[Illustration]
When the men in the scow realized their position they did not shout
frenziedly for help. To them the most important business of the moment
was to get a smoke.
_They Smoked While Facing Death_
The _frenzied_ people were all on shore. Under the calming influence of
tobacco, the wrecked crew surveyed the damage. The boat was intact
though leaking a little. It was impossible for them to extricate
themselves. Even if any of them could swim, an attempt to make the shore
would have proved fatal. They relied on us. Their hope was founded on a
rock as surely as their craft.
_Getting Ready for the Rescue_
It was not long ere some of the sixty odd men, at Mr. Cornwall's
direction, on the island had run to the warehouse to get rope.
Fortunately being on the scene, he took matters in hand, and as soon as
the necessary tackle had been brought, essayed to rescue the endangered
crew. The only way that this could be done was to get a line aboard the
scow and pull her off. The distance from shore was too great to permit
of a rope being thrown, but there was a rock standing well out of the
water about half way between, from which it might be possible to hurl a
stick; so Cornwall, taking a club in his hand to which was attached a
long cord held by the men on shore, started to work his way out to the
vantage point through the rock-studded stream, struggling from boulder
to boulder, the swirling water gripping and tearing at his legs in an
effort to sweep him away.
_Fighting the Torrent_
To the tense crowd of men watching it seemed impossible that he could
attain his object, but in spite of the great physical strain slowly and
surely the figure--now waist deep in the current, now pulling himself up
on to a rock, clinging always to the meagre support with a tenacity that
the raging torrent could not break--reached its goal.
_Getting A Line Aboard the Wreck_
A sense of relief came to those who watched, but not for long. He rested
for a moment to recover his breath; then coolly gathering the small rope
into a coil he made the first throw. A gasp went up from the crowd on
shore. The distance was too great; the stick hit the water fully twenty
feet short. Again and again the attempt failed. Sometimes the missile
fell so close that the rope could almost be reached but they had no
boat-hook aboard. The thrower could not stand up with good footing to do
his work, but from a precarious position threw with arms alone. He
rested, tired by his exertions. Suddenly he gathered all his strength
and at imminent hazard of hurling himself into the river sent the stick
with unerring aim over its mark.
_We Pulled the Scow Off the Rock_
A mighty cheer went up from all the watchers. It was but a moment's work
to haul in the cable and make it fast to the end of the scow; every
available man on shore found a place on the line, and pulled with might
and main to the cry of "Yo heave ho!" that she creaked in every seam and
her square end was drawn bow-shaped under the strain on that fragile
rope. Pull as we might, our efforts to dislodge her were unavailing.
Something had to give, however. It was the line which parted with a
snap, hurling us to the ground. A groan went up from those in danger,
for in a moment they fell from the highest hope to the lowest depth of
despair. They were in worse plight than before, but steadfastly the
business of renewing communication with the scow proceeded without
delay. Cornwall's efforts were again crowned with success. Little by
little our task was accomplished and we were gratified to see the men
who were in the water scramble aboard in great haste, as with a rousing
cheer we let go the cable.
_A Tenderfoot Spectator_
When we had first arrived at the head of the rapids the previous day, a
little man with a large outfit was found encamped on the river bank
unable to proceed any further, waiting for something or somebody to turn
up. Ten days had passed before help arrived. He had been brought hither
by a gasoline engine and canoe, his only companions so far as is known
being two spaniels. This gentleman styled himself a prospector
ostensibly bound for Fond-du-Lac to investigate the silver strike there;
but his proceedings and appearance belied the assertion, for if there
were a man who should not have left the shelter of the paternal wings,
it was he. The impression gained was that he was one of those helpless
useless atoms of humanity that are misfits anywhere, but in the North,
where one must be self-reliant, doubly out of place. He having arranged
with Mr. Cornwall for a "lift" from there to Fort McMurray, lay all day
on his bedding in the sand surrounded by his goods and chattels, playing
with his dogs, bestirring himself only to take a photograph occasionally
or get a bite to eat.
_Fondled His Spaniels and Looked On_
He was apparently oblivious to the tragedy being enacted within a
hundred yards of him. This man called down upon himself the contempt and
scorn of all men present by remaining inert, lazily fondling his
spaniels whilst men's lives trembled in the balance. His hand upon the
rope would not perhaps have helped much, but we should at least have
known that he was a man. The sequel to his apathy was that next day he
was deposited on the main land below the rapids and where it was
intimated to him that his company was no longer desirable.
_An All Night Mosquito Raid_
Whether fired by a spirit of recklessness by the events of the day, or
whether the writer was too tired to return to his camp on the mainland
with the men is of little consequence, but be it known that his
mosquito-bar was there. Needless to say, the mosquitoes were victorious.
We needed no alarm clock that morning because the enemy forced me out of
bed during the night to upbraid myself for a fool. Not a wink of sleep
for me as a result; however, we got an early breakfast out of it.
_The Tug "Crester" Wrecked_
My Russians were making good progress removing the rails, the freight
having been all portaged, and the scows run through the previous day
were being drawn up to the Island and reloaded. About 10 o'clock Captain
Barber started to run the tug "Crester" through the rapids without
steam, steering with auxiliary in case of accident. Disaster dogged the
footsteps of the railroad party apparently. Nothing had gone well so
far. The climax had arrived. Those who were watching the river gave a
shout. All eyes went to the rapid immediately; there was the "Crester"
shooting down through the roughest of the water well over on the land
side, out of control. We learned later that her rudder had been smashed.
We saw her take a few bad bumps from a distance of two hundred yards;
then with a final heave she seemed to be lifted bodily and dashed on the
rocks close inshore where she lay a wreck with her bottom stove in,
broadside to the current with the waves breaking over her.
[Illustration]
_The "Crester" Dismantled_
There were no casualties. With the aid of spars, the crew were easily
able to make the land. It was the middle of the afternoon before it was
possible for me to go over and see the tug. In the space of six hours
the captain, engineer and boatmen had her completely dismantled and all
her "innards" ashore, whilst preparations were being made to pull her
off and float her down the rest of the way into the Big Eddy, where she
could be patched up.
(_To be continued_)