Fighting for fortune or, Making a place for himself
“I am so sorry for you, Dean. I do not think papa really blames you,
and we will hope the affair will be explained soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Eva, for your kind words. Believe me, I shall do
everything in my power to solve the mystery. It is so strange such
misfortunes should come just as we were getting started.”
“Do not anticipate final disappointment, Dean. Remember misfortunes are
but opportunities to test our ability to conquer.”
Her words came to him like a prophecy, and through all of his trials he
often recalled them.
Nothing further was learned to throw any light on the situation, and
promptly the following morning the _Spray_ was ready to return to her
destination at the other end of the lake.
Both Judge Oglesby and Mr. Montague were on hand as passengers, while a
good number of others had secured tickets for the round trip, showing
that the venture was certain to prove a success.
The day had started in damp and foggy, and in the bustle of getting
under way, Dean had not found opportunity to say much to the judge,
whom he could see was deeply impressed with the situation.
“Where is the _Warrior_? I could not see her as I came on board,”
remarked the judge.
“For some reason unknown to me,” replied Captain Mercer, “she started
this morning half an hour ahead of her schedule. It may have been on
account of the fog.”
CHAPTER XII.
THE RACE BETWEEN THE STEAMERS.
“Confound this infernal fog! Look ahere, pilot, can you see anything of
that new steamer?”
“Not yet in sight, colonel.”
“That does not say she is not within beam’s length.”
“What’s that you are saying, Colonel Darringford?”
“Is that you, Captain Bumpstead? Say, has the engineer got on all the
steam she will stand? This seems like a sail’s pace.”
“The fastest we’ve made, colonel. The _Warrior_ has behaved
unaccountably well so far. God grant she may hold out until we reach
Springfield.”
“How soon shall we make Landlock?”
“In an hour, colonel, if we can keep up this speed.”
“Put on all the steam you can. I have sworn that we would show the
fools at Millville that we have still the best boat. We win to-day, or
Ebenezer Darringford doesn’t own this boat. Do you hear me, Martin?”
The officer simply bowed, while the speaker sought his cabin.
Captain Martin Bumpstead went directly to the pilot house, muttering
something about “when liquor is in, wit is out.”
The above conversation took place on the _Warrior_ in the midst of the
greatest excitement that had ever come upon the old boat.
Colonel Darringford, in the delirium of drink and the excitement caused
by the appearance of the rival steamer, had ordered that the _Warrior_
make an early start in order to keep ahead of the _Spray_ and in
reaching Springfield first to show that she was the equal of the other.
But owing to the fog slower progress had been made than might have been
accomplished under more favorable conditions.
“Where are we now?” demanded Captain Bumpstead, as he gained the pilot
house.
“Off Loon Point, sir. We would have been to Landlock if they had given
us all the steam I’ve called for,” exclaimed the grizzled man at the
wheel.
“More likely we should have been in the air,” declared the captain. “I
tell you, Dan Dame, the old hulk can’t stand any more.”
“I believe I see the new steamer now!” broke in the lookout at this
juncture.
Captain Bumpstead swore a round oath, as he demanded where.
“A mile in our rear.”
“We’re in for it,” cried the commander. “It all lies with you, boys.”
“Give me all the steam I call for and I’ll rip the lake but I’ll get
the ol’ tub in ahead.”
“The fog is lifting!” cried the lookout.
“I am afraid that will make it no better for us.”
“Give me all the steam I want and the fog will not run this race,”
cried the man at the wheel, showing by his manner that he was laboring
under great excitement.
The _Warrior_ was plowing furiously through the water.
The passengers, without dreaming of the peril which the steamer was
madly courting, gathered in groups upon the decks, trying to penetrate
the gloom around them in vain.
So fifteen minutes passed without any material change in the situation,
except that the fog had continued to lift.
The _Spray_ was now in plain sight to the lookout.
“Is she gaining on us?” asked the captain, “or does it look so because
the light is growing better?”
“We are holding our own, captain.” Under his breath he added:
“But we shan’t long, now the fog has lifted.”
For the next ten minutes the fog lifted so rapidly that the _Spray_ was
now in plain sight and bearing swiftly down upon them.
“She’s gaining on us!” panted Captain Bumpstead.
“Gaining, did you say?” cried a voice at his elbow, and he turned to
find that Colonel Darringford had reached the pilot house.
“This is no place for you at this time, colonel,” said the captain.
“It’s just the place for me, and I’m going to stay here till we have
run that hound out of the race.”
The others knew it would be useless to argue with the maddened owner of
the boat, and so they contented themselves with their respective duties.
A silence fell on the speakers, save for the growls of the man at the
wheel as he called down the tube every other minute for more steam.
“Blow her to perdition and be spiked, but I must hev more steam.”
The _Spray_ had begun to show greater life, and it was apparent to
all that she was rapidly overtaking the older boat. New machinery and
improved conditions made this easy. Had Captain Bumpstead known that
even then the _Spray_ had not shown her best, he might have been more
hopeless.
“She’ll make the Point first!” he exclaimed.
“Then it will be her ruin!” thundered Colonel Darringford.
The _Warrior_ was trembling from fore to aft, groaning like a huge
creature in its dying agonies.
The captain had joined the group on the deck, though he was watching
the twain in the pilot house more than the oncoming steamer, that
even he could not help denying made a beautiful sight as she swept
gracefully onward, throwing out deep furrows of foaming water very much
as a huge plow would rend and throw out the mellow soil of the earth.
Almost before the commander realized it, the _Spray_ was abreast of the
_Warrior_!
“We are lost!” he gasped. “She will win the right of way to the Point.”
Aye, at that very moment Jack Carboy had seized the handle on the cord
attached to the whistle, and was blowing a signal which in navigation
language said:
“The right of way is mine, and I am to cross your bows. Change your
course or shut down.”
Dan Dame at his post on the _Warrior_ heard and understood. As reckless
as he was, he shrank from his foolhardy course.
At that moment Rodney Darringford reached his father’s side, and as he
realized their awful peril, cried:
“Come with me, father!”
The man at the wheel was in the act of signaling to the engineer to
shut off steam and reverse the power, when Colonel Darringford, as
white as a ghost, sprang forward and dashing Dan Dame aside seized the
wheel in his own frenzied clutch.
“Port your helm!” shrieked Jack Carboy in a voice heard by all of the
terrified spectators. “Hard-a-port, or we’ll run you down!”
The next moment he gasped in a husky voice:
“That madman will send us to the bottom!”
Seeing the inevitable fate in store for both steamers, Dean Mercer
shouted:
“Shut off the power! Reverse----”
Jack Carboy, as true as steel, threw his giant strength to the lever in
a wild endeavor to save the steamer.
Too late!
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FATE OF THE “WARRIOR.”
The passengers on board the ill-fated steamers turned pale with terror.
Wild commands were shouted from both of the boats--commands no man
could obey.
Jack Carboy did his best to avert the catastrophe, and the _Spray_
obeyed her master as only a perfect piece of mechanism could.
But Colonel Darringford seemed to have suddenly been changed to a
madman. In spite of the iron-clad rule of navigation that he was
breaking; in spite of the doom that awaited him and all on his steamer,
he bore madly down across the path of the _Spray_.
In a moment a terrible crash sounded above the cries of human beings. A
shock--a mighty plunge--a downward sweep of the bows of the _Warrior_
and a swift sheering off of the _Spray_, and the collision was over.
The prompt action of the officers and crew of the new steamer averted
what at first seemed certain destruction to both boats. But as it was
the older and weaker craft was soon struggling helplessly in the
pathway of the other.
Some of the passengers on the _Warrior_ were flung headlong into the
water; others jumped overboard in their alarm, while those who remained
on the decks were thrown in heaps together.
Fortunately none was killed on the _Spray_, though many were injured to
greater or less extent. The steamer had received a jagged rent in her
port where the old steamer had struck. But it was nothing that could
not be repaired so they could keep on their way.
But it was soon evident that the _Warrior_ would have to be overhauled
before she could run on another trip.
Boats were lowered and lines dropped to those in the water, and so
rapidly did the work of rescue go on that in less than half an hour
after the shock of the collision all of the passengers on the _Warrior_
had been taken on the _Spray_.
As far as could be ascertained no lives had been lost.
It was decided to try and get the _Warrior_ into the dock at Landlock.
Rodney Darringford came on board the _Spray_, but his father, who
showed that he had recovered from the influence of the liquor, did not.
He was bitter in his denunciations of the rival boat.
“I’ll make you pay for this, Judge Oglesby, if there is law enough in
the land to do it. You have ruined my boat.”
No reply was made to this threat, and after temporarily repairing the
hole that had been made in the _Spray_, the steamer, with her double
cargo of passengers, once more steamed on her way.
No one censured the conduct of the officers of the _Spray_. In fact,
many tried to find Captain Mercer to extend their praise for his
gallant conduct.
He was closeted in his cabin with Judge Oglesby and Mr. Montague, so
that he was not to be seen for the present.
“You behaved nobly, Dean,” declared the judge, dropping the official
form of address as he spoke.
“I do not see that I did anything unusual. If any praise is deserving
it belongs to Jack Carboy. But for his prompt and intelligent action
our steamer must have received more damage than she has, if not ruined
entirely.”
“The old seadog is a diamond in the rough. We can trust him. This will
probably make us an hour late at Springfield.”
“Better lose an hour than our lives,” said Mr. Montague, though he was
as anxious to reach the city as his companions.
Nothing further occurred to mar the trip to Springfield. A short stop
was made at Landlock, where the _Warrior_ would have to remain.
So, leaving the veteran steamer slumbering at her dock, the _Spray_,
still carrying all of the through passengers, glided triumphantly on
her way.
“It will be a month at least before the _Warrior_ can be made
serviceable again, if she can be at all,” declared Judge Oglesby to the
young commander. “Colonel Darringford, through his folly, has sealed
his own ill fortune. Captain Mercer, you have a clear way now, and
if this other matter can be settled satisfactorily, your success is
assured.”
“I suppose I am foolish,” thought the young captain, “but somehow I
wish Rodney Darringford had stayed with his father.”
Colonel Darringford meanwhile, having urged his son to go to
Springfield and find Tim Downey, was devoting all of his time and
energies to swallowing huge potations of fiery liquor.