THE BURNING OF THE SAM KENDALL.
“THE jig is up!” shouted one of the engineers through the trumpet, and
his voice sounded as if he were half choked. “Impossible to stay here
any longer. Too much smoke. Can’t breathe!”
“Well, stop her and ship up before you leave,” shouted Mr. Scanlan,
earnestly. “Come ahead strong, and perhaps she will work closer in.”
One of the engineers obeyed the order, but the other had no doubt been
driven away from his post by the smoke or the flames, for his engine
continued its reverse motion, while the other was working ahead. The
result of this antagonism of forces was to hold the Sam Kendall
perfectly motionless, in spite of the current. Her bow was fast on the
bar (there were seven feet of water there, however, so that those of her
passengers and crew who could not swim were in as much danger as they
would have been had the boat been anchored in the middle of the river),
and when the hog-chain braces were burned away, she would break in two
and sink in the channel.
During this time the fire had made rapid progress, and now thick clouds
of smoke were rising on all sides, and the banks of the river were
lighted up with a lurid glare, showing that all below the hurricane deck
was a mass of flames. There was no one on this deck except the pilots
and Bob Owens. The captain had not been seen since the alarm was given.
The pilots had done all that men could do. With such courage and
steadiness as they exhibited they might have succeeded in placing the
boat in such a position that every one on board of her could have
escaped to the shore, had they not been crippled at the start by the
breaking of the tiller-rope. They could be of no further use in that
pilot-house.
“The jig is up with us, too,” said Mr. Scanlan, gazing wistfully toward
the trees on the bank which were rendered plainly visible by the light
of the flames. “If I could live my life over again, my first hard work
would be to learn to swim. Now, boys, you have never seen anything like
this before, but I have, and a word of caution may be of service to you.
When you take to the water, as we’ve all got to do now, be sure there is
no one near you. A drowning man’s grip is like a vise. Now let us go and
see if we can help anybody.”
Bob followed his companions out of the pilot-house, but stopped at the
foot of the stairs and stood appalled at the scene presented to his
gaze. Up to this time he had moved like one in a dream, and did not seem
to realize what was going on around him; but now he was fully alive to
the dangers which threatened him, and he was frightened indeed. The deck
on which he stood was so hot that he could not bear his hand upon it,
and the flames were bursting out from both sides of the doomed steamer,
whose frail, fanciful upper works burned like so much paper, and the
light they threw out enabled Bob to see a long way up and down the
river. The dark, muddy surface of the stream was dotted with men and
women who had taken to the water and were floating down with the current
on tables, chairs, or whatever else they could lay their hands upon
before trusting themselves to the treacherous element. As he gazed, he
saw more than one unfortunate slip off his frail support, and after
making a vain effort to recover it, throw his hands above his head and
sink out of sight. Bob stood and trembled while he looked.
“Come, come, boys!” exclaimed Mr. Black, hurriedly; “this is no time to
be idle. The forecastle is crowded with passengers who must be saved.”
These words recalled George to his senses, and they even put a little
life into Bob Owens. The latter began to think that he had never known
what courage was. Here were these men who could not swim, and who,
consequently, were in just as much danger as any person on board the
boat, thinking of others instead of themselves. Bob’s first impulse
after he became thoroughly waked up, was to look out for number one; but
he was restrained by the actions of the pilots. He was no coward—he had
proved that to everybody’s satisfaction. He was simply inexperienced,
and needed an example to stimulate him and show him what ought to be
done. The sequel proved that he was an apt pupil, too.
Bob looked all around for Mr. Scanlan, but could not see him. Mr. Black
and George were standing near the starboard wheel-house, looking over
the side; and when Bob came up he found that they were watching their
partner, who was trying to get one of the steamer’s boiler-deck boats
into the water. Some one had evidently been there before him, with the
same object in view, for the railing was cut away, and the bow of the
yawl was hanging out over the side, so that a strong push was all that
was needed to send her into the river. It was fortunate that such was
the case, for the fire was so hot, and the smoke so dense and stifling,
that no one could stay there two minutes and live. Mr. Scanlan seemed to
be courting death by staying there half so long. The flames flew into
his face, scorching his hair and whiskers, and now and then thick clouds
of smoke would roll over him, completely hiding him from view. He threw
the long painter up to Mr. Black, pushed the boat overboard, and, with
Bob’s help and George’s, climbed back to the hurricane deck. He ran to
the opposite side of the boat to obtain a breath of fresh air, wiped the
smoke from his eyes, brushed off the sparks of fire that clung to his
clothing, and hurried to the assistance of Mr. Black, who, by walking
along the deck, was drawing the boat toward the forecastle, where some
of the passengers and crew had retreated out of reach of the flames.
No language can describe what Bob saw when he looked down upon that
forecastle. He never forgot it: it troubled his sleep for many a night
afterward. Men, women and children were gathered there; some crouching
timidly at the foot of the jackstaff, watching the fire, which was
rapidly approaching them, and others running frantically about searching
for missing relatives or friends, or shrieking with terror, and
appealing for the help which never came. Strong men fought for the
possession of a plank or chair, and some jumped recklessly into the
water, seized upon the first object that came within reach, which was
oftentimes a fellow-being struggling desperately for his life, and held
on with a death grip until both went out of sight together.
[Illustration: THE BURNING OF THE “SAM KENDALL.”]
Bob took it all in at a glance, and then turned his attention to the
yawl, which Mr. Black had by this time drawn up to the forecastle. The
frightened men shouted with delight when they saw it. A general rush was
made for it, in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Black, who called
frantically for somebody to keep the crowd back, assuring them that, if
they would only act like reasonable beings, there was time enough to
save every soul on board the boat. But the crowd on the forecastle paid
not the slightest attention to him. Probably they never heard his voice
at all. They ran in a body toward the yawl, which in a minute more would
have been filled so full that she would have sunk beneath her load, had
it not been for an unlooked-for incident that happened just then.
The first to reach the boat were a couple of firemen (we are sorry we do
not know the names of the cowards, so that we could publish them, for
this circumstance really happened), one of whom jerked the painter from
Mr. Black’s grasp, while the other put his shoulder against the side,
and with one strong push sent the yawl far away from the burning
steamer. It was a cruel disappointment to those who were left behind,
and the panic among them was greatly increased. As for the pilots, they
could scarcely contain themselves. They stamped about the deck and
implored and commanded, but all to no purpose. Their words fell upon
deaf ears.
“Is there no one below there who has a pistol?” shouted Mr. Scanlan. “If
there is, let him shoot them—shoot them down like dogs. Come back here.
There’s time enough to save you and all the rest!”
But the firemen did not come back. They pulled straight for the shore,
and when they reached it, they sprang out and ran up the bank. The yawl,
which they did not attempt to secure, swung around broadside to the
shore and floated off with the current.
“Now it is time for us to look out for ourselves,” said Mr. Black, as a
gust of wind brought a thin tongue of flame up from below and sent it
curling across the deck. “Come on, all of us. Where’s Bob?”
“Why, I saw him here just as those men ran off with the yawl,” replied
George. “But he doesn’t seem to be in sight now. What shall I do if he
has deserted me? Bob, where are you?”
No answer was returned, and Bob was not to be seen. He was gone, and the
pilots could not stop to look for him, for their own situation was
becoming dangerous in the extreme. The boat was burned nearly in two,
and portions of the hurricane deck were falling in every moment. They
would run a great risk by going down among those frightened people on
the forecastle, for they could not swim, and if they found anything to
serve as a life-preserver, some one would be sure to take it away from
them. Their only way of escape was by the derrick at the stern. With one
accord they hastened toward it, the deck bending and smoking under their
feet, and seizing the guys that supported the derrick, they swung
themselves down to the after-guard.
And where was Bob all this while? He was safe, and exerting himself to
prevent further loss of life among the passengers and crew. We said he
was inexperienced, and needed an example to wake him up and show him
what ought to be done. He had two good ones in Mr. Black and Mr.
Scanlan. He wanted to assist them in some way, but he did not know how
to go about it until he saw the cowardly firemen running off with the
yawl; then he decided upon his course in an instant. He knew that the
men intended to make the best of their way to the shore, and that they
would have no further use for the boat after they got there. If he could
only secure the yawl after they abandoned it, he might be able to bring
it back to the steamer in time to save somebody. He ran to the side and
looked over. The river at that moment happened to be clear of people,
and Bob jumped off without hesitation. It was a high leap from the
hurricane deck to the water, but he took it with perfect confidence, and
when he arose to the surface struck out vigorously for the shore. The
current carried him down the stream in spite of all his efforts to
prevent it, but this proved to be a point in his favor; for by the time
he had accomplished half the distance he had to swim, the firemen had
reached the bank and deserted the yawl, which was now floating slowly
down the river. The current carried it at about the same rate of speed
that it carried the swimmer, so that she happened to be at the very
point where he touched the shore.
To climb into the boat, discard his dripping coat, which prevented the
free use of his arms, catch up the oars, and turn the yawl’s head toward
the burning vessel, was the work of but a few seconds. He laid out all
his strength, but the current was strong, the boat too heavy to be
easily propelled by one person, and she seemed to move through the water
at a snail’s pace.
Bob soon became aware that he was seen, and that his approach was
awaited with no little anxiety and impatience. Entreaties, commands, and
offers of heavy rewards were addressed to him; but he was doing his best
already, and the promise of millions of money and the prospect of saving
every imperilled life, would not have added to his strength or powers of
endurance. He knew that the yawl would not carry all the men and women
on the forecastle, and his first thought was of the three pilots. If he
could save them, the work of saving the passengers and crew would be
comparatively easy, for they would know just how to go about it. He had
seen them all on the hurricane deck when he was climbing into the boat,
but they were not to be seen there now. The steamer was so nearly in
ruins that it did not seem possible that any one could live on her much
longer, and Bob, alarmed for the safety of his friends, ceased his
efforts at the oars, and stood up in the boat to look for them. To his
great joy he saw three heads bobbing up and down in the water near the
stern of the steamer, and one of them he was sure he recognised.
“Hold out just a minute longer, George!” he shouted. “I’m coming!”
Bob sprang to his oars with redoubled energy, and pulled to the rescue
of the young pilot, unmindful of the cries and entreaties of those on
the forecastle, who saw that he was rowing away from them. He reached
the steamer in a few minutes, but looked in vain for his friend. He
pulled around the stern of the boat several times, and eagerly scanned
the river in every direction, but not a living being was to be seen.
Convinced, at last, that he had been mistaken, and hoping to find George
and the two pilots among those on the forecastle, Bob pulled around the
steamer again, and, fully sensible of the danger he was about to
encounter, stopped a few feet from the guards, on which were gathered
fifty or more frightened people, all pushing and crowding one another,
and calling to him to bring the yawl nearer.
“Go back, every one of you!” shouted Bob. “Come one at a time, and I
will save you all!”
“Bring that boat up closer!” cried several voices in concert.
“I’ll not come an inch nearer until you all go back!” yelled Bob, in
reply. “Let the women and children get in first. I can take them ashore
and come back in time to save the rest of you. Why don’t you stop
shouting, and pushing, and listen to what I am saying to you?” screamed
Bob, who saw that not the least attention was paid to his words. “Go
back, I say!”
But he might as well have appealed to so many stumps or rocks. His
arguments would have made just as much impression upon them. While he
was talking he gave a stroke or two with his oars, now and then, to keep
the yawl from drifting down the stream, and once in his excitement he
sent the bow of his craft altogether too close to the steamer for
safety. He saw his mistake on the instant, but it was too late to
correct it, for his boat was half full of men and women before he had
time to think twice. They jumped in on top of one another; those who
fell into the water and were able to reach the gunwales began to climb
in over the sides, and Bob was borne down, and held, as though a
mountain had fallen on him. He struggled desperately to free himself,
for something told him that the boat was sinking. Feeling himself
relieved, for one instant, of the immense weight that held him down, he
managed to get upon his feet, and, catching up an oar, sprang overboard
just as the water began to pour in over the sides of the yawl.
Remembering Mr. Scanlan’s words of warning, he struck out vigorously to
put a safe distance between himself and the drowning people, and was
frightened almost out of his senses when he saw a powerful man spring
out of the yawl, and make the most strenuous efforts to seize him. As
quick as thought, Bob thrust the blade of his oar into the outstretched
hands which closed upon it with a grasp of iron.
“Don’t desert me, boy,” cried the man. “Save me and I will make you
rich!”
“I’ll do the best I can for you,” replied Bob, “but listen to me, now,
and don’t try to take hold of me,” he added, quickly, seeing that the
man was coming hand over hand toward his end of the oar. “Go back, or I
will leave you to take care of yourself.”
“This oar won’t hold me up,” exclaimed the man, who, frightened as he
was, could hear and understand every word Bob said to him.
“Yes, it will. A chip as large as your hand placed under your chin will
enable you to keep your head above water. Take hold of the blade and
keep yourself off at arm’s length and I will tow you ashore.”
The man did not pay as much attention to his directions as the cub pilot
had done, for he continued to work his way toward Bob’s end of the oar,
and finally reached out his hand to lay hold of his collar; but Bob was
too quick for him. He went down like a piece of lead and came up at the
other end of the oar.
“Go back where you belong,” he shouted, as the man turned about and came
toward him again. “I don’t want to desert you, but if you don’t keep
away from me I shall be obliged to do so.”
“This oar won’t hold me up,” repeated the man in terrified tones.
“It won’t if you try to climb on top of it, but it will if you just keep
hold of it with your hands. As soon as I see something large enough to
float you I will bring it to you.”
“Bob, is that you?” exclaimed a familiar voice. Bob looked up in great
surprise, but could see no one, for the smoke rolled over him in a thick
cloud, completely shutting out the steamer from his view. But he heard a
slight splashing in the water near him, and when the smoke lifted a
little he discovered the cub pilot clinging to the rudder. “Why,
George,” he cried, “how came you there?”
“I let myself down by this rope,” was the reply; and, as before, George
did not seem to be in the least alarmed. “The pilots and I went into the
engine-room after some boards to serve as life-preservers, but it was so
smoky in there I couldn’t stay. They got some, but I didn’t.”
“Where are they now?” asked Bob.
“Gone down the river on their boards. They tried to take me with them,
but the current carried them off, and I couldn’t swim after them. How am
I ever going to get away from here?”
“I’ll get you away, you may depend upon that,” was Bob’s encouraging
reply. “Now, sir, I will give this oar up to you. Just keep your hands
on it, as I told you, and it will float you.”
“O, boy, don’t leave me!” cried the man, as Bob let go the oar and
struck out to his friend’s assistance. “Come back here and take care of
me.”
“Uncle John!” cried George, in great amazement.
Uncle John (if it was he) was much too terrified to pay any attention to
his nephew. He continued to call for Bob long after the smoke had
concealed him from view, but the boy did not answer him. He knew that
the man was in no danger, if he would only follow the instructions that
had been given him, but it was not so with George. The latter had
nothing to support him, and, when the fire came farther aft, and
compelled him to let go his hold on the rudder (as it would in a very
few minutes), that would be the last of him.
The young pilot felt perfectly safe when Bob came in sight, but even
then he was not out of danger, for it was all Bob could do to reach him.
He was obliged to swim some distance against a strong current in order
to do it, and had the boat been ten feet farther away he would have
failed in the attempt. As it was, he was entirely out of breath when he
seized the hand George extended to him, and it was fully five minutes
before he could speak to him. George saw that he was almost exhausted,
and waited patiently for him to recover himself.
“Was that man your uncle?” said Bob, at length.
“What made you ask about him?” inquired George.
“O, I was just thinking,” said Bob, indifferently.
“Yes, and I can tell you what you were thinking about. You think it
strange that he should want you to save him, and leave me to go down.”
“O, when men are as frightened as he was, they are not themselves,”
replied Bob.
“There’s something in that; but would you believe me if I were to say
that, if he were the best swimmer in the world, he would not try to save
me if he saw me sinking?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” replied Bob, promptly.
“Then I won’t say so. Isn’t it getting a little too hot and smoky here?”
Bob thought it was; and having by this time fully recovered his breath,
he was ready to trust himself to the current again. George, being duly
instructed, placed his hand upon his shoulder, allowed himself to swing
back out of reach of Bob’s arms, and in this way was towed from the
burning steamer. Bob swam as straight across the river as the current
would allow him to go, and at the end of twenty minutes seized some
overhanging bushes on the bank. He helped George to climb out, and
George in turn assisted him; for by this time Bob was nearly exhausted.
“What would have become of me if you hadn’t been on the boat? This is
the second time you have saved my life,” said George, gratefully.
“Shall I tell him who and what I am?” thought Bob, as he seated himself
on the ground, panting loudly. “If he knew that I am a runaway and a
thief—for I _am_ a thief,” added Bob, whose recent experience seemed to
have opened his eyes to some things to which he had been blind
before—“if he knew that, would he ever speak to me again? Would he be so
anxious to have me go home with him?”
Bob was in a very sober frame of mind just now. He had been near to
death twice since he left home—how near no one knew except himself. On
both occasions while he was towing George toward the shore, he had
overtaxed his strength, and it was all he could do to save himself and
his new friend. During those moments of suspense it seemed to him that
he lived over every hour of his life. He thought of his home and those
he had left there as he had never thought of them before. It was right
on the end of his tongue to say to the young pilot—
“George, I have told you a pack of falsehoods. I have a home, three
sisters, and as kind a father and mother as ever lived. I stole a
hundred and sixty dollars and ran away so that I might spend the money
for a breech-loading gun and a jointed fish-pole.”
How worthless these things seemed to Bob now! He would willingly have
given up all hopes of ever owning them for just one look at his mother’s
face. He did not speak the words that arose to his lips, for he knew
that in order to be consistent he must follow them up by going home and
facing the consequences of his folly. He wasn’t brave enough to do that
then, but he did it afterward, and, besides, he made all the reparation
in his power. He did it, too, at such cost to himself that every one who
knew the circumstances was willing to forgive him.
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