THE EMERGENCY DAM
The crashing and splintering of wood, the grinding of one vessel
against the other at the concrete pier, the shrill tooting of the
whistles, and the confused shouts of the respective captains of the
craft made a din out of which it seemed order would never come.
“If I could only get this on a film!” said Joe to himself during a calm
moment. But the cameras were below in the cabin, and the tug was now
careened at such an angle that it was risky to cross the decks. Besides
Joe must think of saving himself, for it looked as though the tug would
be crushed and sunk.
“Pull us out of here!” yelled Captain Watson to the man on the lock
wall in charge of the electrical towing locomotives. “Pull us out!”
That seemed one way out of the trouble, for the _Nama_ was being
crushed between the Brazilian steamer and the wall. But the order had
come too late, for now the tug was wedged in, and no power could move
her without tearing her to pieces, until the pressure of the big
steamer was removed.
So, wisely, the men in charge of the towing machines did not follow
Captain Watson’s orders.
“Over this way!” cried Blake to his chum, and to Mr. Alcando, who were
standing amid-ships. Joe was at the bow, and because that was narrower
than the main portion of the tug, it had not yet been subjected to the
awful pressure.
But there was no need of Joe or the others, including Captain Watson,
changing their positions. The Brazilian ship now began drawing away,
aided by her own engines, and by the tow ropes extending from the other
side of the lock wall. The _Nama_, which had been partly lifted up in
the air, as a vessel in the Arctic Ocean is lifted when two ice floes
begin to squeeze her, now dropped down again, and began settling slowly
in the water.
“She’s sinking!” cried Blake. “Our cameras--our films, Joe!”
“Yes, we must save them!” his chum shouted.
“I’ll help!” offered the Spaniard. “Are we really sinking?”
“Of course!” shouted Captain Watson. “How could anything else happen
after being squeezed in that kind of a cider press? We’ll go to the
bottom sure!”
“Leave the boat!” yelled one of the men on top of the lock wall. “We’re
going to tow you out of the way, so when you sink you won’t block the
lock!”
“Let’s get out our stuff!” Blake cried again, and realizing, but hardly
understanding, what was happening, the boys rushed below to save what
they could.
Fortunately it was the opening of many seams, caused by the crushing
process, rather than any great hole stove in her, that had brought
about the end of the _Nama_. She began to sink slowly at the pier,
and there was time for the removal of most of the articles of value
belonging to the boys and Mr. Alcando.
Hastily the cameras, the boxes of exposed and unexposed film, were
hoisted out, and then when all had been saved that could be quickly put
ashore, the tug was slowly towed out of the way, where it could sink
and not be a menace to navigation, and without blocking the locks.
“Poor _Nama_,” murmured Captain Watson. “To go down like that, and not
your own fault, either,” and he looked over with no very friendly eyes
toward the Brazilian steamer, which had suffered no damage more than to
her paint.
“You can raise her again,” suggested one of the lock men.
“Yes, but she’ll never be the same,” sorrowfully complained her
commander. “Never the same!”
“How did it happen?” asked Blake. “Was there a misunderstanding in
signals?”
“Must have been something like that,” Captain Watson answered. “That
vessel ought to have stayed tied up on her own side of the lock.
Instead she came over here under her own steam and crashed into me. I’m
going to demand an investigation. Do you know anyone on board her?” he
asked quickly of the Spaniard. “I saw you waving to someone.”
“Why, yes, the captain is a distant relative of mine,” was the somewhat
unexpected answer. “I did not know he was going to take his vessel
through the Canal, though. I was surprised to see him. But I am sure
you will find that Captain Martail will give you every explanation.”
“I don’t want explanations--I want satisfaction!” growled the tug
captain.
“There goes the _Nama_,” called Blake, pointing to the tug.
As he spoke she began to settle more rapidly in the water, but she did
not sink altogether from sight, as she was towed toward the shore,
and went down in rather shallow water, where she could be more easily
reached for repairs.
“It was a narrow escape,” Joe said. “What are we to do now, Blake? Too
bad we didn’t get some moving pictures of that accident.”
“Well, maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t,” returned his chum. “The
Canal is supposed to be so safe, and free from the chance of accidents,
that it might injure its reputation if a picture of a collision like
that were shown. Maybe it’s just as well.”
“Better,” agreed Captain Watson. “As you say, the Canal is supposed to
be free from accidents. And, when everything gets working smoothly,
there will be none to speak of. Some of the electrical controlling
devices are not yet in place. If they had been that vessel never could
have collided with us.”
“I should think her captain would know better than to signal for her to
proceed under her own power in the Canal lock,” spoke Joe.
“Possibly there was some error in transmitting signals on board,”
suggested Mr. Alcando. And later they learned that this was, indeed,
the case; or at least that was the reason assigned by the Brazilian
commander for the accident. His vessel got beyond control.
“Well, it’s lucky she didn’t ram the gates, and let out a flood of
water,” said Joe to Blake a little after the occurrence.
“Yes, if that had happened we’d have had to make pictures whether we
wanted to or not. But I wonder what we are going to do for a boat now?”
However, that question was easily settled, for there were other
Government vessels to be had, and Blake, Joe and Mr. Alcando, with
their cameras, films and other possessions, were soon transferred, to
continue their trip, in the _Bohio_, which was the name of the new
vessel. The _Nama_ was left for the wrecking crew.
“Well, this isn’t exactly the quiet life we looked for in the canal
zone; is it, Blake?” asked Joe that night as he and his chum were
putting their new stateroom to rights.
“Hardly. Things have begun to happen, and I’ve noticed, Joe, that, once
they begin, they keep up. I think we are in for something.”
“Do you mean a big slide in Culebra Cut?”
“Well, that may be only part of it. I have a feeling in my bones,
somehow or other, that we’re on the eve of something big.”
“Say, for instance--”
“I can’t,” answered Blake, as Joe paused. “But I’m sure something is
going to happen.”
“No more collisions, I hope,” his chum ventured. “Do you know, Blake,
I’ve wondered several times whether that one to-day was not done on
purpose.”
Blake stared at his chum, and then, to Joe’s surprise replied:
“And I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“You have?” Joe exclaimed. “Now I say--”
“Hush!” cautioned Blake quickly, “he’s coming!”
The door of their stateroom opened, and Mr. Alcando entered. He had a
room across the corridor.
“Am I intruding?” he asked. “If I am--”
“Not at all. Come in,” answered Blake, with a meaning look at his chum.
“I wanted to ask you something about making double exposures on the
same film,” the Spaniard went on. “You know what I mean; when a picture
is shown of a person sitting by a fireside, say, and above him or her
appears a vision of other days.”
“Oh, yes, we can tell you how that is done,” Joe said, and the rest of
the evening was spent in technical talk.
“Well, what were you going to say about that collision?” asked Joe of
Blake when Mr. Alcando had left them, at nearly midnight.
“I don’t think it’s exactly safe to say what I think,” was Blake’s
response. “I think he is--suspicious of us,” he finished in a whisper.
“Let’s watch and await developments.”
“But what object could he--”
“Never mind--now,” rejoined Blake, with a gesture of caution.
Several busy days followed the sinking of the _Nama_. The moving
picture boys went through the Miraflores locks, making some fine films,
and then proceeded on to the Pacific Ocean breakwater, thus making a
complete trip through the Canal, obtaining a series of pictures showing
scenes all along the way. They also took several views in the city of
Panama itself.
Of course theirs was not the first vessel to make the complete trip,
so that feature lost something of its novelty. But the boys were well
satisfied with their labors.
“We’re not through, though, by any means,” said Blake. “We have to get
some pictures of Gatun Dam from the lower side. I think a few more
jungle scenes, and some along the Panama Railroad, wouldn’t go bad.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe.
So they prepared to make the trip back again to Colon.
Once more they were headed for the locks, this time to be lifted up
at Miraflores, instead of being let down. They approached the central
pier, were taken in charge by the electrical locomotives, and the big
chain was lowered so they could proceed.
Just as the lower gate was being swung open to admit them to the lock,
there was a cry of warning from above.
“What’s that?” cried Joe.
“I don’t know,” Blake answered, “but it sounds as though something were
going to happen. I didn’t have all those feelings for nothing!”
Then came a cry:
“The upper gate! The upper gate is open! The water is coming down! Put
the emergency dam in place! Quick!”
Joe and Blake looked ahead to see the upper gates, which were supposed
to remain closed until the boat had risen to the upper level, swing
open, and an immense quantity of foamy water rush out. It seemed about
to overwhelm them.