends. One was the owner of the corn
that had just been placed on board the steamer, and the other
was—no—yes, it was the constable. Bob stopped, rubbed his eyes, and
looked again; but there was no mistake about it.
About half an hour after Bob left the house, the officer awoke and found
that his prisoner was gone. He ran at once to the stable to see if his
horse was gone also. He was, and this led the constable to believe that
Bob had mounted him and fled up the river. Being an easy-going sort of
person, who did not think it worth while to do anything to-day that
could be put off until to-morrow, he decided not to begin the pursuit
until morning. Then he would raise a squad of men and scour the country
in every direction.
After finding that the horse was gone, the constable went down to the
landing and questioned the men who were standing about the fire. They
were greatly astonished to find that Bob had escaped, and declared that
he could not possibly have boarded the boat without being seen by them,
for they had been at the landing ever since the steamer arrived. The
officer, however, thought it best to be sure on this point, so he went
on board the Sam Kendall, accompanied by some of his friends, and gave
her a good looking over. He looked in almost every place except the one
in which Bob was concealed, and went ashore firm in his belief that his
prisoner would be found farther up the river. Bob, of course, knew
nothing of this, but he did know that the constable was within speaking
distance, and the sight of him deprived him so completely of his little
remaining strength that he was obliged to take hold of a bush to keep
himself from falling.
“What’s the matter, Bob?” asked George, who at once sprang to his side
and threw his arm about his waist to support him. “You’re just tuckered
out, aint you? I don’t wonder at it. Lean on me till the men come up.
Hurry on, Mr. Black!”
The men were coming as fast as they could, and in a few minutes more
were near enough to seize George by the hand, which they did one after
the other, greeting him as though they had never expected to see him
again. Then they turned to Bob, who stood leaning against the bank, with
his dripping coat muffled about his head and face.
“Don’t ask him to talk to you now,” exclaimed George, just in time to
check a volley of questions. “He hasn’t breath enough to say a word. It
was all he could do to get me ashore. Take him by the arms, a couple of
you, and give him a lift!”
This request was addressed to no one in particular, but the two men who
happened to be standing the nearest to Bob were the ones who complied
with it. Then Bob wished most heartily that George had held his peace,
for the men who put their strong arms through his to help him along,
were the constable and the owner of the corn. Bob’s heart seemed to stop
beating, and he trembled so violently that he could scarcely walk; but
he dared not refuse their offers of assistance. They mistook his
agitation for weakness and helped him very tenderly over all the rough
places. They did not speak to him, for they were wholly engrossed with
George’s account of his adventure, which he was giving to the two pilots
who were supporting him. All Bob heard of it was that George was sitting
on the boiler-deck railing, watching a steamer that was going down the
river, and the first thing he knew he was in the water. He praised Bob’s
skill as a swimmer, and seemed lost in admiration of the courage and
coolness he had exhibited, but Bob heard none of it. They were nearing
the landing now, and there was that huge fire still burning brightly on
the bank. Bob was afraid to pass it, but his good luck had not yet
deserted him, and his disguise served him a good turn. The passengers on
deck, and the idlers on the bank, all looked at him with the greatest
interest and curiosity, but none of the latter recognised in him the
“peart and honest-looking boy,” who had ridden that spotted horse into
the settlement a few hours before. He was assisted up the gang-plank and
to the steps that led to the boiler-deck; and there he sank down as if
he were unable to go a step farther.
“Don’t stop,” said George, seizing him by the arm and trying to pull him
to his feet. “Come up to my room, and get your wet clothes off. You’ll
catch cold if you sit here in this keen wind.”
Bob was well aware of that fact, but he did not say so, for he was
afraid to speak, even in a whisper, for fear that the constable, or that
other man, would know his voice. He stopped there because he wanted to
get away from them both, and he hoped they would leave the steamer
without a moment’s delay. He saw the captain run up the stairs, and his
heart bounded with delight when he heard the bell ring. The constable
and his friend, and the idlers who had followed the boys on board, made
all haste to get ashore; the lines and gang-plank were hauled aboard;
the engines were set in motion again, and when Bob saw the steamer’s bow
swinging toward the middle of the river, and the stretch of clear water
between her guards and the bank growing wider, his courage and strength
all returned to him. He went back after his valise, which he had left on
the main deck, and accompanied the cub pilot to his room in Texas. His
dripping garments, and George’s, were given into the charge of the
porter, who carried them into the galley, and when Bob had restored his
sluggish circulation by a vigorous rubbing, and put on his warm, dry
suit, he felt none the worse for his long swim. He and George talked
incessantly while they were thus engaged, and, by the time they were
dressed, began to think they were very well acquainted with each other.
“How far up the river are you going?” asked George, as they went out
into the cabin and took their seats by the stove.
“I am going to St. Louis.”
“Do you live there?”
“No; I don’t live anywhere,” replied Bob, who thought that, since he was
fairly out in the world, it was time for him to begin to ignore the
existence of home and all his relations.
“No father or mother, brothers or sisters?”
“No. When my hat is on my head my family is all covered.”
“I know how to sympathize with you,” said George. “I am almost alone in
the world myself. The only relations I have are an uncle and cousin. My
uncle is my guardian, and he is aboard the boat now. What are you going
to do when you reach St. Louis?”
“I am going to buy a mustang and a hunting outfit and go out on the
plains.”
“What is your idea of starting from St. Louis?”
“Why, don’t all the hunters and trappers fit out there? I understand
that it is the headquarters of the fur trade.”
“It used to be; but it is a smashing big city now, and the hunters fit
out at other points. Why don’t you go to Denver? That is hundreds of
miles farther on. You see that western country is settling up rapidly,
and if you want to find fur-bearing animals you must go to the
mountains.”
Bob looked down at the floor in a brown study. He began to see, now,
that he had made some mistakes in his calculations. He supposed that all
he had to do to enter upon the life of a trapper was, to provide himself
with a horse and rifle at St. Louis, and plunge at once into the
wilderness, where he would find all sorts of game, from a mink to a
grizzly bear. He was not very well posted in geography and history, for,
while he was at school, he made it a point to neglect his books as much
as he could; but he had gained an idea from some of the dime novels: he
had read that St. Louis was a little hamlet—a fort, with a few log
cabins clustered about it—and that, when he arrived there, he would find
himself on the borders of civilization, and surrounded by Indians and
trappers.
“What makes you select that mean business, anyhow?” asked George. “Do
you know anything about it?”
“O, yes! I have had a good deal of experience in hunting.”
“Did you ever make any money at it?”
“I never tried.”
“And you never will, no matter how hard you try. You’ll go hungry half
the time and ragged and dirty all the time. If you go alone you will be
certain to fall in with some rough characters who will steal everything
you’ve got and leave you stranded in the wilderness. Then what would you
do? You don’t know the country, and suppose you should lose your way and
get snowed up? That would be the last of you. I have seen lots of
hunters, and I know just what sort of men they are and what sort of
lives they lead.”
“Where did you ever see any?” asked Bob, in great surprise.
“In Texas, where my home is. I own a big cattle ranche a little way from
the Rio Grande (or rather I shall own it when I become of age; my uncle
holds it in trust for me now), and I lived there all my life until about
eighteen months ago. Then I went up the Mississippi on a pleasure trip
with my uncle and cousin. I fell in with Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, the
pilots on this boat, and they said so much about life on the river that
I decided to follow it; and here I am.”
“I wonder that your uncle allowed you to go so far from home,” cried
Bob.
“O, he didn’t care. He lets me do just as I please. But I am going to
leave the river as soon as this trip is ended. I wrote to my uncle
telling him of my decision, and he came up to urge me to stay until I
become a full-fledged pilot; but I have made up my mind to go home, and
I want you to go with me. I need a friend more than any other boy in the
world, (I may tell you why some day), and you must be a friend to me or
you would not have risked your life to save mine.”
“Don’t your uncle and cousin live at your house?”
“Yes, but they are—they and I don’t—will you go?”
Bob did not answer at once. He needed a friend as much as George did—he
was already so homesick that he would have been glad to get away and cry
over his folly—but it was hard to give up the plans he had cherished for
so many long months.
“I tell you, Bob,” added George, earnestly, “I know what I am saying
when I assure you that you never can succeed in any such wild scheme as
this.”
“I’ll have plenty of fun and excitement anyhow,” said Bob, “and that is
what I want.”
“There is a great deal more fun in drawing an easy-chair up in front of
a comfortable fire on a blustering winter day and reading about it,”
returned George, who told himself that he knew right where Bob had got
all his foolish notions. “All you know about this life that you want to
enter upon, you got out of some book; and I will venture the assertion
that if you could see the man who wrote it, you would find that he had
never been within five hundred miles of the plains, that he had never
seen anything wild larger than a pigeon, and that he couldn’t tell a
rifle from a shot-gun if he should see them together. Why, Bob, the men
who are born hunters don’t make anything at it. Take them as a class,
and you will find them poor, miserable fellows. If excitement is what
you want, go home with me. The Mexicans are playing havoc with the
stock-raisers down there—Uncle John says they stole two hundred head of
cattle not more than a month ago—and they will give you excitement
enough to satisfy you. Besides you will have a fine horse to ride,
plenty to eat and a tight roof to shelter you. That’s more than you will
have on the plains, I tell you.”
As George ceased speaking the door opened and one of the pilots came
into the cabin.
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