by Holman Day
XX ~ TESTING OUT A MAN
Now the first land we made is call-ed The Deadman, The Ramhead off Plymouth, Start, Portland and Wight. We sail-ed by Beachy, By Fairlee and Dungeness, Until we came abreast of the South Foreland Light. --Farewell and Adieu.
With starboard engine clawing her backward, and the port engine drivingher ahead, the Montana swung her huge bulk when she was free of thepenning piers. The churning propellers, offsetting, turned her in hertracks. Then she began to feel her way out of the maze of the traffic.
The grim, silent men of the pilot-houses do not talk much even when theyare at liberty on shore. They are taciturn when on duty. They do notrelate their sensations when they are elbowing their way through theEast River in a fog; they haven't the language to do so.
A psychologist might make much out of the subject by discussingconcentration sublimated, human senses coordinating sight and soundon the instant, a sort of sixth sense which must be passed on into thelimbos of guesswork as instinct.
The man in the pilot-house would not in the least understand a word ofwhat the psychologist was talking about.
The steamboat officer merely understands that he must be on his job!
The _Montana_ added her voice to the bedlam of river yawp.
The fog was so dense that even the lookout posted at her fore windlasseswas a hazy figure as seen from the pilot-house. A squat ferryboat, whichwas headed across the river straight at the slip where her shore gong'was hailing her, splashed under the steamer's bows, two tugs loafednonchalantly across in the other direction--saucy sparrows of the rivertraffic, always underfoot and dodging out of danger by a breathlessmargin.
Whistle-blasts piped or roared singly and in pairs, a duet of steamvoices, or blended at times into a puzzling chorus.
A steamer's whistle in the fog conveys little information except toannounce that a steam-propelled craft is somewhere yonder in the whiteblank, unseen, under way. No craft is allowed to sound passing signalsunless the vessel she is signaling is in plain sight.
Captain Mayo could see nothing--even the surface of the water was almostindistinguishable.
Ahead, behind, to right and left, everything that could toot was busyand vociferous. Here and there a duet of three staccato blasts indicatedthat neighbors were threatening to collide and were crawfishing to thebest of their ability.
Twice the big steamer stopped her engines and drifted until the squabbleahead of her seemed to have been settled.
A halt mixes the notations of the log, but the mates of the steamer madethe Battery signals, and after a time the spidery outlines of the firstgreat bridge gave assurance that their allowances were correct.
Providentially there was a shredding of the fog at Hell Gate, ashore-breeze flicking the mists off the surface of the water.
Then was revealed the situation which lay behind the particularlyemphatic and uproarious "one long and two short" blasts of a violentwhistle. A Lehigh Valley tug was coming down the five-knot current withthree light barges, which the drift had skeowowed until they were takingup the entire channel. With their cables, the tug and tow stretched forat least four thousand feet, almost a mile of dangerous drag.
"Our good luck, sir," vouchsafed the first mate. "She was howling soloud, blamed if I could tell whether she was coming or going. She's gotno business coming down the Sound."
Captain Mayo, his teeth set hard, his rigid face dripping with moisture,as he stood in the open window, stopped the engines of his giant chargeand jingled for full speed astern in order to halt her. He had no desireto battle for possession of the channel with what he saw ahead.
At that moment Manager Fogg came into the pilothouse, disregarding the"No Admittance" sign by authority of his position. He lighted a cigarand displayed the contented air of a man who has fed fully.
"You have been making a pretty slow drag of it, haven't you, CaptainMayo? I've had time to eat dinner--and I'm quite a feeder at that! Andwe haven't made the Gate yet!"
"We couldn't do a stroke better and be safe," said the captain over hisshoulder, his eyes on the tow.
"What's the matter now?"
"A tug and three barges in the way."
"Do you mean to say you're holding up a Vose liner with eight hundredpassengers, waiting for a tugboat? Look here, Mayo, we've got to hustlefolks to where they want to go, and get them there in time."
"That tow is coming down with the current and has the right of way, sir.And there's no chance of passing, for she's sweeping the channel."
"I don't believe there's any law that makes a passenger-boat hold upfor scows," grumbled Fogg. "If there is one, a good man knows how toget around it and keep up his schedule." He paced the pilot-house at theextreme rear, puffing his cigar.
He grunted when Mayo gave the go-ahead bells and the throb of theengines began.
"Now ram her along, boy. People in these days don't want to waste timeon the road. They're even speeding up the automobile hearses."
Captain Mayo did not reply. He was grateful that the dangers of HellGate had been revealed. The mists hung in wisps against North BrotherIsland when he swung into the channel of the Gate, and he could see,far ahead, the shaft of the lighthouse. It was a stretch where closefiguring was needed, and this freak of the mists had given him a finechance. He jingled for full speed and took a peep to note the bearing ofSunken Meadow spindle.
"Nothe-east, five-eighths east!" he directed the quartermaster at thewheel.
The man repeated the command mechanically and brought her to her coursefor the Middle Ground passage.
After they had rounded North Brother, Whitestone Point tower wasrevealed. It really seemed as if the fog were clearing, and even in thechannel between Execution Rocks and Sands Point his hopes were rising.But in the wider waters off Race Rock the _Montana_ drove her blacksnout once more into the white pall, and her whistle began to brayagain.
The young captain sighed. "East, a half nothe!"
"East, a half nothe, it is, sir!"
At least, he had conquered East River, the Gate, and the narrows beyond,and had many miles straight ahead to the whistler off Point Judith. Hewas resolved to be thankful for small favors.
He hoped that with the coming of the night and on account of theprevalence of the fog he would find that shipping of the ordinary sorthad stopped moving. However, in a few minutes he heard telltale whistlesahead, and he signaled half speed. A lumbering old lighter with ayawing derrick passed close aboard. An auxiliary fisherman, his exhaustsnapping like a machine-gun, and seeming to depend on that noise forwarning, was overtaken.
"Can you leave that window for a minute, Captain Mayo?" asked thegeneral manager.
The captain promptly joined Mr. Fogg at the rear of the spaciouspilot-house.
"See here, Cap," remonstrated his superior, "I came down through thesewaters on the _Triton_ of the Union line the other day, and she made hertime. What's the matter with us?"
"I'm obeying the law, sir. And there are new warnings just issued." Hepointed to the placard headed "Safety First" in big, red letters. "Theword has been passed that the first captain who is caught with the goodswill be made an example of."
"Is that so?" commented Fogg, studying the end of his cigar. His tonewas a bit peculiar. "But the _Triton_ came along."
"And she nigh rammed the _Nequasset_ in the fog the last trip I made upthe coast. It was simply touch and go, Mr. Fogg, and all her fault. Wewere following the rules to the letter."
"And that's one way of spoiling the business of a steamboat line,"snapped Fogg. He added, to himself, "But it isn't my way!"
"I'm sorry, but I have been trained to believe that a record for safetyis better than all records for speed, sir."
"I let Jacobs go because he was old-fashioned, Mayo. This is the age oftaking chances--taking chances and getting there! Business, politics,railroading, and steam-boating. The people expect it. The right folks doit."
"You are general man
ager of this line, Mr. Fogg. Do you order me to makeschedule time, no matter what conditions are?"
"You are the captain of this boat. I simply want you to deliverup-to-date goods. As to how you do it, that is not my business. I'm nota sea-captain, and I don't presume to advise as to details."
Captain Mayo was young, He knew the 'longcoast game. He was ambitious.Opportunity had presented itself. He understood the unreasoning temperof those who sought dividends without bothering much about details. Heknew how other passenger captains were making good with the powers whocontrolled transportation interests. He confessed to himself that he hadenvied the master of the rushing _Triton_ who had swaggered past as ifhe owned the sea.
Till then Mayo had been the meek and apologetic passer-by along theocean lane, expecting to be crowded to one side, dodging when the bigfellow bawled for open road.
He remembered with what haste he always manouvered the old _Nequasset_out of the way of harm when he heard the lordly summons of the passengerliners. Was not that the general method of the freighter skippers? Whyshould he not expect them to get out of his way, now that he was one ofthe swaggerers of the sea? Let them do the worrying now, as he had donethe worrying and dodging in the past! He stepped back to his window,those reflections whirling in his brain.
"This is no freighter," he told himself. "Fogg is right. If I don'tdeliver the goods somebody else will be called on to do it, so what'sthe use? I'll play the game. Just remember--will you, Mayo--that you'vegot your heart's wish, and are captain of the _Montana_. If I lose thisjob on account of a placard with red letters, I'll kick myself on boarda towboat, and stay there the rest of my life."
He yanked a log-book from the rack and noted the steamer's averagespeed from the entries. He signaled to the engine-room through thespeaking-tube.
"Give her two hundred a minute, chief!" he ordered.
And fifteen seconds later, her engines pulsing rhythmically, the bigcraft was splitting fog and water at express speed, howling for littlefellows to get out from underfoot.
Down in the gleaming depths of her the orchestra was lilting a gaywaltz, silver clattered over the white napery of the dining-room, menand women laughed and chattered and flirted; men wrote telegrams, makingappointments for the morrow at early hours, and the wireless flashedthem forth. They were sent with the certainty on the part of the sendersthat no man in these days waits for tide or fog. The frothing watersflashed past in the night outside, and they who ventured forth upon thedripping decks glanced at the fan of white spume spreading into the fog,and were glad to return to cozy chairs and the radiance of the saloon.
High up forward, in the pilot-house, were the eyes and the brains ofthis rushing monster. It was dark there except for the soft, yellowgleam of the binnacle lights. It was silent but for the low voice of amate who announced his notations.
Occasionally the mates glanced at each other in the gloom when asteamer's whistle sounded ahead. This young captain seemed to be a chapwho carried his nerve with him! They were used to the more cautioussystem of Captain Jacobs.
The master did not reduce speed. He leaned far out, his hand at his ear.The third time an unknown sounded her blast he took a quick glance atthe compass.
"Two points shift--so she shows," he said aloud. "We'll pass her allright."
The change in the direction of the sound had assured him. A few minuteslater the whistle voiced a location safely abeam. But the next whistlethey heard sounded dead ahead, and increased in volume of sound onlygradually. They were overtaking a vessel headed in the same direction.
Captain Mayo pulled the cord oftener and sounded more prolonged, moreimperious hoots. He ordered no change in his course. He was headedfor the Point Judith whistler, and did not propose to take chances onfumbling by any detours. The craft ahead at last seemed to recognize thevoice of its master. The sound of the whistle showed that it had swungoff the course.
The mate mumbled notations.
"All ears out!" ordered the captain. "We ought to make that whistler!"And in the next breath he said: "There she is!" He pointed a wet handahead and slightly to port. A queer, booming grunt came to them. "You'reall right, old girl," he declared. "Jacobs wasn't over-praising you."He reached over the sill and patted the woodwork of his giant pet.He turned to the quartermaster. "East, five-eighths south," was hisdirection.
"East, five-eighths south, sir!"
"What's the next we make, captain?" asked the general manager from thegloom at the rear of the pilot-house.
"Sow and Pigs Lightship, entrance of Vineyard Sound, sir."
"Good work! I'm going to take a turn below. See you again! What canI tell any uneasy gentleman who is afraid he'll miss a businessappointment in the morning?"
"Tell him we'll be on time to the dot," declared the captain, quietly.
Mr. Fogg closed the pilot-house door behind himself and chuckled when heeased his way down the slippery ladder.
Mr. Fogg sauntered through the brilliantly lighted saloon, hands in hispockets, giving forth an impression of a man entirely at ease. Nobodyappeared to recognize the new general manager of the Vose line, and heattracted no special attention. But if any one had been sufficientlyinterested in Mr. Fogg to note him closely it would have been observedthat his mouth worked nervously when he stood at the head of the grandstairway and stared about him. His jowls sagged. When he pulled out hishandkerchief his hand trembled.
He descended the stairs to the main-deck and peered about in thesmoking-quarters, running his eyes over the faces of the men gatheredthere. All at once he lifted his chin with a little jerk and climbed thestairs again. A big man tossed away a cigar and followed at a respectfuldistance. He pursued Mr. Fogg through the saloon and down a corridor andwent into a stateroom on the general manager's heels.
"By gad, Burkett, I'm getting cold chills!" exploded Mr. Fogg, as soonas the door was closed.
"Don't understand just why."
"Those people out there--I've just been looking 'em over. It's monkeyingwith too big a proposition, Burkett. You can't reckon ahead on a thinglike this."
"Sure you can. I've doped it right."
"Oh, I know you understand what you're talking about, but--"
"Well, I ought to know. I've been pilot for the re-survey party on theshoals for the last two months. I know every inch of the bottom."
"But the panic. There's bound to be one. The rest of 'em won'tunderstand, Burkett. It's going to be awful on board here. I'll be heremyself. I can't stand it."
"Look here, governor; there won't be any panic. She'll slide into thesand like a baby nestling down into a crib. There isn't a pebble inthat sand for miles. Half of this bunch of passengers will be abed andasleep. They won't wake up. The rest will never know anything specialexcept that the engines have stopped. And that ain't anything unusualin a fog. It's a quiet night--not a ripple. Nothing to hurt us. Thewireless will bring the revenue cutter out from Wood's Hole, and she'llstand by till morning and take 'em off."
"The theory is good. It's mostly my own idea, and I'm proud of it, and Iwas mighty glad to find a man of your experience to back me up with thepractical details," said Fogg, trying to fortify his faith with wordsbut failing. "But now that it's coming down to cases I'm afraid of it."
"Well, it's up to you, of course, governor. I insist it can be done, anddone smooth, and you'll lay off this steamer nice, slick, and easy!That will put a crimp into the Vose line and make them stockholders takenotice the next time a fair offer is made."
"It's the thing to do, and I know it. The conditions are just right,and we've got a green captain to make the goat of. All set! But it'san awful thing to monkey with--eight hundred people, and no knowing howthey'll take it! It came over me while I stood there and looked at 'em!"
"Sand is sand, and the whole, round earth is braced up under that sand.She can't sink. She'll simply gouge her way like a plow into a furrow,and there she'll stick, sitting straight, solid as an island--and itwill be a devil of a while before they'll be able to dig h
er out. It'sa crimp for the Vose line, I say, governor!" Malevolence glowed inBurkett's little eyes.
"Of course, the money I'm getting for this job looks good to me,governor, but my chance to put a wallop into anything that old Vose andhis sons are interested in looks just as good. I wouldn't be in thisjust for the money end of it. I'm no pirate, but when they kicked meout of the pilot-house and posted me up and down this coast, they putthemselves in line to get what's coming to 'em from me."
"But have you considered every side of it?" pleaded Fogg. "You're thepractical man in this proposition. What can happen?"
"If you do exactly what I tell you to do nothing can happen but what'son our program. Just let me stiffen you up by running the thing overonce more."
He pulled a hand-smutched, folded chart from his breast pocket andspread it over his knees. With blunt forefinger he indicated the pointsto which he made reference in his explanation.
"When he fetches Nobska horn on his port, bearing nor'west by west,he'll shift his course. After about five miles he's due to shift again,swinging six points to nor-rard. You'll hear the mate name the bearingof West Chop steam-whistle. Then you walk right up to the left of thecompass and stand there. You may hear a little tongue-clattering fora few seconds. There'll be a little cussing, maybe, but you won't becussed, of course. You stand right there, calm and cool, never battingan eyelid. And then it will happen, and when it does happen it will be asurprise-party all right."
"It's wrecking a seven-thousand-ton passenger-steamer in the night!"mourned the general manager.
"It isn't! It's putting her into a safe cradle."
"But at this speed!"
"That chap in the pilot-house is no fool. He'll get his hint in time tosave her from real damage. You needn't worry!"
Fogg opened his traveling-bag and lifted out a strip of metal. Hehandled it as gingerly as if it were a reptile, and he looked at it withan air as if he feared it would bite him.
"That's the little joker," said Burkett. "About two points deviation bylocal attraction will do the business!"
"I'm tempted to throw it overboard and call it all off, Burkett. I haveput through a good many deals in my life in the big game, but this looksalmost too raw. I can't help it! I feel a hunch as if something wasgoing to miscue."
"I've got no more to say, governor."
"My crowd doesn't ask questions of me, but they expect results. If Idon't do it, I suppose I'll kick myself in the morning." He cocked uphis ear and listened to the bawling of the liner's great whistle. "Butit seems different in the night."
"You ain't leaving any tracks," encouraged Burkett. "And this being hisfirst run makes it more plausible. You're here all naturally, yourself.It might seem rather queer if you made another trip. It's his first runon her, I remind you. If he makes a slip-up it won't surprise the wiseguys-a mite."
"It seems to be all set--I've got to admit it. By gad, Burkett, I havealways put a thing through when I've started on it! That's why theycall in the little Fogg boy. I'd rather apologize to my conscience thanto--Well, never mind who he is." He tucked the strip of metal into hisinside coat pocket and buttoned the coat. "Blast it! nothing that's verybad can happen in this calm sea--and that last life-boat drill went offfine. Here goes!" declared Fogg, with desperate emphasis.
"That's the boy!" declared Burkett, encouraged to familiarity by theirassociation in mischief.
The general manager found the night black when he edged his way alongthe wet deck to the pilot-house. The steamer's lights made blurredpatches in the fog. Now she seemed to have the sea to herself; therewere no answering whistles.
"I'm back again, Captain Mayo," he said, as he closed the door againstthe night. "I hope I won't bother you folks here. I'll stay out fromunderfoot." He sat down on a transom at the extreme rear of the houseand smoked his cigar with nervous vehemence.
Another quartermaster succeeded the man at the wheel, the mate made hisnotations of dead reckoning and pricked the chart, the usual routine wasproceeded with. Mayo continued at the window, head out-thrust, exceptwhen he glanced at chart or compass or noted the dials which marked thescrews' revolutions.
Every now and then he put his ear to the submarine-signal receiver.At last he heard the faint, far throb of the Sow and Pigs submarinebell--seven strokes, with the four seconds' interval, then the sevenstrokes repeated.
A bit later he got, sweet and low as an elfland horn, the lightship'schime whistle. It was dead ahead, which was not exactly to hiscalculation. The tide set had served stronger than he had reckoned. Heordered the helmsman to ease her off a half-point, in order to make safeoffing for the turn into Vineyard Sound.
Well up in the sound the bell of Tarpaulin Cove reassured him, and aftera time he heard the unmistakable blast of the great reed horn of Nobskauttering its triple hoot like a giant owl perched somewhere in themists.
"Nobska," said the mate. "We are certainly coming on, sir."
"Nobly," agreed Captain Mayo, allowing himself a moment of jubilation,even though the dreaded shoals were ahead.
"Are you going to keep this speed across the shoals, Captain Mayo?"asked the general manager, displaying real deference.
"No, sir!" stated the captain with decision, bracing himself to giveMr. Fogg a sharp word or two if that gentleman advanced any more of his"business man's reasons" for speed. "It would not be showing due care."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," affirmed Mr. Fogg, heartily. "It maybe a little out of place, right now, but I want you to know that I feelthat I have picked out just the right man to command this ship. I'm gladof a chance to say this where your mates can hear me."
"Thank you, Mr. Fogg," returned the young man, gratefully. "This isa soul-racking job, and I'm glad you are here to see what we are upagainst. I don't feel that we'll be wasting much time in crossing theshoals if we go carefully. We can let her out after we swing east ofMonomoy. She's a grand old packet."
In the gloom Fogg ran his fingers gingerly over the outside of his coatto make sure that the strip of metal was in its place.
There was silence in the pilot-house after that. Ahead there wasticklish navigation. There were the narrow slues, the crowding shoals,the blind turns of Nantucket Sound, dreaded in all weathers, but amariner's horror in a fog.
Nobska's clarion call drew slowly abeam to port, and after due lapseof time West Chop's steam-whistle lifted its guiding voice in the mistsahead.
"Better use the pelorus and be careful about West Chop's bearing afterwe pass her, Mr. Bangs," Captain Mayo warned his first mate.
As a sailor well knows, the bearing of West Chop gives the compassdirection for passage between the shoals known as Hedge Fence and SquashMeadow--a ten-mile run to Cross Rip Lightship. In a fog it is vitallyimportant to have West Chop exact to the eighth of a point.
Fogg was glad that he was alone where he sat. He trembled so violentlythat he set an unlighted cigar between his teeth to keep them fromrattling together.
The mate was outlined against the window, his eyes on the instrument,his ear cocked. Every half-minute West Chop's whistle hooted.
"Right, sir!" the mate reported at last, speaking briskly. "I make itwest by nothe, five-eighths nothe."
Fogg rose and half staggered forward, taking a position just to the leftof the wheel and compass.
"East by south, five-eighths south," the captain directed the helmsman."Careful attention, sir. Tide is flood, four knots. Make the coursegood!"
The quartermaster repeated and twirled his wheel for the usual number ofrevolutions to allow a three-points change.
Captain Mayo stepped back and glanced at the compass to make certainthat his helmsman was finding his course properly. "What in tophet'sname is the matter with you, man?" he shouted. "Bring this ship around!Bring her around!" He grabbed the wheel and spun it. "You're slower thanthe devil drawing molasses," raged Mayo, forgetting his dignity.
"She must have yawed," protested the man. "I had her on her course, sir.I supposed I had her over."
The helmsman's eyes bulged as he stared at the compass. While hehad winked his eyes, so it seemed to him, the true course had fairlystraddled away from the lubber line.
In his frantic haste Captain Mayo put her over too far. He helpedthe man set her on the right course. Then he signaled half speed. Thedevious and the narrow paths were ahead of them..
"That's an almighty funny jump the old dame made then," pondered thequartermaster. But he was too well trained to argue with a captain. Heaccepted the fault as his own, and now that she was on her course, heheld her there doggedly.
Even the _Montana's_ half speed was a respectable gait, and the silentcrew in her pilot-house could hear the sea lathering along her sides.
"What do you make of that, Mr. Bangs?" the captain asked, after aprolonged period of listening.
"Bell, sir!"
"But the only bell in that direction would be on Hedge Fence Lightshipin case her whistle has been disabled."
"Sounds to me like a vessel at anchor."
"But it's right in the fairway." Captain Mayo convinced himself by aglance at the compass. "No craft would drop her hook in the fairway.That's no bell on the Hedge Fence," reflected the captain. "It's aschooner's bell. But sound often gets freaky in a fog. We're on ourcourse to the fraction, and we've got to keep going!"
And after a moment the bell ceased its clangor. It was a distant sound,and its location was indefinite even to a sharp ear.
"It strikes me that sounds in general are a little warded all of asudden," said the captain to his mate. "I'll swear that I can hear HedgeFence's five-second blasts now. But there she howls off the starboardbow. The clouds must be giving us an echo. We've got to leave it to thecompass."
A skilful mariner is careful about forsaking the steady finger of aproved compass in order to chase sounds around the corner in foggyweather. He understands that air strata raise the dickens withwhistle-blasts. There are zones of silence--there is divergence ofsound.
Fogg held his position, his legs braced, and nobody paid any especialattention to him. They in the pilothouse were too busy with otheraffairs.
There is one sound in thick weather that tells a navigator much. It isthe echo of his own whistle.
The big steamer was hoarsely hooting her way.
Suddenly there was a sound which fairly flew up and hit Captain Mayoin the face. It was an echo. It was the sound of the _Montana's_whistle-blast flung back at him from some object so near at hand thatthere was barely a clock-tick between whistle and echo.
The captain yelped a great oath and yanked his bell-pulls furiously."That echo came from a schooner's sails," he shouted.
Then, dead ahead, clanged her bell. The next instant, plunging alongat least eight miles an hour, in spite of engines clawing at full speedastern, the towering bow smashed into the obstacle in her path.
It was a mighty shock which sent a tremor from stem to stern of thegreat fabric. They saw that they hit her--a three-masted schooner atanchor, with her sails set, dingy canvas wet and idle in the foggy,breathless night. But their impact against her was almost as if they hadhit a pier. The collision sent them reeling about the pilot-house. Asthey drove past they saw her go down, her stern a splintered mass ofwreckage, in which men were frantically struggling.
"That's a granite-lugger! See her go down, like a stone!" gasped MateBangs. "My God! What do you suppose she has done to us forward?"
"Get there. Get there!" roared Captain Mayo. "Get there and report,sir!"
But before the chief mate was half-way down the ladder on his waythe wailing voice of the lookout reported disaster. "Hole under thewater-line forward," he cried.
"There are men in the water back there, sir," said a quartermaster.
"We're making water fast in the forward compartment," came a voicethrough the speaking-tube.
Already they in the pilot-house could hear the ululation of women in thedepths of the ship, and then the husky clamor of the many voices of mendrowned the shriller cries.
Captain Mayo had seen the survivors from the schooner struggling in thewater. But he rang for full speed ahead and ordered the quartermaster toaim her into the north, knowing that land lay in that direction.
"Eight hundred lives on my shoulders and a hole in her," he toldhimself, while all his world of hope and ambition seemed rocking toruin. "I can't wait to pick up those poor devils."
In a few minutes--in so few minutes that all his calculations as to hislocation were upset--the _Montana_ plowed herself to a shuddering halton a shoal, her bow lifting slightly. And when the engines were stoppedshe rested there, sturdily upright, steady as an island. But in hersaloon the men and women who fought and screamed and cursed, beating toand fro in windrows of humanity like waves in a cavern, were convincedthat the shuddering shock had signaled the doom of the vessel.Half-dressed men, still dizzy with sleep, confused by dreams whichblended with the terrible reality, trampled the helpless underfoot,seeking exit from the saloon.
The hideous uproar which announced panic was a loud call to the masterof the vessel. He understood what havoc might be wrought by the brutalsenselessness of the struggle. He ran from the pilot-house, stepping onthe feet of the general manager, who was stumbling about in bewilderedfashion.
"Call all the crew to stations and guard the exits," Captain Mayocommanded the second mate.
On his precipitate way to the saloon the captain passed the room of thewireless operator, and the tense crackle of the spark told him that theSOS signal was winging its beseeching flight through the night.
Three men, half dressed, with life-preservers buckled on in hit-or-missfashion, met him on the deck, dodged his angry clutch, and leaped overthe rail into the sea, yelling with all the power of their lungs.
A quartermaster was at the captain's heels.
"Get over a life-boat on each side and attend to those idiots!" roaredMayo.
He thrust his way into a crowded corridor, beating frantic men back withhis fists, adjuring, assuring, appealing, threatening. He mounted upon achair in the saloon. He fairly outbellowed the rest of them. Men of thesea are trained to shout against the tempest.
"You are safe! Keep quiet! Sit down! This steamer is ashore on asand-bank. She's as solid as Bunker Hill." He shouted these assurancesover and over.
They began to look at him, to pay heed to him. His uniform marked hisidentity.
"You lie!" screamed an excited man. "We're out to sea! We're sinking!Where are your life-boats?"
Bedlam began again. Like the fool who shouts "Fire!" in a throng, thisbrainless individual revived all the fears of the frenzied passengers.
Mayo realized that heroic action was necessary. He leaped down from thechair, seized the man who had shouted, and beat the fellow's face withthe flat of his hard hand.
That scene of conflict was startling enough to serve as a real jolt totheir attention. They hushed their cries; they looked on, impressed,cowed.
"If there's any other man in this crowd who wants to tell me I'm a liar,let him stand out and say so," shouted Captain Mayo. "You're makingfools of yourselves. There's no danger."
He released the pallid and trembling man of whom he had made an exampleand stepped on to a chair. He put up his hand, dominating them until hehad secured absolute silence.
"You--you--you!" he said, crisply, darting finger here and there,pointing out individuals. "You seem to have more level heads than therest, you men! Go forward where the man is casting the lead. Cast thelead yourselves. Come back here and report to these passengers, as theircommittee. I'm telling you the truth. There's no water under us to speakof." He remained in the saloon until his committee returned.
The man who reported looked a bit sheepish. "The captain is right,ladies and gentlemen. We could even see the sand where she has plowed itup--they've got lanterns over the rail. There's no danger."
A steward trotted to Captain Mayo
and handed him a slip of paper. Thecaptain read the message and shook the paper in the faces of the throng.
"The revenue cutter _Acushnet_ has our wireless call and is starting,and the _Itasca_ will follow. I advise you to go to bed and go to sleep.You're perfectly, absolutely safe. You will be transferred when it'sdaylight. Now be men and women!"
He hurried out on deck. His men were hoisting aboard the three dripping,sputtering passengers who had run amuck.
"And those same men would look after a runaway horse and sneer that hedidn't have any brains," remarked Captain Mayo, disgustedly.
For the next half-hour he was a busy man. He investigated the_Montana's_ wound, first of all. He found her flooded forward--her noseanchored into the sand with a rock-of-ages solidity.
His heart sank when he realized what her plight meant from the wreckingand salvage viewpoint. In those shifting sands, winnowed constantly bythe rushing currents of the sound, digging her out might be a Gargantuantask, working her free a hopeless undertaking.
His tour of investigation showed him that except for her smashed bowthe steamer was intact. Her helplessness there in the sand was the morepitiable on that account.
He had not begun to take account of stock of his own responsibility forthis disaster. The whirl of events had been too dizzying. As master ofthe ship he would be held to account for her mishap. But to what extenthad he been negligent? He could not figure it out. He realized thatexcitement plays strange pranks with a man's consciousness of linkedevents or of the passage of time. He could not understand why thesteamer piled up so quickly after the collision. According to his ampleknowledge of the shoals, he had been on his true course and well off thedangerous shallows.
His first mate met him amidship. "I sent off one of our life-boats, sir.Told 'em to go back and hunt for the men we saw in the water. They foundtwo. Others seem to be gone."
"I'm glad you thought of it, Mr. Bangs. I ought to have attended to it,myself."
"You had enough on your hands, sir, as it was. She was the _LucretiaM. Warren_, with granite from Vinal-haven. That's what gave us such anawful tunk."
"Who are the men?"
"Mate and a sailor. They've had some hot drinks, and are coming alongall right."
"We'll have a word with them, Mr. Bangs."
The survivors of the _Warren_ were forward in the crew's quarters, andthey were still dazed. They had not recovered from their fright; theywere sullen.
"I'm sorry, men! Sailor to sailor, you know what I mean if I don't sayany more. It's bad business on both sides. But what were you doing inthe fairway?"
"We wa'n't in the fairway," protested a grizzled man, evidently themate. He was uneasy in his borrowed clothes--he had surrendered his owngarments to a pantryman who had volunteered to dry them.
"You must have been," insisted Captain Mayo.
"I know we was all of two miles north of the regular course. I 'ain'tsailed across these shoals for thirty years not to know soundings whenI make 'em myself. Furthermore, she'll speak for herself, where she'ssunk."
The captain could not gainsay that dictum.
The mate scowled at the young man.
"I've got a question of my own. What ye doing, yourself, all of twomiles out of your course, whanging along, tooting your old whistle asif you owned the sea and had rollers under you to go across dry groundwith, too?"
"I was not two miles out of my course," protested the captain, and yetthe sickening feeling came to him that there had been some dreadfulerror, somewhere, somehow.
"When they put these steamers into the hands of real men instead ofhaving dudes and kids run 'em, then shipping will stand a fair show onthis coast," declared the mate, casting a disparaging glance at Mayo'snew uniform. "It was my watch on deck, and I know what I'm talkingabout. You came belting along straight at us, two points out of yourcourse, and I thought the fog was playing tricks, and I didn't believemy own ears. You have drowned my captain and four honest men. When Istand up in court they'll get the straight facts from me, I can tell youthat. And they tell me it's your first trip. I might have knowed itwas some greenhorn, when I heard you coming two points off your course.You'd better take off them clothes. I reckon you've made your _last_trip, too!"
It was the querulous railing of a man who had been near death; itwas the everlasting grouch of the sailing-man against the lordlysteamboater. Mayo had no heart for rebuke or retort. What had happenedto him, anyway? This old schooner man seemed to know exactly what he wastalking about.
"If you don't believe what I'm telling you, go out on deck and see ifyou can't hear the Hedge Fence whistle," advised the mate, sourly. "Ifshe don't bear south of east I'll eat that suit they're drying out forme. And that will show you that you're two miles to the norrard of whereyou ought to be."
On his way to the pilot-house Captain Mayo did hear the hollow voiceof the distant whistle, with its double blast and its long intervalof silence. The sound came from abaft his beam and his disquietudeincreased.
Then the acute realization was forced in upon him that he had thegeneral manager of the line to face. The captain had not caught sightof his superior during the excitement; he wondered now why Mr. Fogg hadeffaced himself so carefully.
The red coal of a cigar glowed in a corner of the pilothouse. From thatcorner came curt inquiry: "Well, Captain Mayo, what have you got to sayabout this?"
"I think I'll do my talking after I have had daylight on theproposition, sir."
"Don't you have any idea how you happened to be off your course so far?"asked Fogg, his anxiety noticeable in his tones.
"How do you know I was off my course?"
"Well--er--why, well, you wouldn't be aground, would you, if you hadn'tlost your way?"
"I didn't lose my way, Mr. Fogg."
"What did happen, then?"
"That's for me to find out."
"I'm not going to say anything to you yet, Captain Mayo. It's toosudden--too big a blow. It's going to paralyze the Vose line." Mr. Foggsaid this briskly, as if he were passing small talk on the weather.
"I'm thankful that you're taking the thing so calmly, sir. I've beendreading to meet you."
"Oh--a business man in these days can't allow himself to fly to piecesover setbacks. Optimism is half the battle."
But Mayo, sitting there in that dark pilot-house for the rest of thenight, staring out into the blank wall of the fog and surveying thewreck of his hopes, was decidedly not optimistic.