by Holman Day
XV ~ THE RULES OF THE ROAD
Now the _Dreadnought's_ a-sailing the Atlantic so wide, Where the high, roaring seas roll along her black side. Her sailors like lions walk the deck to and fro, She's the Liverpool packet--O Lord let her go! --Song of the Flash Packet.
On a day in early August the _Nequasset_ came walloping laboriouslyup-coast through a dungeon fog, steel rails her dragging burden, cautionher watchword.
The needle of her indicator marked "Half speed," and it really meanthalf speed. Captain Zoradus Wass made scripture of the rules laiddown by the Department of Commerce and Labor. There was no trickyslipping-over under his sway--no finger-at-nose connivance between thepilot-house and the chief engineer's grille platform. No, Captain Wasswas not that kind of a man, though the fog had held in front of him twodays, vapor thick as feathers in a tick, and he had averaged not muchover six nautical miles an hour, and was bitterly aware that the rate offreight on steel rails was sixty-five cents a ton.
"And as I've been telling you, at sixty-five cents there's about as muchprofit as there would be in swapping hard dollars from one hand to theother and depending on what silver you can rub off," said Captain Wassto First-mate Mayo.
The captain was holding the knob of the whistle-pull In constant clutch.Regularly every minute _Nequasset's_ prolonged blast sounded, strictlyaccording to the rules of the road.
Her voice started with a complaining squawk, was full toned for a fewmoments, then trailed off into more querulousness; the timbre of thattone seemed to fit with Captain Wass's mood.
"It's tough times when a cargo-carrier has to figger so fine that shecan lose profit on account of what the men eat," he went on. "If you'retwo days late, minding rules in a fog, owners ask what the tophet'sthe matter with you! This kind of business don't need steamboat men anylonger; it calls for boarding-house keepers who can cut sirloin steakoff'n a critter clear to the horn, and who are handy in turning sharpcorners on left-overs. I'll buy a book of cooking receets and try toturn in dividends."
The captain was broad-bowed, like the _Nequasset_, he sagged on shortlegs as if he carried a cargo fully as heavy as steel rails, his whitewhiskers streamed away from his cutwater nose like the froth kicked upby the old freighter's forefoot. He chewed slowly, conscientiously andcontinuously on tobacco which bulged in his cheek; his jaws, moving assteadily as a pendulum swings, seemed to set the time for the isochronalwhistle-blast. Sixty ruminating jaw-wags, then he spat into the fog,then the blast--correct to the clock's tide!
The windows of the pilot-house were dropped into their casings, sothat all sounds might be admitted; the wet breeze beaded the skipper'swhiskers and dampened the mate's crisp hair. While the mate leanedfrom a window, ear cocked for signals, the captain gave him more of thecritical inspection in which he had been indulging when occasion served.
Furthermore, Captain Wass went on pecking around the edges of a topicwhich he had been attacking from time to time with clumsy attempt atartful inquisition.
"As bad as it is on a freighter, I reckon you ain't sorry you're offthat yacht, son?"
"I'm not sorry, sir."
"From what you told me, the owner was around meddling all the time."
"I don't remember that I ever said so, sir."
"Oh, I thought you did," grunted Captain Wass, and he covered hismomentary check by sounding the whistle.
"Now that you are back in the steamboat business, of course you're asteamboat man. Have the interests of your owners at heart," he resumed.
"Certainly, sir."
"It would be a lot of help to the regular steamboat men--the good oldstand-bys--if they could get some kind of a line on what them WallStreet cusses are gunning through with Marston leading 'em--or, atleastways, he's supposed to be leading. He hides away in the middle ofthe web and lets the other spiders run and fetch. But it's Marston'sscheme, you can bet on that! What do you think?"
"I haven't thought anything about it, Captain Wass." "But how couldyou help thinking, catching a word here and a word there, aboard thatyacht?"
"I never listened--I never heard anything."
"But he had them other spiders aboard--seen 'em myself through myspy-glass when you passed us one day in June."
"I suppose they talked together aft, but my duty was forward, sir."
"It's too bad you didn't have a flea put into your ear about getting aline on Marston's scheme, whatever it is. You could have helped the realboys in this game!"
Mayo did not reply.
Captain Wass showed a resolve to quit pecking at the edges and make adab at the center of the subject. He pulled the whistle, released theknob, and turned back to the window, setting his elbows on the casing.
"Son, you ain't in love with that pirate Marston, are you?"
"No, sir!" replied the young man, with bitterness that could not bedoubted.
"Well, how about your being in love with his daughter?" The caustichumor in the old skipper's tones robbed the question of some of itsbrutal bluntness, and Mayo was accustomed to Captain Wass's brandof humor. The young man did not turn his head for a few moments; hecontinued to look into the fog as if intent on his duty; he was tryingto get command of himself, fully aware that resentment would not work inthe case of Zoradus Wass. When Mayo did face the skipper, the latterwas discomposed in his turn, for Mayo showed his even teeth in a cordialsmile.
"Do you think I have been trying the chauffeur trick in order to catchan heiress, sir?"
"Well, there's quite a gab-wireless operating along-coast and sailorsdon't always keep their yawp closed after they have taken a man's moneyto keep still," stated Captain Wass, pointedly. "I wouldn't blame youfor grabbing in. You're good-looking enough to do what others have donein like cases."
"Thank you, sir. What's the rest of the joke?"
"I never joke," retorted the skipper, turning and pulling thewhistle-cord. _Nequasset's_ squall rose and died down in her brazenthroat. "Her name is Alma?" he prodded. "Something of a clipper. IfMarston ever makes you general manager, put me into a better job thanthis, will you?"
"I will, sir!"
The skipper gave his mate a disgusted stare. "You're a devil of a manto keep up a conversation with!" He spat against the wall of the fog andagain let loose the freighter's hoarse lament.
From somewhere, ahead, a horn wailed, dividing its call into two blasts.
"Port tack and headed acrost us," snarled the master, after a sniff atthe air and a squint at the sluggish ripple.
"Why ain't the infernal fool anchored, instead of drifting aroundunderfoot? How does he bear, Mr. Mayo?" He was now back to pilot-houseformality with his mate.
"Two points and a half, starboard bow, sir. And there's another chapgiving one horn in about the same direction."
"Another drifter--not wind enough for 'em to know what tack they'rereally on. Well, there's always Article Twenty-seven to fall back on,"grumbled the skipper. He quoted sarcastically in the tone in which thatrule is mouthed so often in pilot-houses along coast: '"Due regard shallbe had to all dangers of navigation and collision, and to any specialcircumstances which may render a departure from the above rulesnecessary, and so forth and et cetry. Meaning, thank the Lord, that asteamer can always run away from a gad-slammed schooner, even at halfspeed. Hope if it ever comes to a showdown the secretary of the bureauof commerce will agree with me. Ease her off to starboard, Mr. Mayo,till we bring 'em abeam."
The mate gave a quick glance at the compass. "East by nothe, Jack," hecommanded.
"East by nothe, sir," repeated the quartermaster in mechanical tones,spinning the big wheel to the left.
It was evident that the _Nequasset_ had considerable company on the seathat day. A little abaft her beam a tugboat was blowing one long and twoshort, indicating her tow. She had been their "chum" for some time, andMayo had occasionally taken her bearings by sound and compass and knewthat the freighter was slowly forging ahead. He figured, listening againto the horns, that the Nequas
set was headed to clear all.
"You take a skipper who studies his book and is always ready to lookthe department in the eye, without flinching, he has to mind hisown business and mind the other fellow's, too," said Captain Wass,continuing his monologue of grouch. "Dodging here and there, keeping outof the way, two days behind schedule, meat three times a day or elseyou can't keep a crew, and everybody hearty at meal-time! My owners havenever told me to let the law go to hoot and ram her for all she's worth!But when I carry in my accounts they seem to be trying to think uplanguage that tells a man to do a thing, and yet doesn't tell him.What's that?" He put his head far out of the window.
Floating out of the fog came a dull, grunting sound, a faint andfar-away diapason, a marine whistle which announced a big chap.
"I should say it is a Union liner, sir--either the _Triton_ or_Neptune_."
They listened. They waited two long minutes for another signal.
"Seems to be taking up his full, legal time," growled Captain Wass."Since Marston has gobbled that line maybe he has put on a specialregister to keep tabs on tooting--thinks it's waste of steam and willreduce dividends. Expects us little fellows to do the squawking!"
The big whistle boomed again, dead ahead, and so much nearer that itprovoked the skipper to lash out a round oath.
"He is reeling off eighteen knots for a gait, or you can use my head fora rivet nut!" He yanked the cord and the freighter howled angrily. Theother replied with bellowing roar--autocratic, domineering. With irony,with vindictiveness, Captain Wass pitched his voice in sarcastic nasaltone and recited another rule--thereby trying to express his irateopinion of the lawlessness of other men.
"Article Sixteen, Mr. Mayo! He probably carries it in his watch-caseinstead of his girl's picture! Nice reading for a rainy day! 'Asteam-vessel hearing apparently forward of her beam the fog signal of avessel, the position of which is not ascertained, shall, so far as thecircumstances of the case permit, stop her engines and then navigatewith caution until all danger of collision is over.' Hooray for therules!"
Captain Wass hooked a gnarled finger into the loop of the bell-pull andyanked upward viciously. A dull clang sounded far below. He pulled againand the vibration of the engine ceased.
"Gad rabbit it! I'll go the whole hog as the department orders! If hebangs into me we'll see who comes off best at the hearing."
He gave the bell-loop two quick jerks; then he shifted his hand toanother pull and the jingle bell sounded in the engine-room--the_Nequasset_ was ordered to make full speed astern.
The freighter shook and shivered when the screw began to reverse,pulling at the frothing sea, clawing frantically to haul her to a stop.The skipper then gave three resentful, protesting whistle-blasts.
But the reply he received from ahead was a hoarse, prolonged howl. Init there was no hint that the big fellow proposed to heed the protestof the three blasts. It was insistence on right of way, the insolence ofthe swaggering express liner making time in competition with rivals; ithinted confident opinion that smaller chaps would better get out of theway.
The on-comer had received a signal which served to justify that opinion.Captain Wass had docilely announced that he was going full speed astern,his whistle-blasts had declared that he had stepped off the sidewalkof the ocean lane--as usual! The big fellows knew that the little chapswould do it!
Mate Mayo leaned from the window, his jaw muscles tense, anxiety in hiseyes.
The big whistle now was fairly shaking the curtains of the mists and wasnot giving him any comforting assurance that the liner was swinging toavoid them.
The quartermaster was taking the situation more philosophically than hissuperiors. He hummed:
Sez all the little fishes that swim to and fro, She's the Liverpool packet--O Lord let her go!
"Does that gor-righteously fool ahead there think I blowed threewhistles to salute Marston's birthday or their last dividend, Mr. Mayo?"shouted Captain Wass.
Fogs are freaky; ocean mists are often eerie in movements. There arestrata, there are eddying air-currents which rend the curtain or shredthe massing vapors. The men in the pilot-house of the _Nequasset_suddenly found their range of vision widened. The fog did not clear; itbecame more tenuous and showed an area of the sea. It was like a thinveil which disclosed dimly what it distorted and magnified.
In a fog, experienced steamboat men always examine with earnest gazethe line where fog and ocean merge. They do not stare up into the fog,trying to distinguish the loom of an on-coming craft; they are ableto discern first of all the white line of foam marking the vessel'scutwater kick-up or her wake.
"There she comes, sir!" announced the mate. He pointed his finger at afoaming upthrust of tossing water.
"Yes, sir! Eighteen knots and both eyes shut!" But there was reliefmingled with the resentment. His quick glance informed him that theliner would pass the _Nequasset_ well to starboard--her bow showed adivergence of at least two points from the freighter's course. But thenext instant Captain Wass yelped a shout of angry alarm. "Yes, both eyesshut!" he repeated.
Right in line with the liner's threshing bow was a fisherman's Hamptonboat, disclosed as the fog drifted.
The passenger-steamer gave forth a half-dozen "woofs" from her whistle,answering the freighter's staccato warning, but gave no signs ofslowing. But that they were making an attempt to dodge the mite in theirpath was made known by a shout from their lookout and his shrill call:"Port! Hard over!"
The fisherman had all the alertness of his kind, trained by dangers andever-present prospect of mischance to grab at desperate measures.He leaped forward and pulled out his mast and tossed mast and sailoverboard.
He knew that he must encounter the tremendous wash and wake of therushing hull. His shell of a boat, if made topheavy by the sail, wouldstand small show.
"He's a goner!" gasped Captain Wass. "She's a-going to tramp him plumbunderfoot--unless she's going to get up a little more speed and jumpover him!" he added, moved to bitter sarcasm.
They saw the little boat go into eclipse behind the black prow, thefirst lift of the churning waters flipping the cockleshell as a coinis snapped by the thumb. The fisherman was not in view--he had thrownhimself flat in the bottom of his boat.
"He's under for keeps," stated the skipper, with conviction. "If herbilge-keel doesn't cooper him, her port propeller will!"
So rapidly was the liner moving, so abrupt her swoop to the right, thatshe leaned far over and showed them the red of her huge bilge. Her highspeed enabled her to make an especially quick turn. As they gaped,her two stacks swung almost into line. Her shearing bow menaced the_Nequasset_.
"The condemned old hellion is going to nail _us_, now!" bellowed CaptainWass. In his panic and his fury he leaped up and down, pulling at thewhistle-cord.
She was almost upon them--only a few hundred yards of gray waterseparated the two steamers.
She was the _Triton!_
Her name was disclosed on her bow. Her red hawse-holes showed likeglowering and savage eyes. There was indescribably brutal threat in thissudden dart in their direction. It was as if a sea monster had swallowedan insect in the shape of a Hampton boat and now sought a real mouthful.But her great rudder swung to the quick pull of her steam steering-gearand again she sheered, cutting a letter s. The movement brought her pastthe stern of the _Nequasset_, a biscuit-toss away. The mighty surge ofher roaring passage lifted the freighter's bulk aft, and the huge wavethat was crowded between the two hulls crowned itself with frothingwhite and slapped a good, generous ton of green water over the smallersteamer's superstructure.
Captain Wass grabbed down his megaphone; he wanted to submit a fewremarks which seemed to fit the incident.
But the captain of the Triton was beforehand with a celerity whichmatched the up-to-date speed of his craft. He was bellowing through thehuge funnel which a quartermaster was holding for him. His languagewas terrific. He cursed freighters in most able style. He asked why the_Nequasset_ was loafing there in the seaway with
out steering headway onher! That amazing query took away Captain Wass's breath and all powerto retort. Asking that of a man who had obeyed the law to the letter! Afellow who was banging through the fog at eighteen knots' speed blaminga conscientious skipper because the latter had stopped so as to get outof the way!
And, above all, going so fast when he asked the question that he was outof ear-shot before suitable answer could be returned!
Captain Wass revolved those whirling thoughts in a brain which flamedand showed its fires through the skipper's wide-propped eyes.
Then he banged his megaphone across the pilot-house. It reboundedagainst him, and he kicked it into a corner. He began to whack his fistagainst a broad placard which was tacked up under his license as master.The cardboard was freshly white, and its tacks were bright, showing thatit had been recently added as a feature of the pilot-house. Big lettersin red ink at the top counseled, "Safety First." Other big lettersat the bottom warned, "Take No Chances." The center lettering advisedshipmasters that in case of accident the guilty parties would feel allthe weight of Uncle Sam's heavy palm; it was the latest output fromthe Department of Commerce and Labor, and bore the signature of thehonorable secretary of the bureau.
Mayo noted that his chief was wholly absorbed in this speechlessactivity; therefore he pulled the bells which stopped the backwardchurning and sent the freighter on her way. They passed the fisherman inthe Hampton boat; he was bailing his craft.
"That was a rather close call, sir! I am glad that I have been trainedby you to be a careful man. You took no chances!"
"And where have I got to by obeying the United States rules and nevertaking chances, Mr. Mayo? At sixty-five I'm master of a freight-scow,sassed by owners ashore and sassed on the high seas by fellows like thatone who just slammed past us! If that passenger-steamer had hit me thelawyers would have shoved the tar end of the stick into my hands! It'sall for the good of the hellbent fellows the way things are arrangedin this world at the present time. I'll be lucky if he doesn't lodgecomplaint against me when he gets to New York, saying that I got in hisway!" He cut off a fresh sliver of black plug and took his position atthe whistle-pull. "You'd better go get an heiress," he advised his mate,sourly. "Being an old-fashioned skipper in these days of steam-boatingis what I'm too polite to name. And as to being the other kind--well,you have just seen him whang past!"
However, as they went wallowing up the coast, their old tub sagging withthe weight of the rails under her hatches, Mate Mayo felt considerableof a young man's ambitious envy of that spick-and-span swaggerer whohad yelled anathema from the pilot-house of the _Triton_. It wasreal steamboating, he reflected, even if the demands of owners anddividend-seekers did compel a master to take his luck between his teethand gallop down the seas.