Up the River; or, Yachting on the Mississippi
by Oliver Optic · English · Gutenberg #24775 · 393,724 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Up the River; or, Yachting on the Mississippi
Author: Oliver Optic
Release date: March 7, 2008 [eBook #24775]
Language: English
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produced from scans of public domain material produced by
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[Illustration: "The little steamer rushed madly into the opening."
Page 293.]
THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES
UP THE RIVER
OR
YACHTING ON THE MISSISSIPPI
BY
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD" "THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES" "THE
WOODVILLE SERIES" "THE STARRY FLAG SERIES" "THE BOAT CLUB
STORIES" "THE LAKE SHORE SERIES" "THE UPWARD AND
ONWARD SERIES" "THE YACHT CLUB SERIES"
"THE RIVERDALE STORIES" ETC.
_WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
1882
COPYRIGHT,
1881,
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
NO. 4 PEARL STREET.
TO MY YOUNG FRIEND
MINNIE ETHEL ADAMS,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES.
GOING WEST; OR, THE PERILS OF A POOR BOY.
OUT WEST; OR, ROUGHING IT ON THE GREAT LAKES.
LAKE BREEZES; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE SYLVANIA.
GOING SOUTH; OR, YACHTING ON THE ATLANTIC COAST.
DOWN SOUTH; OR, YACHT ADVENTURES IN FLORIDA.
UP THE RIVER; OR, YACHTING ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
PREFACE.
UP THE RIVER is the sixth and last of "The Great Western Series." The
events of the story occur on the coast of Florida, in the Gulf of
Mexico, and on the Mississippi River. The volume and the series close
with the return of the hero, by a route not often taken by tourists, to
his home in Michigan. His voyaging on the ocean, the Great Lakes, and
the Father of Waters, is finished for the present; but the writer
believes that his principal character has grown wiser and better since
he was first introduced to the reader. He has made mistakes of
judgment, but whatever of example and inspiration he may impart to the
reader will be that of a true and noble boy, with no vices to disfigure
his character, and no low aims to lead him from "the straight and
narrow path" of duty.
The author has a copy of his first book before him as he writes. On the
title-page is this line: "A Tale of the Mississippi and the
South-West." The preface, dated 1852, contains this passage: "In the
summer of 1848, the author of the following tale was a passenger on
board of a steamboat from New Orleans to Cincinnati. During the
passage--one of the most prolonged and uncomfortable in the annals of
western river navigation--the plot of this story was arranged. Many of
its incidents, and all of its descriptions of steamboat life will be
recognized by the voyager on the Mississippi." Since that time the
author has travelled on the upper waters of the great river.
His last book, by a coincidence at the present time, also relates to
the Mississippi. Nearly a generation has passed away between the first
and the last; and the latter is the writer's seventy-fifth book. The
author has endeavored to make his works correct in facts and
descriptions, as well as in moral tendency; and in the preparation of
them he has travelled over fifty thousand miles by sea and land.
To his young friends,--some of the earlier of whom are now middle-aged
men and women, with boys and girls of their own, reading the same books
their fathers and mothers read a quarter of a century ago,--to his
young friends the author again returns his sincere and hearty thanks
for the favor they have bestowed upon his numerous volumes.
DORCHESTER, MASS.,
June 1, 1881.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
IN CAPTAIN BOOMSBY'S SALOON 11
CHAPTER II.
FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS 23
CHAPTER III.
ADIEU TO THE BOOMSBYS 34
CHAPTER IV.
NICK BOOMSBY HAS ASPIRATIONS 47
CHAPTER V.
THE STRANGE MOVEMENT OF THE ISLANDER 59
CHAPTER VI.
A LIVELY CHASE 71
CHAPTER VII.
A FOG OFF THE FLORIDA COAST 81
CHAPTER VIII.
A PORT IN A STORM 93
CHAPTER IX.
A VISIT FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 104
CHAPTER X.
INTELLIGENCE OF THE ISLANDER 116
CHAPTER XI.
DIFFICULT NAVIGATION 127
CHAPTER XII.
THE CALAMITY ON FRENCH REEF 138
CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT LOST IN THE STORM 149
CHAPTER XIV.
LOOKING FOR THE ISLANDER 160
CHAPTER XV.
A PARTIAL SOLUTION OF THE MYSTERY 172
CHAPTER XVI.
ACROSS THE GULF OF MEXICO 184
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SYLVANIA IN AMBUSH 196
CHAPTER XVIII.
HOW NICK BOOMSBY MANAGED HIS CASE 208
CHAPTER XIX.
A SEARCH FOR THE LOST TREASURE 220
CHAPTER XX.
THE THEORY AND THE FACTS 231
CHAPTER XXI.
UP THE MISSISSIPPI 242
CHAPTER XXII.
THE ISLANDER IN A BAD FIX 253
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION 265
CHAPTER XXIV.
A CREVASSE ON THE MISSISSIPPI 277
CHAPTER XXV.
SAILING ACROSS THE FIELDS 289
CHAPTER XXVI.
A DESPERATE STRUGGLE WITH THE RUSHING WATERS 301
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE PLANTER AND HIS FAMILY 312
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A DISTINGUISHED PASSENGER 324
CHAPTER XXIX.
UP THE RIVER FOR MANY DAYS 335
CHAPTER XXX.
UP ANOTHER RIVER AND HOME AGAIN 347
UP THE RIVER;
OR,
YACHTING ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
CHAPTER I.
IN CAPTAIN BOOMSBY'S SALOON.
"I don't think it's quite the thing, Alick," said my cousin, Owen
Garningham, as we were walking through Bay Street after our return to
Jacksonville from the interior of Florida.
"What is not quite the thing, Owen?" I inquired, for he had given me no
clue to what he was thinking about.
"After I chartered your steamer for a year to come here, and go up the
Mississippi River--by the way, this river is called 'The Father of
Waters,' isn't it?" asked Owen, flying off from the subject in his
mind, as he was in the habit of doing.
"Every schoolboy in this country learns that from his geography," I
replied.
"Happily, I was never a schoolboy in this country, and I didn't find it
out from the geography. If the Mississippi is the Father of Waters, can
you tell me who is the mother of them?"
"The Miss'ouri."
"O, ah! Don't you feel faint, Captain Alick?" added Owen, stopping
short on the sidewalk, and gazing into my face with a look of mock
anxiety.
"Not at all; I think I could swallow a burly Briton or two, if the
occasion required."
"Don't do it! It would ruin your digestion. But it strikes me those two
rivers are but one."
"I think so, too, and they ought to be. Father and mother--man and
wife--ought to be one," I answered, as indifferently as I could. "But
something was not quite the thing; and if there is anything in this
country that is not quite the thing, I want to know what it is."
"When I chartered the Sylvania to come down here, and then go up the
'Father of Waters,' it isn't quite the thing for your father to declare
the whole thing off at this point of the cruise," replied Owen. "I was
going to have a jolly good time going up the river."
"You may have it yet, for I have given you a cordial invitation to go
'up the river' with me; and I mean every word I said about the matter,"
I added, in soothing tones.
"But your father says the charter arrangement is ended, and you may go
where you like in your steamer."
"And I concluded at once to carry out all the arrangements for this
trip, just as we made them at Detroit," I replied. "I have invited the
Shepards and the Tiffanys to join us, and everything will go on just as
it did before, except that you will not pay the bills."
"Which means that, if I join you at all, I shall not be myself,"
returned Owen, with a look of disgust. "In other words, I shall not be
my own master, and I must go where my uncle and you may choose to take
me."
"Not at all; we are going up the Mississippi simply because that is the
route you selected, and because I desire to carry out your plan of
travel to the letter," I replied, rather warmly. "I don't think I could
do anything more to meet your views than I have done."
"You are as noble, grand, magnanimous, as it is possible for any fellow
to be, Alick; but that don't make me any more willing to be under
obligations to you every day of my life."
"You need feel under no obligations to me."
"Ah, but I do, you see; and I still think it was not just the thing to
break away from the written agreement we made," continued Owen, unable
to conceal his vexation.
"I think you ought not to say another word in that line of remark,
Owen. A contract to do anything fraudulent is void from the beginning.
Do you remember for what purpose you chartered the Sylvania?"
"If you won't say another word about it, Alick, I won't!" exclaimed my
cousin, extending his hand to me, which I immediately grasped.
"I won't, unless you drive me to it," I replied. "I have not reminded
you of what occurred while we were coming South, and I never will, for
I think Carrington was the villain of the drama, and not you."
"You are right, Alick; and you are the best fellow that ever lived!"
protested Owen. "But I would like to pay my share of the expenses of
the cruise from this day, as I have done before. I shall feel better
about it if I do."
"I will speak to my father about that. I am sure I don't object to your
paying your share," I answered. "I am willing to carry out the
agreement just as we made it; but my father takes a different view of
the subject."
"I know he does, and I can't blame him," replied Owen. "He means simply
to say that his son shall be under no obligations to me, after what has
happened."
"Let us say nothing more about this matter, Owen," I added; "it is not
a pleasant topic to me, any more than it was to him."
"When do we sail, if I sail with you, Alick?" he asked.
"To-morrow morning; and we should be on board to-night, ready for an
early start, for we have to conform to the tide on the bar at the mouth
of the river. The Tiffanys will go with us, but the Shepards have not
yet accepted the invitation I gave them."
"I am going to Colonel Shepard's house now, and I will find out whether
they are going or not," said Owen, as we came to a street leading to
St. James's Square, where Colonel Shepard's house was located.
"And I will drop into Captain Boomsby's saloon," I added.
"The beast Boomsby! Why do you go there, Alick?" demanded Owen, with a
look of disgust and astonishment in his face.
"I lived with him for years, and I will just say good-by to him, for I
may never see him again. I hope I never shall, at any rate. He has
abused and wronged me, but I am willing to forgive him if he will only
keep out of my way."
"'Pon my word, I believe you would forgive a man if he blew your brains
out, Alick?"
"If it were a matter of brains, I couldn't do it; but if I had heart
enough left, I would try to forgive him if he was sorry for what he had
done."
"You forgave me, and it is easy enough for you to do the same with
Beast Boomsby," added Owen, as he turned up the street to his
destination.
I had been made the victim of a plot, and taught to believe that my
father, Sir Bent Garningham, was dead. The little steamer Sylvania was
my own property, for I had earned it by saving the lives of her
original owner and his family. Pike Carrington, my father's solicitor
in England, had induced the son of my father's younger brother to make
an attempt to get me "out of the way."
The villain had acted more for his own interest than for that of my
cousin. They had called in my old enemy Captain Parker Boomsby, and
sent him to Florida in one steamer, while Owen went with me in the
Sylvania. My friend Robert Washburn, the mate of the steam-yacht, had
discovered the plot, and we had been on our guard night and day to meet
any treachery.
Captain Boomsby claimed me and all that I had, when he learned that my
father was dead. He had done his best to obtain the steam-yacht, but
his unfortunate habit of drinking too much whiskey had defeated his
plan. In his attempt to destroy me he had taken the life of the
solicitor.
On our voyage, "going South," we had encountered a heavy gale in the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. Owen Garningham, my cousin, had been swept from
the hurricane-deck of the Sylvania by the raging sea. At the risk of my
own, I had saved his life. This act had conquered him, and he no longer
took any interest in the plan to destroy me, if he had ever thought of
anything so bad as this. He became my strong friend, and had no further
desire to rob me of my father's estate, or to obtain the title, for
which he cared more than I did.
The Shepards were a family we first met at a regatta in Portland
Harbor. Owen had become deeply interested in Miss Edith, the daughter,
and, at his invitation, the family had come most of the way to Florida
in the steamer. We had been up the Ocklawaha River to Lake Griffin, and
up the St. Johns as far as any steamer could go. My father, who had
left me at college in Montomercy, to attend to his affairs in England,
had been called to India on business. His absence was the opportunity
for the conspirators, and they destroyed our letters.
When I learned that my father was not dead, I had written to him. He
had followed me up the St. Johns, and appeared in time to save me from
the bullet of one of Captain Boomsby's agents. He learned the whole
truth from me, and at once cancelled the charter by which my cousin
Owen was to have the use of the steamer for a year, one half of which
had now expired.
The Tiffanys were father and daughter, whom the crew of the Sylvania
had saved from a fire at St. Augustine. The gentleman was an intimate
friend of my father, who requested him to see me when he visited this
country. His daughter Margie, if not as pretty as Edith Shepard,
interested me more. As arranged before we left Detroit, we were to go
up the Mississippi River. The Tiffanys had accepted the invitation to
join us, for they were tourists for pleasure and observation.
My father was an English baronet, succeeding to the title and estates
by the death of an elder brother. He had served in the army for many
years, and had attained the rank of major. He was better pleased to be
called by his military than by his family title, in this republican
land. But he was too proud to allow me to continue in the employ of my
cousin, though he did not object to his nephew as a passenger when I
desired it. He left everything to me to manage as I pleased after he
had cancelled the charter agreement. With this abstract of previous
events my readers will be prepared to understand what is to follow.
Captain Boomsby's saloon was on Bay Street. He had a bar for the white
and respectable customers on that street, and another in the rear for
negroes. I was never even tempted to drink any intoxicating beverages;
and when he became a rumseller, I thought my tyrant had found his
proper level. His son Nick tended the front bar, while he waited upon
the negroes, who imbibed the cheapest corn-whiskey and apple-brandy by
the tumbler-full at a dram.
When I went into the saloon Captain Boomsby was seated in the rear of
the room, where he had a view of both bars. He was at least half "full"
himself. He was badly bloated, and his face was red and almost
honeycombed with toddy-blossoms.
"Well, Sandy, what do you want now?" demanded the saloon-keeper, when I
came into his presence. He did not call me "Alick," as others did, but
still used the name by which I had been known when he took me from the
poor-house in the State of Maine.
"Nothing, Captain Boomsby; only we sail to-morrow, and I thought I
would say good-by to you, for I may never see you again," I replied.
"I never want to see you no more," growled he. "You've always behaved
bad ever since I fust knowed you, and you will come to some bad end
yet."
"I hope not," I said, seating myself.
"You sartin will. I took care on you when you was little, and done
everything I could for you; but you have worked agin me from the fust."
As I seated myself I saw a customer come up to the front bar. He had a
package, which he laid upon the counter while he poured out his dram.
"I don't think it's any use for you and me to talk over these things,"
I added, turning my eyes from the counter to the bloated face of my
former tyrant. "We shall not be likely to agree in regard to matters in
the past."
"You know just as well as I do that the steam-yacht you sail in
rightfully belongs to me," he added.
"I think not. If she belongs to anybody besides myself, it must be to
my father."
"That man ain't your father any more'n I am."
At that moment a rather rough-looking man came into the saloon, walked
far enough back to look into the negro bar, and then retreated.
"I think it has been fully proved that Major Garningham is my father,"
I replied.
I had scarcely spoken the words, as the rough-looking visitor was
retreating without any dram, when Nick made a flying leap over the
counter, and rushed out at the street door. The gentleman with the
package had his eyes upturned to the ceiling, in the act of draining
the tumbler in which he had elaborately stirred up the fiery mixture.
[Illustration: "Nick rushed out at the street door." _Page 22._]
When Nick went over the counter the customer was startled. He saw, at
the same moment I discovered the fact, that the package he had laid
upon the counter was missing. He rushed out of the saloon like a crazy
man.
CHAPTER II.
FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS.
"What on airth does all that mean?" said Captain Boomsby, rising with
difficulty from his chair, and walking towards the front door.
"I'm sure I don't know," I replied. "I saw Nick leap over the counter
as though he had found a mocassin-snake behind it."
"Don't say nothin' about mocassins here, for you scart my wife out of
her seven senses once afore," said the captain, savagely, as he stopped
and looked at me.
He had set a trap to have such a snake bite me in his house; but I was
not thinking of that when I named the venomous reptile. This event, and
the quantity of his own vile fluids he consumed, made him sensitive on
the subject of snakes. I was afraid he would soon see more of them than
he could manage.
"What made Nick run out so quick, and what did Peverell follow him for,
without payin' for his liquor?" continued Captain Boomsby, when he had
properly admonished me in regard to the snakes.
"I don't know, sir," I replied. "Who was the man that followed Nick?"
"That was Peverell."
"Who is Peverell?" I asked. "What does he do?"
"He is the messenger, I believe they call him, of the First National
Bank of Florida."
"That explains it all, then," I added, beginning to understand the
situation.
"I don't see nothin'. What explains it all?" demanded the captain,
testily.
"Peverell had a package when he came in. He put it on the counter
before he poured out his dram," I explained. "When Nick went over the
counter the package was gone. If Peverell is the messenger of a bank, I
have no doubt the bundle contained money in bank notes."
"Creation! You don't! But what made Nick go over the bar so like a
hoppergrass?" exclaimed the saloon-keeper.
"I don't know. I can only understand what I saw."
"If Nick's got that bundle of money, he's smart," added Captain
Boomsby.
"Do you think it was smart to steal it, captain?" I asked, mildly.
"How big a package was it, Sandy?" replied my tyrant, turning away from
the moral question.
"It was at least two inches thick."
"Creation! Then there ain't less than a thousand dollars in it!"
"Let us hope that Nick did not take it," I added.
"Well, you go out, Sandy, and see where Nick's gone. I can't leave both
bars without anybody to look out for 'em, for them niggers will come in
and steal the liquor as quick as they will chickens."
I was interested to know the meaning of what I had seen in the saloon,
and I went out into Bay Street. A crowd of men were rushing towards a
narrow street leading down to the river. I followed them, and, near the
landing-place of the Charleston steamers, I saw a colored policeman lay
violent hands on the rough-looking person who had walked into the
saloon, looked into the negro bar, and then retreated.
Nick was on the spot, hatless and coatless, almost as soon as the
policeman had grabbed his victim. Mr. Peverell was only a moment
behind. By this time I had framed an explanation of what had transpired
in the saloon which satisfied me for the moment, whether it was correct
or not. While Peverell was concocting his beverage--and he had seemed
to me to be very dainty and particular in the preparation of it--he had
almost turned his back upon the package on the counter.
I was not bestowing any particular attention upon the rough-looking
visitor, but I had seen him pass close by the bank messenger. I
concluded that he had snatched up the package on the counter, and
retreated with it from the saloon. Nick had either seen the man take
the bundle, or had discovered that it was missing. No one could have
taken it but the person who was passing out of the door. On the impulse
of the moment the young bar-tender had leaped over the counter to
pursue the thief.
Of course a crowd quickly collected around the robber and the
policeman, with Nick and the messenger in the inner circle. The bank
official was very much excited, and I judged that the package contained
a considerable sum of money. Nick was hardly less disturbed. I was
interested enough to run all the way to the pier, and work myself into
the centre of the crowd before it had become very compact.
"Dat's jes like you, Buckner," said the policeman, as soon as he could
obtain breath enough to speak,--and he had not quite enough when he did
speak. "I done cotch you doin' dat same ting before."
"Doing what thing, you black spider?" demanded Buckner, who appeared to
be greatly astonished at his arrest.
"You done stole someting," protested the guardian of the peace. "What
did you run for if you don't steal someting?"
"I didn't steal anything! I run because the rest of you did, to find
out what the matter was," replied Buckner, stoutly. "What did I steal,
you black Lazarus?"
"Donno what you 'tole. I 'pose dis gemman can told what you 'tole,"
replied the policeman, turning to Peverell.
"He stole a package of bank bills I laid on the counter; that is what
he stole! And there was four thousand dollars in the package, too,"
gasped the messenger.
"Did you see me take the package?" demanded Buckner, indignantly.
"I did not; but you were the only person that came into the saloon and
left it while I was there," replied Peverell, sharply; and it was
evident that he had no doubt at all in regard to the guilty person.
"I didn't touch your package! I didn't see any package! I didn't go
near you, or even know you were in the saloon!" protested Buckner,
vehemently. "I'm a poor man, I know, and it is hard enough for me to
get a living; but I never stole the value of a penny in my life."
"But I saw him take it!" broke in Nick, with almost as much earnestness
as Buckner or Peverell, though he had no special interest in the
animated discussion. "The moment he tried to get out of the saloon, I
jumped over the counter and went for him."
"That's so!" added Peverell, with increasing energy. "But we are
wasting time. Why don't you search your prisoner, and get the package?
If he stole it, he has the package now."
"Search me as much as you like!" replied Buckner, warmly.
"Search him!" "Overhaul him!" "Clean him out!" shouted the crowd, who
were working themselves up to a fever-heat over the case.
"He's thrown it away before this time," suggested Nick.
"He couldn't have thrown it away without some one seeing him do it,"
replied Peverell. "Did any one see him throw it away?"
"No! no!" shouted the bystanders.
I had seen Buckner running down the middle of the narrow street, with
the officer, Nick, Peverell, and others, within a few feet of him. It
would have been almost impossible for him to get rid of the bundle in
any way without being observed.
"He might have thrown it into the river," again suggested Nick.
"He done don't go widin twenty yards ob de riber; and he done don't
frow no package in de riber when I don't see him. Dis chile hab his
four eyes open all de time," added the policeman.
"Search him!" "Turn him inside out!" shouted the crowd again.
"Search me all you like!" cried Buckner, pulling out both the pockets
of his pants, and throwing up his arms in readiness to submit to the
operation. "I haven't got the package, and I never saw it."
"How big was de package, Mr. Peverell?" asked the officer, as he
proceeded to examine the clothing of the prisoner.
"It was the size of a bank-bill, and about two inches thick," replied
the messenger, very anxiously.
"I don't find noffin like dat on dis yere prisonder," said the officer,
when he had felt his man all over.
"You won't find nothing if you search me all day and all night,"
protested Buckner; and there was something like a proud dignity in his
manner, though he was not a good-looking man.
But it is possible to be honest without being handsome; and rogues
assume virtues they do not possess. Certainly, the valuable package was
not concealed upon the person of Buckner. The only alternative was,
that he had thrown it away,--cast it into some hole, or pitched it into
the river.
"There can be no doubt this is the man that took the package from the
counter, for no one else came near me while I was in the saloon,"
reasoned Peverell, whose vehemence had calmed down, and given place to
a deep anxiety.
"I've said all I have to say, and you can do what you like with me; but
I will make it hot for some of you before you see the end of this
business," said Buckner, doggedly. "I'm a poor man, but I'm not to be
trodden on, any more than a nigger is!"
By this time the crowd had scattered to make a search in the holes and
in the water for the missing package.
"What were you doing in the saloon?" asked the messenger, in a mild
tone.
"I went in there to see if I could find a man to help me take up a
couple of trunks to the St. James," replied Buckner. "I looked into the
nigger bar, and then came out. I saw there was a man at the front bar;
but I took no notice of him, and didn't see any package."
"Before you had reached the door, this young man had jumped over the
counter, and was chasing you. He was sure you had taken the package;
and no one else could have taken it," added Peverell, warming up again.
"But I didn't take it, and that's all I have to say about it," answered
Buckner, decidedly.
"I saw him take it!" repeated Nick, with emphasis. "He must have thrown
it into the river."
The policeman led his prisoner away to the lockup, while all the rest
of us followed up the search for half an hour. The messenger said the
bills were done up between two tin slabs of the size of the notes, and
inclosed in brown paper. Some searched on the pier, and some went out
in boats,--but no package could be found. The search was given up, and
I went back to the saloon with Nick and Peverell.
Captain Boomsby's son told his father all about the affair from
beginning to end. He was putting the whiskey-bottle back into its place
under the counter, when he heard Buckner's step as he approached the
front door. He looked up, saw that the package was gone, and that the
departing visitor had it. "That was all he knew about it."
"But you said you saw Buckner take it," said Peverell.
"I saw him take it out of the saloon," replied Nick.
The circumstances pointed very strongly, to say the least, to Buckner
as the guilty one. I had learned all I wanted to know, and was trying
to say good-by to Captain Boomsby, when Peeks, the steward of the
Sylvania, came into the saloon with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand.
CHAPTER III.
ADIEU TO THE BOOMSBYS.
Mr. Peverell, the bank messenger, called at the saloon on his way back.
Doubtless he was not a little concerned about meeting the officers of
the bank, after the loss of so large a sum of money. By this time they
had heard the news, for it was flying all over the city. He looked very
much troubled, as well he might.
"It seems very strange to me," said Peverell, after he had discussed
the robbery for a while. "Nobody came into the saloon while I was there
but Buckner. I saw him come in, but I took no further notice of him;
and I hadn't the least idea that anything was wrong till I saw Nick
leap over the counter. I can't see how anybody else could have taken
the package; and it is just as hard to tell what became of it."
"I haven't the least doubt but what he threw it into the river," added
Nick Boomsby.
"I don't see how he could have done it without anybody seeing him,"
replied the messenger. "There were plenty of men standing about the
pier."
"There seems to be something the matter here," interposed Peeks, coming
up to me at this moment with the telegraphic despatch in his hand. "I
am sorry to disturb you, Captain Alick."
"It is none of my affairs," I added, hoping the despatch contained no
bad news from home.
"I have a message from Detroit informing me that my father is very
sick," added Peeks, opening the despatch. "My mother wants me to come
home as quick as I can."
"I am sorry your news is so bad, Mr. Peeks; but there is only one thing
for a son to do in such a case," I replied, full of sympathy for our
steward. "I hardly know how I shall get along without you; but I cannot
ask you to remain under such circumstances."
"I am sorry to leave, Captain Alick, especially for such a reason. My
health has been entirely restored by this cruise, and I would not leave
you if I didn't get a cent for my work, though I have been well and
promptly paid. My father has considerable property, and my mother is
old and feeble. I am afraid I shall not be able to join you again, for
if my father dies, as the doctors say he must, I shall have to look out
for his affairs at home. But I have no time to lose, for I must take
the train for the North this afternoon."
I paid him the balance of wages due him, and we parted with a hearty
shake of hands. His going disturbed me not a little, for he was both
skilful and faithful, and his services had been invaluable, when I had
so many passengers on board the Sylvania. He left the saloon, and for
some minutes I forgot the exciting events of the day.
If we were to sail on our next cruise, as had been arranged, the next
morning, I must look up a competent steward. But the Florida season was
over, and I anticipated no trouble in finding one.
By this time there was quite a crowd collected in the saloon, and for
half an hour longer the robbery was talked over. Nothing new was
brought out. Buckner had taken the package from the counter, Nick had
pursued him, and the money was not found. They could not get beyond
these facts, or beyond these apparent facts, for things are not always
as they seem.
Peverell left when he found he could get no further in his
investigation, and then for a time there was a lively business done at
both bars of the saloon. The negroes had come into the front room to
hear what was said, and they could not leave till each of them had
imbibed all the cheap whiskey he could get into one of Captain
Boomsby's thick-bottomed tumblers. Nick was just as busy at the front
bar. I could not help looking at him as he dealt out the dangerous
fluids--doubly dangerous after passing through Captain Boomsby's hands.
I doubted whether he had any ambition to become anything better than a
bartender. He was about my age, but not half so robust, for, being an
only son, his father and mother humored him, and never compelled him to
do anything like hard work, as they had me.
Nick was dressed in rather cheap, but flashy, clothes, and wore an
enormous glass diamond in his shirt front. At the present time he
seemed to be doing his dirty work in a very mechanical manner, as
though he were thinking of something else. He had to ask every customer
twice over what he wanted, and even then gave him the wrong bottle.
But the rush of business was soon over. Captain Boomsby came out of the
negro bar, and Nick joined him in the rear of the front saloon. The
father looked at the son, and the son looked at the father, and then
both of them looked at me, as though they did not care to say anything
in my presence.
"I suppose I shall have to go to court, father," said Nick, "and I
guess I had better go up stairs and slick up a little."
"You look well enough as you be," replied the elder Boomsby.
"If I am going into the court, I want my best clothes on. Besides,
father, you said I might go out this afternoon," replied Nick, who
evidently had other views in his head than the court. "Mother had just
as lief tend bar this afternoon as not."
"I s'pose she had, but I don't want her in the bar when I can help it,"
added the captain, whose marital relations had become decidedly
unpleasant, as I had learned from observation.
"Well, Captain Boomsby, I must say good-bye to you again," I
interposed, not caring to wait for the father and son to settle the
question between them.
I offered my hand and he took it; but I don't think he was inclined to
weep at my departure. I thought that Nick looked at me with more than
usual interest, and when I took him by the hand to say good-bye to him,
he pressed my hand warmly. Before, when I had met him, he was hardly
disposed to speak to me at all. He and his mother kept the old sores
open.
"I have never been on board of your steamer yet, Captain Alick," said
he, with a sort of ghastly grin, which I could not understand. "I
wanted to get out this afternoon to make a visit to her."
"She can be seen by everybody who chooses to visit her, and I shall be
glad to see you on board of her," I replied. "All hands are on shore
now, except Cobbington, who is acting as ship-keeper. He will show you
all over the Sylvania, if I am not on board."
"Where are you going from here in her?" asked Nick.
"We shall run down the coast of Florida, then across the Gulf of
Mexico, and then up the Mississippi," I replied.
"I wish I was going with you," added Nick.
I did not wish he was going with me, and so I said nothing. I had taken
leave of the captain and his son, and was about to depart when Mrs.
Boomsby came into the saloon from the front entry.
"You here, Sandy," said she, bestowing a look of disgust upon me.
"I leave early to-morrow morning, and I dropped in to say good-bye. I
will say the same to you, Mrs. Boomsby," I added, moving towards the
door.
"You needn't trouble yourself to say good-bye to me, for sakes knows I
don't keer whether I ever see you again or not," replied the amiable
lady, with a frown on her countenance which was enough to prevent me
from saying anything more. I bowed and moved towards the door.
"I s'pose you think you are mighty grand, sailin' about in a steam
yacht; but you'll come to a bad end yet," continued Mrs. Boomsby.
That was just what her husband had said to me, and I concluded they had
talked the matter over again. I did not wait to hear any more. I
entered the saloon on a friendly mission; I had forgiven my worst
enemies,--I could conceive of none worse than the Boomsbys,--and I was
not willing to have any words with the most virulent one of the family.
I walked out of the saloon. I heard some further uncomplimentary
allusions to myself as I closed the door behind me; but I believed that
was the last I should ever see of any of the Boomsby family.
I walked up to Colonel Shepard's house, and found all the family, as
well as Owen there. They were evidently engaged in the discussion of
some topic of interest when I entered. I had come up to press their
acceptance of the invitation I had given them to continue the yachting
excursion with me up the Mississippi; but before I had time to say
anything about it, Owen told me the Shepards had concluded to decline
the invitation. I was rather taken aback by this announcement, for the
party were exceedingly pleasant company, and I knew that Margie Tiffany
would enjoy being with her friend, Edith Shepard.
"You have treated us exceedingly well, Captain Alick, on board of the
Sylvania, and we shall all be grateful to you as long as we live, for
all the pleasure you have afforded us," said Colonel Shepard.
"I shall be greatly disappointed, sir, if your family do not go with
us," I answered, wondering at his decision. "We can accommodate you
very well, and the more the merrier, you know."
"You forget that I am the owner of a steam yacht like the Sylvania,"
continued Colonel Shepard, smiling. "I expected to send her to New
York, but I concluded not to do so until we were ready to go
ourselves."
"I knew that the Islander was still here, and she can take you anywhere
you wish to go as comfortably as the Sylvania; but I should be very
glad to have you continue to be our passengers."
"As you have your father with you now, I think you will get along very
well without us," laughed the colonel. "I only wish I had you and your
crew to run the Islander for me."
"Thank you; you are very kind, sir. I am afraid we shall not be able to
leave the Sylvania. But where are you going?"
"It is still an open question whether we proceed directly to New York,
cruise awhile in the vicinity of Florida, or go with you. I am not
quite willing to leave the State until I have pulled in a few more
red-fish, black bass, and other fish such as we caught in Indian
River."
"I suppose you don't propose to take Captain Boomsby with you as
captain of the Islander. You remember that he came to Florida in
command of her," I added.
"I don't propose to take any such person. I retain the captain and crew
I engaged to take the Islander to New York," replied Colonel Shepard.
"Captain Blastblow has seen service in a yacht, and has commanded a
steamer."
"I have no doubt he is entirely competent."
"I think he is, or I would not trust my family to his care. While we
were up the St. Johns, he put the Islander in first-rate condition. He
has had her boiler and machinery overhauled, and declares she has the
best engine he ever saw in a steamer. I went down to see her as soon as
we arrived. He has engaged a steward, waiters, and others, and I think
we shall be ready to sail as soon as you are," continued the colonel.
"We are off early to-morrow morning," I added.
"Captain Blastblow told me at noon he should be ready to sail to-night.
I expect a letter to-day from New York, and that will enable me to
decide where we go."
I soon took my leave, for I had to engage a steward before night. I was
amazed at the decision of Colonel Shepard, and I could not help
thinking he had some motive for his course which did not appear on the
surface. I decided to call upon my father on my way to the wharf, for
he was staying at the Carlton with the Tiffanys. I had gone but a few
steps before Owen caught up with me.
"I want you to understand, Alick, that I am not concerned in this
business," said he, in a deprecatory tone. "I had no idea what the
colonel intended to do until I went to his house this afternoon."
"O, I don't blame you for it, Owen," I replied.
"But I think they would have gone with us if I had held the charter of
the vessel as before," he added.
"I think that need make no difference. I suppose you will go in the
Islander now," I continued, laughing, for I did not think he would be
able to break away from Miss Edith.
"I don't know, Alick. To tell the truth, I have had no invitation to go
in the Islander; and without one I surely shall not go in her."
This seemed to me to be a little odd, and I was thinking of it when we
came to the Carlton, where I found my father on the piazza. We told him
the whole story. To my astonishment, he said he was glad to hear it. I
told him Owen had no invitation to go in the Islander.
"And he will have none," added my father, bluntly. "Owen, if you accept
any such invitation, should one be given, the Sylvania will part
company with the Islander as soon as we get out of the river."
"That is very odd, uncle Bent," answered Owen.
"I have a very great respect for Colonel and Mrs. Shepard; and what he
has done, probably by the counsel of his wife, removes the only doubt I
had of him. Owen, you are a perfect spoon! It is not quite proper that
you and Miss Edith should be spooning all the time, night and day; and
to my mind, Colonel Shepard has decided to go in his own yacht to
prevent this thing, as well as to retain his own self-respect. I dare
say he is no longer willing to be the guests, with his whole family, of
Alick or yourself. That's the whole of it. It is better for you to
visit the young lady occasionally than to spend weeks or months with
her in a little steam-yacht."
I thought my father was rather severe upon my cousin, and I determined
to speak to him about the matter when we were alone. I told my father
that Peeks had been obliged to leave, and that I must look up a steward
at once.
He told me I need not go far to find one, and recommended me to give
the place to Cobbington. I had not thought of such a thing, and I
hastened on board to consider the matter.
CHAPTER IV.
NICK BOOMSBY HAS ASPIRATIONS.
When I reached Market Wharf I found that the Islander had hauled out
into the stream from the wharf where she had been undergoing repairs.
Captain Blastblow had certainly done his work well. The twin sister of
the Sylvania had been painted, and she looked as though she had just
come out of the ship-yard for the first time. She was moored off the
yacht-club house, and the American flag was flying at her peak, as
though she had just gone into commission.
I earnestly hoped that Colonel Shepard would conclude to make the trip
up the Mississippi, for I was very confident we should enjoy yachting
on the great river much more in company with the Islander, and the
pleasant party on board of her, than we could alone.
I took a shore boat to board the Sylvania, for as this was our last
chance on shore for the present, all hands had been allowed to spend
the day in the city. Cobbington declared that he did not care to see
any more of the city, where he had passed so many miserable days, and
had volunteered to remain on board as ship-keeper.
Miles Cobbington had come to the south as an invalid, and having no
means, he had picked up a precarious living by hunting, fishing, and
doing such odd jobs of work as he could find. When I came across him he
was hungry, and without a place to lay his head. With good living on
board the Sylvania, and with his mind relieved of all anxiety about his
daily food and shelter, he had picked up wonderfully during the month
of our trip up the river.
"Well, Miles, how do you get on?" I asked as I ascended the gangway.
"First-rate, Captain Garningham. I haven't been so happy for years as I
am now," he replied with a cheerful smile. "I begin to think I may live
for some years yet."
"I hope you will live for many years yet," I replied. "Mr. Peeks has
been on board this afternoon, has he not?"
"Yes, sir; and I am very sorry to have him leave for such a reason,"
said Cobbington, with a look of genuine sympathy.
"I believe he attended to putting all our provisions and stores on
board."
"Yes, captain; we stowed away everything last night, and we are ready
to leave as soon as you give the word."
"We can't go without a steward," I added, glancing at Cobbington to see
if I could find any suggestion in his face. But he looked entirely
blank.
"The steamers here are hauling off, now, and I should say you would
have no difficulty in finding one," he replied.
"Do you think you can readily find another good waiter?" I asked.
"I could find a hundred of them in half an hour," he replied.
"Then I wish you to find one as soon as the crew come on board. I want
one to take your place in the fore-cabin."
"To take my place!" exclaimed Cobbington, looking aghast at me. "Then
you are going to discharge me. What have I done?"
"You have done lots of things, and done them well. You will take Mr.
Peeks's place as steward, at the same wages he received," I replied,
unwilling to hurt his feeling a moment longer.
"Thank you, Captain Garningham," added Cobbington, his thin face
suddenly wreathed in smiles. "I suppose you understand what you are
doing, captain."
"I think I do; but I will add that it was my father who suggested your
name for the position."
"I am very grateful to him for doing so, and to you for giving me the
place. I think I can do the work to your satisfaction, for I have had
considerable experience in this sort of business."
I gave him such directions as he needed, and then called a shore boat.
As the Islander was likely to be our consort during the whole, or a
part, of the cruise up the Mississippi, I thought I would pay her a
visit, and become better acquainted with her officers. My uniform
procured me a ready recognition on her deck. Captain Blastblow was a
man of forty, with a bald head and red whiskers. He treated me very
politely, though I thought I could see something like contempt in his
manner, possibly at the idea of a young fellow like me presuming to
hold a position equal to his own.
The captain took considerable pains to bring it into the conversation
that he had been a seaman all his life, that he had come on board
through the hawse hole, and had not crawled in at the cabin window. He
made a slurring remark about fresh-water sailors, and informed me that
he had been around Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope. He had been an
ensign in the navy during "the late unpleasantness," and had served in
the Gulf of Mexico in the blockade fleet.
"When do you sail, Captain Blastblow?" I inquired.
"I don't know: but I have my orders to be ready to go at a moment's
warning at any time after daylight to-morrow morning," replied the
captain of the Islander.
These instructions seemed to be entirely consistent with what Colonel
Shepard had said, that his departure and destination depended upon the
letters he expected to receive by the afternoon mail. I looked over the
steamer, and found her as neat as a new pin in every part. The officers
and crew had put on a new uniform, and I found that they had steam up
on board.
I found no one that I knew on her deck, and the captain introduced me
to the mate, the engineers, and the steward. I thought there was a
little irony in his words as he did so; but I took no notice of this
circumstance. I could see that he believed he was a thoroughly
competent captain, and that he had some doubts in regard to my ability
to fill the position I occupied on board of the Sylvania. I was willing
that the future should settle all such questions; but I had the vanity
to believe, though I did not say so, that I could handle the Sylvania
as well as he could the Islander.
We parted as the best of friends should part, and when I had seated
myself in the boat, I could not help thinking I should like to see him
handle his vessel in such a storm as I had seen on Lake Superior. In a
few moments I was landed on Market Wharf, and walked up to the
post-office to inquire if there were any letters for me. I learned that
the northern mail had not arrived. It was often several hours behind
time, for the railroads in Florida were in very bad condition.
Colonel Shepard was there, very impatient at the non-arrival of his
letters. He told me, if he had to go to New York, he should sail in the
Islander on the next tide. If his business did not call him north at
once, he should sail with us the next morning.
The colonel went over to the Carlton, and I was about to go with him,
when Nick Boomsby came up to me. He was dressed in his best clothes,
and he was as good a representative of the idiotic swell as I had ever
met.
"When do you sail, Captain Alick?" he asked, as though the question was
one of vital importance to him personally.
"To-morrow morning, about seven o'clock, unless some change is made in
the arrangements," I replied, wondering what possible interest he could
have in the sailing of the steamer.
"Alick, you and I were always good friends," he continued.
"Not always, though I don't mind that now," I added, not willing that
the exact truth should be sacrificed, even by my silence.
"I am getting a little tired of this place, and I want to be out of it.
I know we didn't always agree when we were little children; but I don't
believe you think of these things now."
"I have not the least ill-will towards you, Nick."
"I am right glad to hear you say so. The old man never will let up on
you, I suppose. But I told him he was a fool, and that he had better
let you alone."
Perhaps it was good advice, but I did not believe he ever gave it to
his father, though he was capable of any disrespect. I waited to learn
what he was driving at, though the fact that he had said he wished he
was going with me on the cruise came to my mind in this connection.
"I am tired of the sort of life I am leading," continued Nick.
"I don't blame you," I added, with the utmost sincerity, though I had
not supposed he had any soarings above the sphere of a bar-tender.
"What can I do? The old man won't let me do anything else beside tend
bar. It is mean business, and I'm bound to get out of it."
I thought Nick's view of the situation was very commendable, though I
did not see how he was to break away from his father, if the latter was
not willing he should do so.
"The only way I can do it is to run away," added Nick.
"I can't advise you to do that," I replied.
"I am eighteen years old, and I am able to take care of myself. The old
man don't give me any wages, and it's hard work for me to get a suit of
clothes out of him when I need it. Which would you rather do if you
were in my place,--sell whiskey, and very likely become a drunkard
yourself, or run away, and become an honest and respectable man?"
It was a hard question, and I declined to answer it, for I was
unwilling to be responsible to any degree for anything that Nick
Boomsby might do. I knew him too well.
"If you will take me to New Orleans on your steamer, I will work my
passage, and be everlastingly obliged to you besides," persisted Nick,
coming all at once to the point.
"No, Nick, I shall not do anything to provoke your father, or give him
just cause to complain of me. So far as your leaving your present
business is concerned, you must settle that for yourself," I replied,
firmly.
I refused all his entreaties to be allowed to go in the Sylvania. I
told him that the relation between his father and myself would not
permit me to do anything to assist him. He seemed to be reconciled to
my decision, and was as pleasant as possible. He asked me about the
Islander, and I told him all I knew about her. I inquired what had been
done about the robbery. Nothing more had been done, but everybody was
satisfied that Buckner was the guilty person, and the police were still
searching for the missing package. Nick was going on board of the
Sylvania next, and I wrote on a card a request to Cobbington to show
him over the vessel.
While we were talking the mail arrived. Colonel Shepard rushed to the
post-office, and I was talking to him while the mail was in process of
sorting and distribution. Nick stood by me all the time, and listened
to all that we were saying. At last Colonel Shepard received his
letters. He opened one of them with feverish haste.
"All right! I go with you, Captain Alick!" exclaimed the colonel,
evidently as much delighted as a child would have been. "I will follow
you up the Mississippi. What time do you sail, Captain Alick?"
"At seven; that will bring us to the bar at about the right time," I
replied.
"I must send word on board to Captain Blastblow to be ready at that
time."
The colonel appeared to be searching his pockets for a piece of paper,
and I handed him one of my blank cards. He wrote something on it, and
intimated that he wanted to find some one by whom he could send it on
board of the Islander.
"I am just going on board of the Sylvania, and I will leave it on board
of the Islander as I pass her," interposed Nick.
Colonel Shepard asked me if I knew the young man, and I told him I did.
He gave him the card, and Nick hastened off in the direction of the
boat-club building. I wondered if he was not intending to look for a
passage to New Orleans in the Islander. It was not impossible, and I
determined that my late passengers should not be burdened with his
company.
I went to the Carlton, and found that my passengers had decided not to
go on board of the Sylvania till the next morning, and had ordered an
early breakfast. There was to be some sort of a social occasion in the
parlors that evening, and my father and his friends wished to be
present. I went on board of the steamer. On my way I looked in at the
window of Captain Boomsby's saloon, and saw that Nick was there
peddling out whiskey to thirsty customers. He had not concealed himself
on board of the Islander; and I had told Colonel Shepard to be on the
lookout in the morning, to assure himself that he had no more
passengers than he wanted. I was quite sure I had blocked Nick's
wheels, so far as running away in either of the steam-yachts was
concerned.
CHAPTER V.
THE STRANGE MOVEMENT OF THE ISLANDER.
Cobbington had engaged the additional waiter. His name was Reel
Bendick, as he spelled it out to me; and he seemed to be an intelligent
and docile man. He was to wait on the table in the fore-cabin, while
Tom Sands was to continue in the after-cabin, where he had always been
assisted by the steward, and on great occasions by Washington Gopher,
the accomplished cook who had come all the way from Detroit.
With these exceptions our crew remained the same as before.
Since our return from up the St. Johns, everything about the Sylvania
had been put in perfect order for sea. Moses Brickland, the engineer,
had overhauled the machinery and the boiler, and we had a full supply
of coal in the bunkers. I went all over the vessel, and assured myself
that everything was in order.
"I suppose there is no doubt about our leaving in the morning, is
there, Captain Alick?" asked Bob Washburn, the mate, as we seated
ourselves in the captain's cabin, after we had both been all over the
deck and the cabins.
"Of course I don't know anything more about that than you do, but I
think there cannot be much doubt of it," I replied. "We shall have no
passengers but my father, the Tiffanys, and my cousin."
"Does Owen Garningham go with us, Alick?" asked Washburn, with
astonishment.
"He told me this afternoon he had no invitation to go in the Islander,
and my father said he would have none," I replied.
"Then your father thinks there has been too much spooning on board,"
added Washburn, laughing.
"Probably Colonel Shepard thinks so too, and that may be the reason why
he decided to go in the Islander instead of in the Sylvania."
"I should think it would be better to separate Owen and Miss Edith
until each shall have a chance to make up his mind."
"Owen seems to be very much attached to Miss Edith, and their being
together all the time may result in something very serious. He is a
young fellow of twenty, and I doubt if he knows his own mind; he is
fascinated by a pretty face."
"There is no doubt of that; and the face is as pretty a one as I ever
saw," added Washburn, with emphasis.
"My father says Owen's mother is very rich, and that she is more afraid
he will fall into some entangling alliance of this sort, than she is of
his becoming a drunkard, or becoming a bad man," I continued, recalling
some of the conversations my father had had with me.
"They say Colonel Shepard is rich enough to satisfy even an English
nabob," suggested the mate.
"I suppose Owen's mother expects him to marry a duchess," I replied. "I
saw her when I was in England; but she had no love for me, and I have
no doubt she wished I had never turned up."
"I should say that Edith Shepard was good enough for any fellow, even
if he were an earl or a duke," said Washburn, shrugging his shoulders.
"Luckily it is none of our affair, though my sympathies are all with
Owen," I added. "I wonder if Nick Boomsby came on board this
afternoon," I continued, willing to change the subject.
I called Cobbington into our room, and was informed that Nick had been
on board, and had been treated with distinguished consideration.
"Did he say anything about going with us, Cobbington?" I asked.
"He only said he should like to go with us, but you would not allow him
to do so, and he had given up all thought about it," replied the new
steward. "Besides, he said he was the important witness in a law-case
that would come up to-morrow morning."
"I don't believe he would stay for the law-case if I would give him a
berth on board," I added.
I related the particulars of the robbery of the messenger, and
Cobbington commented on them at some length. I found that he knew the
messenger, and had not a very high respect for him. He had his doubts
whether there was any four thousand dollars in the transaction. It
looked more to him as though the messenger had arranged the affair so
that he could appropriate the money to his own use. Cobbington had
worked with Buckner, who was a poor man, and had come to Florida, like
himself, to save his life.
"Why did Nick jump over the counter, and chase Buckner, then? Nick says
he saw Buckner take the package from the counter, and run out at the
front door," I added.
"I don't know anything about the matter, except that I would trust
Buckner farther than I would Peverell," persisted the steward. "A bank
messenger that means to be honest don't go into a bar-room and put four
thousand dollars down on the counter; not every day in the week, at
least. I don't believe Buckner took the package; if he had it would
have been found on him when the policeman caught him."
We could not get ahead any further than those on shore had in solving
the mysterious disappearance of the treasure. At an early hour I turned
in, and Washburn soon followed me. After dark I cautioned the
anchor-watch not to let any person come on board. I was afraid that
Nick Boomsby would try to become a stowaway on board of the steamer,
and thus give his father an additional grudge against me. But I soon
went to sleep and forgot all about Nick.
I was up at five in the morning. Before I washed my face and made my
toilet, I went on deck to take a look at the weather, as I generally
did at sea, or when we were on the point of sailing. It was cloudy and
thick; but I thought it probable that it would clear off as the day
advanced. The smoke was pouring out of the smoke-stack of the Islander,
as well as of the Sylvania. If the weather was not bad enough to make
me think of delaying our departure, it was still not so pleasant as I
desired for a start.
I dressed myself, and looked the vessel over again. Our party would
breakfast before they came on board, and we had nothing to do yet but
look after ourselves. At six o'clock we took our morning meal. As soon
as it was cleared away, I ordered the anchor up, and we ran in to
Market Wharf to take on board our passengers.
Before we reached the wharf I saw a boat board the Islander; but she
was too far off for me to determine who was in the craft. It was still
only half-past-six, and I did not expect our passengers for half an
hour or more. I went on shore to walk through the market. It seemed
very odd to me to find all sorts of green things, such as green peas,
cucumbers, spinach, new turnips, carrots, and most other vegetables,
which I had not been in the habit of seeing till July and August. But
we had been eating such things, including strawberries, for a month,
and many of them all winter in the West Indies.
"The Islander is under way," said Washburn, as I sauntered along the
wharf.
"Probably she is going to run in for her passengers, as we have done,"
I replied.
"She don't seem to be headed for the wharf, but down the river," added
the mate.
I went on board, and then to the hurricane deck, where I could obtain a
good view of her. I was confident that her passengers had not gone on
board of her, for we had seen nothing but a boat with two persons in it
go alongside the Islander. The party consisted of four persons, and two
of them were ladies. They could not have gone on board of her without
our seeing them.
"It don't look as though she was running in to a wharf," said Washburn,
joining me on the hurricane deck.
"Very likely she is taking a little run down the river so that her new
captain can see how she works," I added, without a suspicion that
anything was wrong about our twin sister. "It isn't seven yet, and she
is taking a little turn before she goes up to the wharf."
"Of course it is all right," replied Washburn. "Her captain is as salt
as a barrel of brine, and knows all about steamers."
We waited fifteen minutes longer, till I heard a clock strike seven,
but the Islander continued on her course down the river. I knew she had
been ordered to be ready to sail at seven, and I did not suppose
Captain Blastblow would willingly fail to be on time. While I was
watching the movements of our consort, the baggage of our party arrived
at the end of the wharf, and, a few minutes later, a carriage came
bringing our passengers.
I had no more time to study the affairs of the Islander. My father, Mr.
Tiffany and Miss Margie were in the carriage, and I was permitted to
help the young lady out, and escort her to the deck. I was a little
afraid of my father calling me a "spoon," and I was careful not to
overdo myself in politeness.
"How long before you sail, Captain Alick?" asked my fair companion.
"Immediately," I replied. "The Islander has already gone, but I think
she must return."
"May I go into the pilot-house, captain?"
"Certainly; I shall be delighted to have you there."
"How much I shall miss Edith!" exclaimed Miss Margie, as I gave her the
best seat in the pilot-house. "I think it is a great pity that we could
not all go together in the same steamer."
"I should have been very glad to have the Shepards on board," I
replied. "I suppose Colonel Shepard prefers to sail in his own yacht,
as I think I should if I were in his place. But we shall be within hail
of each other most of the time, and you can visit Miss Edith about
every day after we get into the Mississippi River."
"I am told the Mississippi is a very large river," mused Miss Margie.
"Can you see across it, Captain Alick?"
"No doubt of it," I answered, laughing. "It is not more than a mile
wide, as a rule. You must be thinking of the Amazon, which is a hundred
and fifty miles wide near its mouth. Vessels must get out of sight of
land in crossing it, near the ocean."
"We are all on board, Alick, except Owen," said my father, coming into
the pilot-house. "He should not keep us waiting."
"Perhaps he has decided to go in the other steamer," I suggested.
But I had hardly spoken the words before Owen came on board. He did not
seem to be in despair at his separation from his "bright particular
star," and was in excellent humor when he joined us in the pilot-house.
"Where are the rest of your party, Owen?" I asked.
"Merciful hotandsplosh! Haven't you found out yet that they are going
on the Islander?" demanded Owen.
"I haven't seen them go on board of her yet," I added.
"They took a carriage to the wharf near the boat-house, and I took one
to come here," replied Owen. "They must be on board of her by this
time."
"I think not. The Islander has gone down the river," I answered, as I
ordered the fasts to be cast off.
I backed the Sylvania on the stern line to clear her from the wharf,
and then rang to go ahead. Our voyage around Florida had actually
begun, and I was duly exhilarated by the fact. The Islander had gone
around the bend of the river, and I could see only her masts and
rigging. The wind was blowing fresh from the southwest, and I was not a
little astonished to see that her crew were shaking out her
fore-topsail. This did not indicate that her captain intended to return
to the wharf for his passengers.
"Colonel Shepard and his family must have gone on board of her at least
a quarter of an hour before seven, Owen," I said, unable to account for
the movements of the Islander in any other way.
"But they did not leave the colonel's house till five minutes of
seven--at the same time I started to come here," replied Owen. "What
has happened? What is the matter?"
"I don't know that anything is the matter," I replied. "The Islander
got under way about half-past six, and I supposed she was going to take
a turn on the river before she went up to the wharf. Instead of that
she has been moving steadily down the river since she got up her
anchor; and there she is, three or four miles on her way to the ocean."
"Sylvania, ahoy!" shouted some one on the shore.
On the pier, near the club-house, were the Shepard party; and it was
the colonel who had hailed us. They seemed to be quite as much
astonished as we were. I ran the steamer up to the wharf.
CHAPTER VI.
A LIVELY CHASE.
In a few minutes our bow and stern lines were fast to the wharf where
the Shepards were waiting for their steam-yacht. Owen leaped ashore
before the vessel was fairly alongside, though he had not yet come to a
full comprehension of what had happened. He knew something was the
matter, but he could not tell what it was.
As soon as the Sylvania was made fast I went on shore. Colonel Shepard
seemed to be bewildered, for Owen had just told him the Islander had
gone down the river. The rest of the family were quite as much
astonished as the husband and father. Chloe, the colored servant, was
actually wringing her hands, as though she feared another conspiracy
was about to be developed.
"Where is the Islander, Captain Alick?" asked the colonel, as I
presented myself before him.
"She has gone down the river; and the last I saw of her, she was
shaking out her fore-topsail," I replied.
"But what does that mean?" added Colonel Shepard, with a frown.
"I'm sure I don't know, sir. She got under way about half-past six. I
supposed Captain Blastblow was about to take a turn or two in her
before he ran up to the wharf. It is now quarter-past seven, and the
Islander is still making her way down the river. You can see her across
the land, though only her spars are in sight."
I pointed out the tapering masts of our consort--if she was to be our
consort--in the distance. Presently she disappeared behind a forest of
pine.
"I don't understand it at all," said the perplexed owner of the stray
yacht. "What does Captain Blastblow mean by treating me in this manner,
when I ordered him to be at this wharf precisely at seven?"
"I can't explain it, sir," I replied. "There is clearly some
misunderstanding about the matter."
"You saw me write the card at the post-office last night, Captain
Alick: and I sent it off by the young man who was with you."
"Yes, sir; Nick Boomsby took the card; and I have no doubt he delivered
it, for he came on board of the Sylvania towards night.
"I think Captain Blastblow intends to return soon," I added, for I
could not think of any explanation of his singular conduct. I certainly
could not reason out any plausible occasion for such a violation of his
orders as that in which he seemed to be engaged.
"Perhaps he has run off with the yacht, and intends to become a pirate,
or something of that sort," suggested Gus Shepard.
"Nonsense, my son! The Islander is not an armed vessel, and Captain
Blastblow is not a pirate," replied Colonel Shepard. "Do you suppose
anything was out of order on board of the steamer, Captain Alick?"
"It is possible; but if such was the case, the captain would hardly
have gone so far down the river," I replied. "If the Islander had
needed any more repairs, Captain Blastblow would have remained in
Jacksonville and attended to them."
"Perhaps he wishes to become better acquainted with the vessel before
he takes her to sea," added the colonel.
"He might have done that yesterday. He would not have waited until you
were ready to sail, and then gone off on an experimental cruise," I
answered.
"An experimental cruise!" exclaimed Owen. "What a terrible expression.
I hope Captain Blastblow don't use such expressions. If he does, he has
gone out to sea where he can have room enough to unsnarl his tongue."
"Captain Blastblow is an American, and he is used to such little
trials," I replied.
"What shall be done?" asked Colonel Shepard.
"I think you had better go on board of the Sylvania, with your baggage,
and we will stand down the river," I replied, promptly, for I had kept
this idea in my mind for some time. "We can at least follow the
Islander, and when we come up with her you can go on board of her."
"Are you sure you can overtake her, Captain Alick?" asked Colonel
Shepard, with a smile, as though he had some doubts in regard to the
relative speed of the two steam-yachts. "Captain Blastblow is confident
that he can outsail the Sylvania."
"I don't say that he cannot; but if he does, he has learned a new trick
in handling her," I answered, with energy. "I have sailed the Sylvania
against the Islander on the Great Lakes more than once, and have not
found the time when I could not beat her."
"Her new captain claims to be a very skilful man in handling steamers,"
added the colonel.
"If you and your family will come on board, sir, I will do the best I
can to overtake the Islander, and ascertain what the conduct of her
captain means. If we have anything like fair play, we shall overhaul
the Islander sometime to-day," I continued, confidently. "We are both
well down in the water, with our coal-bunkers and water-tanks full. She
is nearly an hour ahead of us now, and her captain was hurrying her all
he could."
Owen was delighted with the decision of Colonel Shepard when he
accepted my invitation. He had regained his divinity, and he conducted
her on board of the Sylvania, while the colonel assisted Mrs. Shepard.
Owen escorted Miss Edith to the pilot-house, and her mother went down
into the cabin, for the morning was rather raw and chilly. Margie took
her dear friend to her heart, and hoped the Sylvania would never
overtake the Islander.
"You must let the other steamer keep ahead, Captain Alick," said
Margie, as I took my place at the wheel, when the baggage had been put
on board.
"That would be treason to the Sylvania and treason to Colonel Shepard,"
I replied, as I rang the bell to start the steamer.
I knew the river well enough to go ahead confidently, and I had given
the chief-engineer a hint as to what I expected of him. In a few
minutes, the little steamer was buzzing along at the rate of eleven
miles an hour. The only thing I feared was fog, and there seemed to be
great banks of it off in the direction of the mouth of the river.
"Mr. Washburn," I called through the windows in front of me.
"On deck, sir," replied the mate.
"Call all hands, and set the fore-topsail."
"Ay, ay, sir," responded Washburn; and I knew there would be no lack of
zeal on his part when we came to an out-and-out race.
All hands usually consisted of the two deck hands; but Ben Bowman, the
second fireman, and the cabin-waiter were available when there was any
extra work to be done. Buck Lingley and Hop Tossford, the deck hands,
were sent aloft by the mate to loose sails, while the others manned the
halyard and the braces. In a very short time the topsail was drawing
full, and the speed of the vessel was sensibly increased.
"Mr. Washburn!" I called again.
"On deck, sir," responded the mate.
"Set the foresail."
The crew made quick work of it.
"Now the mainsail, Mr. Washburn," I continued.
The wind was quite fresh, and the fore and aft sails caused the steamer
to heel over considerably when the puffs came, as they generally do in
a south-westerly breeze.
"You will tip us over, Captain Alick!" cried Miss Margie, who had not
been at sea in the Sylvania.
"I won't do anything of the kind, Miss Tiffany," I replied, with a
laugh. "I shall not drown myself for the sake of drowning you, I am
very sure. Mr. Washburn!"
"On deck, sir."
"Set the fore to'gallant sail."
"Ay, ay, sir," chuckled the mate, who understood that I meant business
by this time.
"Pray, which is the fore top-gallant sail, Captain Alick?" asked Miss
Margie.
"It is the highest sail we set on the foremast, though larger vessels
have a royal above that, then a skysail," I replied. "Mr. Washburn!"
"On deck, sir."
"Now give us the fore squaresail, and run up the jib."
The last order was to set the main gaff-topsail; and then we had all
sail on. We turned the bend of the river just after the last sail had
been set, which gave us the wind over the starboard quarter. I was
confident we were making twelve knots an hour, and the skilful firing
of Philander Perkins soon made her do even better than this. The water
fairly roared at the bow as the vessel cut through it. The young ladies
in the pilot-house ceased to talk, and Miss Margie held on at the wheel
with both hands. It was lively sailing, but there was no danger, and I
told the fair maiden so many times.
[Illustration: "Then we had all sail on." _Page 78._]
We all kept a sharp lookout for the Islander, but as yet we saw nothing
of her. She had, at least, ten miles the start of us, and it was likely
to be a long chase, if she continued on her course. I wanted very much
to get a sight of her when we reached the bar at the mouth of the St.
Johns, so as to determine what course she took.
No progress whatever had been made in solving the problem of the
Islander's sudden departure without her owner and passengers. We could
not imagine any motive on the part of her captain for his singular
conduct. My father and Colonel Shepard talked about the matter all the
time; but in the absence of any data they could not get ahead a
particle.
In an hour and a half by the watch we were in sight of the bar. The
weather looked thick and nasty outside, and there was not the slightest
sign of the Islander. But we were still in the river, and our view to
the north and south was obstructed by the trees and shrubs on the
shores. It was plain enough to me by this time that Captain Blastblow
had no intention of returning to Jacksonville for his passengers.
I kept the Sylvania on her course over the bar, and, as it was full
tide, I had no fear of taking the bottom. We kept on our course till we
had made a good offing. Though the fog had not settled down near the
bar, vast piles of it were floating in the air. The question now was
whether the Islander had gone to the north or the south. I had given
the wheel to Hop Tossford, and I was using the glass very industriously
in all quarters of the horizon.
"Sail, ho!" shouted Buck Lingley, who had taken his station on the cap
of the foremast.
"Where away?" I shouted, sticking my head out the side window of the
pilot-house.
"Right on the starboard beam," replied Buck.
As the fog lifted a minute later I got a glimpse of the sail.
"It is the Islander!" I shouted, not a little excited. "She is going to
the southward."
"I can't understand it," said Colonel Shepard, shaking his head. "Does
Captain Blastblow mean to run away with the vessel?"
No one could tell what he meant.
CHAPTER VII.
A FOG OFF THE FLORIDA COAST.
The Sylvania was close-hauled, and I gave out the course south
south-east. This was the navigation to take the steamer around the
peninsula into the Gulf of Mexico, though we intended to put in at Key
West, in order to see the place. Washburn noted the departure on the
log slate in the pilot-house, and, as it was necessary for us to run by
our dead reckoning, the log was heaved every hour. In a short time we
were buried in the fog, and kept our steam-whistle going at the proper
intervals.
The young ladies soon deserted the pilot-house, for we were obliged to
keep the front windows open, and the air was cold and moist. Owen left
with them, and my father and Colonel Shepard soon took their places.
The owner of the Islander was still too much excited to keep still. He
tried to see through the fog; but he might as well have attempted to
look through a rocky hill.
"How far ahead do you think the Islander is now, Captain Alick?" asked
the Colonel.
"About eight miles, I should judge, unless Captain Blastblow has
succeeded in getting more speed out of the Islander than any one else
ever could," I replied at once, for I had estimated the distance
before.
"Do you really think you are gaining on her?"
"I have no doubt of it," I replied, confidently. "They hurried the
Islander down the river; and when both vessels are doing their best the
Sylvania gains about a knot an hour on the Islander. I have tried this
with her when she had a sailing-master on board who knew all about her,
and had sailed her hundreds of miles. I don't believe Captain Blastblow
can do any better with her than Captain Braceback; and I used to beat
him every time."
"I dare say you are quite right, Captain Alick," added Colonel Shepard.
"It is reasonable to suppose that a man who is used to a vessel can do
better with her than a stranger."
"I got only a glimpse of the Islander when the fog lifted for a moment,
and saw only her spars and sails," I continued. "I have had
considerable experience in judging of distances on the water. I should
like to have you ask the others on board how far off they think the
other steamer was when we saw her."
The colonel liked the suggestion, and he was so much interested in the
question that he wished to have the best information he could obtain. I
called Washburn first. No one but Hop Tossford at the wheel had heard
the conversation, and they could not be influenced by my opinion of the
matter. The mate said seven miles. Buck Lingley made it nine miles, and
then Ben Bowman was summoned.
"Just about eight miles, I should say," replied Ben, when the question
was put to him.
"No two of them agree, though they do not differ widely," said the
Colonel, when all who had seen the Islander had answered.
"Ben Bowman has had more experience than all the rest of us put
together," I added. "But, Colonel, if you will average all the answers,
you will find the result is just eight miles. We may be all wrong.
Captain Blastblow talks louder than the rest of us, but when he beats
the Sylvania in a fair stand-up run, I wish you would let me know it,
if I don't find it out before you do."
I felt almost absolutely certain of the ground I stood on, for I had
tried this same issue when the result was almost a case of life and
death with me. The Sylvania had been built after the Islander, and her
constructor had an opportunity to improve on her model. Our engine was
a little more powerful than that of the other yacht, and a defect in
the lines of the latter had been corrected in building ours. But the
fact of our superior speed had been several times demonstrated by
actual trial, and the improvements in our model and machinery only
explained what had been proved. It was of course possible that Captain
Blastblow had some "knack" of getting more speed out of a steamer than
I had; but I was willing to believe, in this case, only what was fairly
proved.
"We may miss the Islander in this fog," continued Colonel Shepard,
peering anxiously through the fog.
"We may, sir," I replied. "There is nothing to prevent her from coming
about and running back to Jacksonville."
"What if she should do that?" asked the owner of the stray yacht.
"We are in the dark as to the intentions of her captain; and everything
depends upon them," I answered.
"What can his intentions possibly be?" inquired the colonel, knitting
his brow, as he recurred once more to the well-worn topic for at least
the twentieth time.
"It is quite impossible to conjecture his motives. He has either made a
mistake in regard to his instructions, or he means to run away with the
Islander."
"What mistake could he have made in regard to his instructions?"
demanded the colonel, who had not admitted the possibility for an
instant of any mistake. "Last night I wrote his instructions to be
ready to sail at seven, and sent them off to him by the young man who
was with you."
"Did you write seven this morning, sir?" I asked.
"I think I did, though I should not be willing to swear to it," replied
the colonel, looking a little blank at the idea of such a mistake.
"If you simply said seven, he may have taken it to mean seven this
evening," I suggested.
"He could not have thought we intended to go down the river and cross
the bar in the night."
"I should say not; but Captain Blastblow is a very brilliant man, and
has been around Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope so many times that
he ought to know what he is about," I replied, letting out a little of
my pique at the commander of the Islander for his implications against
me.
"Allowing that I wrote 'seven P.M.,' or that I did not write either
morning or evening, what is Captain Blastblow doing down here?"
demanded Colonel Shepard, warmly.
"If he understood that you were not to sail till this evening, he may
have brought the Islander out here to try her, and enable him to get
accustomed to her ways before he took on board his passengers. That is
all the explanation I can suggest, but I don't think it will hold
water. He knows very well, for he has been around Cape Horn several
times, that if he comes out here in a fog, he may not be able to get
back to Jacksonville in time to take you on board to-night, or even
to-morrow or next day."
"If Captain Blastblow had any doubt in regard to my orders, he could
have sent one of his men up to my house, and ascertained just what I
intended," said the owner, rather wrathfully.
"That is what I should have done; but Captain Blastblow has had more
experience than I have," I replied, with a smile.
"Did you notice anything unusual about the Islander, or the conduct of
those on board of her, when you saw her this morning, Captain Alick?"
continued the colonel.
"Nothing at all, sir. A boat went off to her a few moments before she
weighed her anchor," I answered. "There were two persons in the boat
when it went alongside the Islander, but only one returned to the shore
in it. I concluded some one of her officers or crew had remained ashore
over night, and came off in a shore boat. I did not think of the boat
till you asked the question."
"I don't see that the boat throws any light on the transaction," mused
the owner. "We don't know who was in the boat, though if we were in
Jacksonville, we could easily ascertain."
"I don't have any idea that we shall know anything about this matter
until we overhaul the Islander," I added. "We can guess for the next
week, but we are as likely to guess wrong as right."
"I can't help being considerably disturbed about this mysterious
conduct of Captain Blastblow; but I do not see that we are likely to be
any wiser in regard to it, as Captain Alick says, till we see the
captain," replied the colonel. "We have got to make the best of it, and
be patient till we learn more. What do you think of it, Major
Garningham?"
"I don't think it is possible to form an intelligent opinion without
further information in regard to the facts," replied my father. "I am
more inclined to believe that Captain Blastblow has made a mistake of
some kind, than that he means anything wrong. It would be worse than
folly for him to attempt to run away with the steam-yacht, for he is
sure to be discovered and punished."
"If it is a mistake or a misunderstanding, it is a very queer one. But
I am not disposed to worry about the matter, and I shall try to
reconcile myself to the situation," replied Colonel Shepard, struggling
to laugh off his anxiety for the safety of his yacht.
I think it was the want of her, more than the value of the craft, that
troubled and vexed him. He was a very wealthy man, and if she was lost
entirely to him, it would hardly impair his fortune.
"We shall do the best we can to solve the problem, and overhaul the
Islander," I continued; "but, after all, we may miss her. If Captain
Blastblow has made a blunder, or there is any misunderstanding, he must
soon discover it. If he has only come out here for a trial trip, and
should happen to pass us in the fog without our seeing him, he knows
the Sylvania will put into Key West. If he gets back to Jacksonville,
and finds that you have left in our steamer, he will return at once,
and find us at our anchorage in port."
"When shall you reach Key West, Captain Alick?" asked the colonel.
"If we have good weather, it is a run of from forty-two to forty-five
hours. If this fog continues, it will take longer than that, for the
navigation is not all plain sailing," I replied.
"And you think you can overtake the Islander in about eight hours?"
"I think so, sir; but I can't say that we shall come near enough to see
or hear her in this fog," I answered. "I think you had better make your
party comfortable on board of the Sylvania, and leave the rest of the
matter to me and my officers."
"I am confident that is the better way for you; and I am sure Alick
will do all he can both to make you and your family comfortable in the
cabin, and to find your runaway vessel," added my father.
Colonel Shepard yielded to this advice, and I went down into the
after-cabin with all the passengers to arrange about the staterooms and
berths. Our involuntary guests declared that they were very sorry to
make so much trouble, and especially to disturb our arrangements on
board. Both my father and I assured them they made no trouble, and that
we were not at all disturbed by their presence, inasmuch as we had
invited them to take the cruise in the Sylvania, and were glad to have
them on board.
I had made a diagram of the cabin, and assigned rooms and berths to all
the passengers, when I supposed they were to sail with us. I proceeded
to arrange our guests in accordance with this plan.
"Let me have a berth in the fore-cabin, Alick," said Owen to me in a
whisper.
"There is no need of that, Owen," I replied. "There is room enough for
all of you in this cabin, and some to spare. Colonel and Mrs. Shepard
will occupy the port stateroom, as before, when they have sailed with
us," I continued, consulting my diagram.
The colonel protested that he would not occupy the best stateroom; but
I insisted, and went on giving out the apartments.
"Miss Edith and Miss Margie will take the starboard stateroom."
Both of them screamed with delight at this disposition of them, and
Margie declared that I was a "dear, good little Captain Alick," though
I was bigger in stature than her father. I had given the two larger
rooms to those who were to double-up in them; and of the two remaining
rooms, I gave one to my father and the other to Mr. Tiffany. Owen and
Gus were assigned to the two berths next to the rooms, which left two
others for Chloe and the steward. The curtains drew out in front of the
berths, so that the spaces within them were almost the same as
staterooms. All were satisfied. I gave orders to Cobbington to provide
tables for all. Leaving the passengers to arrange their baggage in
their new quarters, I returned to the deck.
The fog was as dense as ever, and we could not see more than a ship's
length ahead. Ben Bowman was on the top-gallant forecastle, and Buck
Lingley on the fore-yard, keeping the lookout. We were driving the
steamer in spite of the fog, and I had some hope that we might soon get
a sight of the chase, or at least hear the sound of her whistle.
CHAPTER VIII.
A PORT IN A STORM.
"Washburn, you have a long head; can you make anything of the
situation, for I suppose you know all about it?" I asked, as I joined
the mate on the forecastle.
"I know what I have heard about the pilot-house and on the forecastle,"
replied Washburn.
"I have not been able to make anything out of it, so far," I continued.
"I can't believe that the captain of the Islander means to run away
with her. I don't believe this is a trial trip, as you suggested, for
the captain would not have come out into this fog on such an errand,"
added Washburn. "On the whole, I must believe it is a blunder on the
part of the captain of the consort. But I think we are not likely to
find out anything definite about the case until we overhaul the
Islander. All we have to do is to keep moving to the southward, and
keep a sharp lookout for the chase. It is useless to bother one's
brains over questions that cannot be answered."
"When I saw the Islander, she was well in shore," I added. "If she
takes a notion to come about, and run back to the St. Johns, we may
miss her."
"And she may drop into St. Augustine," said the mate.
"I don't see any reason why she should," I replied. "Captain Blastblow
knows that the party are bound up the Mississippi River. He knows the
Sylvania is, at any rate; and he would not have headed to the southward
if he had not intended to make the same trip, always supposing he has
misunderstood his instructions."
"By six o'clock to-night, if everything holds as it is, we ought to
overhaul the Islander, if we don't miss her in the fog, and Captain
Blastblow don't do any better in her than any one else has ever done,"
continued Washburn. "But the wind is freshening, Captain Alick."
"Yes; and the barometer indicates that we are to have a bad day of it,"
I replied, looking at the white caps that rolled up to windward of the
steamer.
The wind was gusty and savage. The steamer heeled well over to port
under the heavy press of sail we were carrying. But I did not care much
how hard it blew, if it would only carry off the fog, as I believed it
would do soon.
By half-past ten I found it necessary to take in the fore square-sail
and the fore top-gallant sail, for I was afraid the heavy weight of
canvas would strain the foremast. This relieved the steamer for a time;
but the wind had increased to a gale, and had hauled more to the
southward. Half an hour later we took in the fore topsail and the main
gaff-topsail, so that nothing but our fore and aft sails remained. The
log at eleven indicated that we were making twelve knots, and it was
about time for us to be up with St. Augustine light, but we could not
see it in the fog. Suddenly we heard a fog-horn on our starboard bow.
I rushed into the pilot-house and rang the gong. The engineer
immediately stopped the engine, and the roar of escaping steam
followed. I was afraid we might run down some of the small craft that
go in and out of St. Augustine.
"Sail, ho!" shouted Ben Bowman, on the top-gallant forecastle. "I see
her; she is a pilot-boat."
A moment later I saw a sail-boat, in which were three men. There was a
number on her sail, which indicated that she was a pilot-boat. She had
evidently heard our whistle, and had came out in the rough sea to take
us into St. Augustine, if we were bound into that port. I directed the
wheel man to port the helm, so as to throw the Sylvania up into the
wind under the stern of the pilot-boat.
"How came you up there, captain?" demanded one of the men in the boat,
and all of them looked amazed.
"We are bound to the southward, coming down from St. Johns bar," I
replied. "How does St. Augustine bear from here?"
"Due east," answered the spokesman of the trio.
"Look out for your reckoning, Washburn," I added, turning to the mate.
"Twenty minutes of twelve," added Washburn, consulting the chronometer.
"This is exactly where we ought to be at this time," and he made the
entry on the log-slate.
"Haven't you been over this course before to-day?" asked the spokesman
of the pilot.
"Not to-day," I answered, perceiving what it was that bewildered the
pilots. They had evidently seen the Islander, and supposed the
Sylvania was the same steamer.
"We came out here after a steamer we heard whistling in the fog,"
continued the speaker. "We got near enough to hail her; and if this is
not the same steamer, she is as near like the other as one pea is like
another."
"She is the twin sister of this vessel. Did you see who was on board of
her?" I inquired.
"I saw no one but the captain, and he said he was bound south, and was
not going into St. Augustine."
"Did he tell you where he was bound?"
"He didn't say a word about it, but kept on his course."
"Good-day," I added, as I told Hop to ring the speed-bell.
We filled away again, and were soon going through the water at our
former speed. The pilot-boat was almost swamped in the heavy sea, and I
have no doubt her crew were a little out of sorts after coming out for
a vessel and getting nothing for their pains.
"That's good as far as it goes," said Washburn, when we were on our
course again. "We are sure now that the Islander has not gone into
port."
"And we are sure the Islander is not a great way ahead of us," I added.
"Just seven miles," replied the mate, glancing at the log-slate. "I
could stick a pin in the chart at exactly the point where she is."
"But it may be that Captain Blastblow has not blown his blast entirely
in vain, and may have been able to get more speed out of the Islander
than anybody else has," I suggested.
"But the pilots said she was only half an hour or so ahead of us. She
got off at least an hour ahead of us; and if we have not been gaining
on her, she ought to be about ten miles ahead," argued Washburn. I was
willing to accept his logic, for we had been over the reasoning times
enough to understand the case in precisely the same way.
"The fog is lifting, sir," reported the second engineer, who was doing
voluntary duty on the top-gallant forecastle.
This was agreeable news, and all hands directed their gaze to the point
where the Islander was believed to be. The gale was increasing in force
every moment. Though I had no fears for the safety of the vessel, I
knew how fearfully so small a steamer as the Sylvania leaped and rolled
in a heavy gale, and I was not a little concerned about the comfort of
my passengers. We had had a very thorough trial of her pitching and
rolling in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and I did not like to subject the
Shepards and the Tiffanys to any unnecessary discomfort.
"We are going to have a regular muzzler, Washburn," I said, after
glancing at the barometer again.
"There isn't any doubt about that," he replied, laughing. "I wish we
had no ladies on board."
"I was thinking of that myself, and I will go down into the cabin, and
talk the matter over with our passengers," I replied. "Of course if we
give up the chase of the Islander, we are not likely to come near her
again. But Colonel Shepard and his family may decide that question."
I left the pilot-house and went aft. Though we were but a few miles
from the land, there was a tremendous sea raging, and the Sylvania was
pitching violently. I went down into the cabin and found the passengers
trying to keep their places on the transoms. They were all exceedingly
good-natured about the situation. Owen was making jokes, and the young
ladies were laughing at them. Cobbington and Tom Sands had put the
guards on the table, and were doing what they could to prepare for
dinner.
"Why do you shake up the Sylvania so fiercely, Alick?" asked Owen.
"She is behaving very prettily just now; but I came down to tell you
that it is likely to blow, and kick up an uncomfortable sea," I
replied, looking at Mrs. Shepard, who seemed to be the most tried by
the situation.
"But I had an idea that it was blowing already," added Owen.
"So it is, in a mild way," I answered.
"If this is only in a mild way, what will it be when it blows harder?"
asked Mrs. Shepard, nervously.
"It will be worse than it is now," I replied.
"Do you think we are in any danger, Captain Alick," inquired the lady,
looking very anxiously into my face.
"I do not think we are in any danger," I added. "But it is going to
blow a great deal harder than it does now."
"What will it do then, Captain Alick?" asked Miss Edith.
"The Sylvania is small, and she will pitch and roll a great deal more
than she does now. Mr. Garningham has been in her during a very heavy
gale, and he can tell you something about it."
"She stands up straight, and rolls quite over, so that we shall all be
pitched against the ceiling of the cabin," added Owen, maliciously.
"Then she goes down under the brine, quite out of sight of any one
supposed to be on the top of the waves. The water may come down into
this cabin like a young Niagara."
"Then there must be very great danger," said Mrs. Shepard.
"No great danger, madam, but I fear you will be very uncomfortable," I
answered.
"But can't we stop till the weather is better?"
"We shall find no port it will be safe to enter in this weather,
madam," I replied. "If it were fine weather, we might run into Mosquito
Inlet; but that is seven hours' run from here."
"We shall all have our brains knocked out if we go on in this way,"
groaned Mrs. Shepard. "Can't you do something to make us more
comfortable, Captain Alick?"
"I can make you all quite comfortable in less than an hour," I
answered. "But our business just now is to overtake the Islander; and
if we delay the voyage we may never see her again."
"Plague on the Islander!" exclaimed the lady.
"I don't think there is any particular danger, ladies," interposed my
father. "It is altogether a matter of comfort."
"I don't want to have my brains knocked out," added Miss Edith.
"If we keep on we may know who has brains and who has not," laughed
Owen.
"I'm sure those who want to be thumped about in this manner haven't any
brains," continued Mrs. Shepard. "What can you do, Captain Alick?"
"We have just passed the entrance to St. Augustine harbor. We could run
back, and make a port there," I replied.
"Then do it, for mercy's sake," said the lady, as a heavy sea rolled
the steamer down to her gunwale.
"I should certainly have suggested doing so, if we had not been in
chase of the Islander."
"That need not make any difference, Captain Alick."
"The gale may last all night as well as all day, Alick," added my
father. "We are sailing for pleasure, and there is no pleasure in being
beaten about in this manner. I think you had better put about and get
us into smooth water."
I went on deck rather disappointed at the result of the conference, for
I was interested in the chase. I ordered the jib and mainsail to be
taken in, and the helm to be put down. The fog had lifted to the
northward and westward of us, so that I could see St. Augustine light
and the pilot-boat. We took up one of the pilots, and in less than half
an hour we were anchored under the lee of the town, where the water was
as smooth as that of a mill-pond.
Our party were not inclined to land, and we spent a pleasant afternoon
on board, in spite of the storm. We could see that it was blowing
almost a hurricane outside, and were quite contented to be at anchor.
CHAPTER IX.
A VISIT FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
I could not help thinking of the Islander as we lay at anchor off the
pier in St. Augustine. As I looked at the angry billows outside, I
understood what kind of a time Captain Blastblow was having. But if he
handled his vessel well, and kept out of the breakers, I had no doubt
he would come out of the trial all right. The wind had hauled still
more to the southward, and even to the east of south. I was confident
that the Islander, having the wind nearly dead ahead, would not make
much headway against such a fierce wind.
About two o'clock in the afternoon, when we had finished our dinners,
both in the after and the forward cabin, I saw a boat put off from the
shore. The person in the stern sheets had a familiar look, though I did
not recognize him till he came on deck.
"I hope you are quite well, Captain Garningham," said he, advancing
towards me with extended hand.
It was Cornwood, who had been with us up the St. Johns in the double
capacity of guide and pilot, to say nothing of a third capacity as
conspirator. While I could not prove it, I was satisfied that he was
employed by Captain Boomsby to get me out of the way in some mild
manner. He had caused a drunken mulatto to be employed as a waiter in
the fore-cabin, who was another of the conspirators. But both of them
had been foiled; though, if my father had not arrived at the scene of
action when he did, I might not have been privileged to tell my story.
The waiter had been sentenced to a term as a convict, though Cornwood
had been his counsel.
I thought it was rather impudent of Cornwood to come on board of the
Sylvania after what had happened; but brass and impudence were the
principal elements of his stock-in-trade. He seemed to have as much
assurance as though his relations had been entirely pleasant with me.
He was a man of decided ability, though not as a lawyer. He knew more
about Florida than any other man I had met; and I had never known him,
in the month of my intimacy with him, to be ignorant of any subject,
from the navigation of an interior lake or river to the scientific name
of a plant or animal. In spite of the harm he had intended to do me,
through his agent, I had a great respect for his ability.
"You found it rough outside, Captain Garningham," said Cornwood, when
he had disposed of the commonplace introductories.
"Too rough for the ladies; and I came in here to find a smoother sea,"
I replied.
"The storm won't last long, as it comes from the southward," he added.
"When did you leave Jacksonville, Mr. Cornwood?" I asked, for I thought
I had seen him in the street the day before.
"I came up in the morning boat," he replied. "It is getting to be very
dull in Jacksonville, and I thought I might find something to do here,
for fishing and hunting parties often come to St. Augustine without
stopping at the city."
"We had some thought of trying the fish at Indian River as we went
along; but circumstances do not allow us to stop, and we shall run
direct for Key West. Was there anything new in regard to the robbery of
the bank messenger this morning?"
"I heard nothing. But your friend, Captain Boomsby, is in great
trouble," said Cornwood, smiling, as though the saloon-keeper's
trouble, whatever it was, could not produce a deep impression on his
late employé.
"What is the matter with the captain?" I asked, with interest.
"His son Nick has disappeared."
"Nick disappeared!" I exclaimed, not a little astonished.
"He cannot be found, though his father searched from six o'clock this
morning till the time I left."
"When did his father first miss him?"
"It appears that Nick tended bar till after midnight. The old man was
too full to sit up any longer, and he left Nick to close the bar. The
captain says his son did not sleep in the house last night, and he has
no idea when or where he went."
"Very likely he left in the first train this morning," I suggested,
recalling all that had passed between Nick and me the day before.
"No, he didn't, for his father went to the station, and passed through
the train just before it started. He did not leave by railroad, or come
up the river in the Hampton, or I should have seen him."
"Nick has something like sharpness, and he knew he could not get off on
the morning train. But he could have walked to Baldwin between the time
he closed the bar and nine o'clock, and taken the train there," I
added.
"I don't believe Nick walked twenty miles: he is too lazy to do
anything of the kind," added Cornwood, with a smile of incredulity.
"But he is not a great loss to his father; and he may make his way when
he is thrown on his own resources. There was another piece of news in
Jacksonville this morning."
"What was that?" I inquired.
"But I suppose you know more about this matter than any one in the
city. It was said that Colonel Shepard's yacht, in which he was going
to New Orleans, left without him or his family. Is that a fact?"
"It is true, to the letter," I replied. "I took the colonel and his
family on board of the Sylvania, and they are in the cabin now."
"That's very odd--that Captain Blastblow should leave without his
passengers," added Cornwood. "What does it mean?"
"That is more than any one on board of the Sylvania can explain."
"Was there any money on board of the yacht--I forget her name, though I
have heard you mention it several times?"
"The Islander: she is the twin-sister of the Sylvania, and as near like
her as one pin is like another," I answered. "I am not aware that there
was any money on board of her; and I should say there was not, for the
passengers had not sent their baggage on board."
"Does any one know where she is gone?"
"She is bound to the south, for we saw her off St. Johns' bar headed in
that direction. The pilots off the St. Augustine light saw her to-day
noon. We were chasing her when our passengers desired to get out of the
heavy sea."
"I should think Colonel Shepard would have some idea of the motives of
Captain Blastblow."
"He has no more idea than I have, and I have none. We are inclined to
believe that the captain misunderstood his orders, for Colonel Shepard
was in doubt whether or not he should be able to go up the Mississippi
with us. When the mail got in yesterday afternoon, he wrote a card with
his instructions to Captain Blastblow on it, and sent it off to the
Islander by Nick Boomsby, who happened to be talking to me in the
post-office at the time."
"Sent it off by Nick Boomsby," repeated Cornwood; but he did not appear
to be astonished. "How came Nick to be about at that time?"
I told my late guide and pilot all that passed between me and the son
of my ancient enemy, to which he listened with deep interest. He seemed
to be engaged in earnest thought all the time, as though Nick's
movements had some meaning to him, though not a particle to me. I told
him I was in Captain Boomsby's saloon to say good-by to him at the time
the robbery of the messenger occurred. He questioned me very minutely
in regard to the affair, and I told him all I knew about it.
"Buckner sent for me to act as his counsel; but I thought I could make
more by coming down here," added Cornwood. "I lost one case a few days
ago, and I don't care to lose another yet awhile."
Cornwood laughed as he alluded to his defence of Griffin Leeds, the
mulatto employed by him to do his bidding on our excursion to the
interior.
"Have you any doubt that Buckner is the man who robbed the messenger of
the four thousand dollars?" I asked, rather to bring him out than
because I valued his opinion in a detective case.
"Not the slightest in the world; but I should not be surprised to learn
that he gave Nick a hundred dollars, or something of that sort, to
clear out at just this time," replied Cornwood, easily.
"I don't see how that could have been," I protested. "Nick could not
have seen Buckner after the money was stolen, unless he visited him in
the lock-up."
"That was easily enough done."
"But some officer would have heard what passed between them. Besides,
Buckner had no money, for none was found upon him when he was
arrested."
"Buckner hid the money, but he stowed away enough to see him through
the trial. As the case now stands, they can't convict the man, for Nick
was the most important witness. He saw Buckner take the money. I have
no doubt Buckner will be discharged to-day," said Cornwood,
confidently.
"Was that the reason you would not act as his counsel?" I asked, for
the late pilot's statements seemed to be contradictory.
"What you have told me, Captain Garningham, entirely changes my
opinion. You were present, and you have told me exactly how the affair
happened. I supposed Peverell saw Buckner take the package. That makes
all the difference in the world in a court of law. No one saw Buckner
take the money, according to your evidence, except Nick. The supposed
robber was arrested down the wharf; he was searched, all the holes and
corners, including the river, were searched for the package, but it
could not be found. What evidence is there that Buckner took it?"
"I don't see any, except that of Nick Boomsby; and he don't tell his
story twice alike," I replied. "But, if Buckner did not take the money,
I can't see who did take it. I saw the messenger lay the package on the
counter; and the next thing I saw was Nick leaping over the counter."
"I don't say that Buckner did not take the package; on the contrary, I
believe he did take it; only there is not evidence enough to convict
him without Nick," argued Cornwood. "If I had known that Nick was to be
out of the way, I certainly should have taken the case, for a man who
has stolen four thousand dollars can afford to pay the lawyer well who
gets him out of the scrape."
I was disgusted with this logic, though it was perfectly consistent
with all I knew of the man. I did not care to say anything more about
the case.
"After hearing your version of the affair, Captain Garningham, I am
inclined to return to Jacksonville this afternoon, and offer my
services to the prisoner. When he gets out of jail he will have money
enough to pay me handsomely," chuckled the lawyer; "but perhaps I can
do something better if I can recover Colonel Shepard's lost
steam-yacht."
"Do you think you can recover it?" I asked, curiously.
"I am quite confident I can. I suppose you will sail as soon as the
weather will permit?" continued Cornwood.
"We shall. As I said, I am convinced that Captain Blastblow has simply
misunderstood his orders. I think he will proceed directly to New
Orleans, possibly touching at Key West."
"He will certainly put in at Key West; but he will probably be from ten
to twenty hours ahead of the Sylvania, and he will not wait for you. I
should like to see Colonel Shepard."
I called the colonel up from the cabin, and as it was raining in
torrents, I conducted him and the lawyer to my stateroom.
"For two hundred dollars--I can't work for nothing, and find myself,
though I should be glad to do so for Colonel Shepard--I will recover
and return your yacht to you at Key West, or at some point this side of
there; half down to pay my expenses, and half when the Islander is
delivered to you," said Cornwood.
"I haven't much confidence in you, Mr. Cornwood, and I don't care to
advance any money to you," replied the owner of the lost steamer.
"Quite natural, colonel. I will do it without any advance. But in half
an hour it will be too late to do anything," replied Cornwood, not at
all repelled by the colonel's lack of confidence in him. "I must be in
Cedar Keys to-morrow night; and I must be in Jacksonville this evening
in order to do it. I shall get to Key West Sunday morning, and find the
Islander there."
The plan was considered at length, and finally the colonel assented to
it, and wrote the instructions for Cornwood. He hastened on shore.
CHAPTER X.
INTELLIGENCE OF THE ISLANDER.
It rained very hard all the rest of the day and all night, and it
continued to blow heavily until the next morning. It was not till noon
that the ocean looked quiet enough to induce us to take ladies to sea
again, after the experience of the day before. We had lost twenty-four
hours, and if the Islander had not put in at some inlet, or made a lee
under Cape Canaveral, was half way to Key West. It was useless to think
of overtaking her on the passage, unless she had spent a day in
Mosquito Inlet.
Colonel Shepard's letter was addressed to Captain Blastblow, though it
was an open one, directing him to await the arrival of the Sylvania at
Key West. I had no faith in Cornwood; but I was willing to believe he
thought he could intercept the Islander at Key West, or he would not
have gone on a "wild-goose chase" at his own expense. If he recovered
the steam-yacht he would get two hundred dollars for his services; if
he failed, he would get nothing. So far as I could see, no risk was
incurred by the colonel in allowing the Floridian to go on this
mission.
The weather was delightful after we got outside of the harbor of St.
Augustine. The wind was west, and the air was as balmy as summer. We
placed easy-chairs on the quarter-deck for the ladies. The long swells
of the ocean gave a steady and regular roll to the vessel. The party
declared that the sail was "perfectly delightful," and they did not see
how the sea could be so angry and savage as it had been the day before.
The mate noted the departure from St. Augustine light at half-past
twelve. I had a chart laid out on my table in the stateroom, on which I
had marked the route of the vessel to Key West, with the courses and
distances, in red ink. It was our rule to heave the lead every hour,
though the Sylvania made a regular average of ten knots an hour when
she was not hurried. When we came to a point of land, or any opening in
the coast, we could tell what it was.
According to the Coast Pilot, which was always kept on the shelf, by
the side of the binnacle, it was eighty-five miles to Cape Canaveral.
In just eight hours and a half, if we made our ordinary speed, we
should be abreast of this cape. We kept as close to the coast as the
depth of water would permit, for there were no shoals or other dangers
to fear. If we went out far enough, we should have the current of the
Gulf Stream against us.
As soon as we were fairly on our course I began to think over the
mission of Cornwood. I had no doubt that he was a rascal. I considered
whether or not it would be possible for him to do me or Colonel Shepard
any harm, on the one hand, or any good on the other. He had received no
money, and was to receive none until he earned it.
He was to arrive at Key West on Sunday morning. The Sylvania would not
be likely to reach the same port before Sunday noon. If the Islander
had kept on her course during the twenty-four hours we had been at
anchor, she would be likely to reach Key West on Saturday afternoon. I
did not know that she had any occasion to put in there at all; if she
had, she was not likely to remain there many hours. If the Islander had
not put in at any port during the storm, Cornwood would not arrive at
his destination until after she had departed.
The interesting question was whether she had or had not made a port in
the storm. If I had had no ladies on board, I should not have thought
of such a thing as going into St. Augustine on account of the bad
weather. Captain Blastblow, according to his own statement, was a
thorough seaman, and, judging by my own feelings, it was not probable
that he had made a port.
But I was not quite satisfied on this point, and I had not so much
confidence in the captain of the Islander as he seemed to have in
himself. Our chart indicated only one port where he could have gone in,
and that was Mosquito Inlet, which had hardly water enough at high tide
to allow the Islander to run through the narrow passage that leads from
Hillsboro River out into the ocean. The inlet is sixty-five miles from
St. Augustine light.
The town of New Smyrna is two or three miles up Hillsboro River,
between which and St. Augustine and Jacksonville a small steamer plies
regularly. I had about made up my mind to run up the inlet as far as
the depth of water would permit, and see if I could find any one who
could give me any information in regard to the Islander. I had hardly
reached this conclusion when I was called to dinner. I was to dine in
the cabin, and I told the party what I intended to do.
"I don't care to have you delay your voyage for me, Captain Alick,"
replied Colonel Shepard.
"We started out to catch the Islander, and I am as anxious to do it as
you are," I added.
"I suppose you wish to get rid of us," interposed Miss Edith.
"Not at all; after I invited you to make the trip with us, and was
anxious to have your company, I shall not be in haste to get rid of
you. On the contrary, it must be that you wish to get rid of me, or you
would not have chosen to go in the Islander."
"Forgive me, Captain Alick; I did not mean it," replied the fair
maiden. "But we are so comfortable and so happy that we shall be in no
haste to get out of the Sylvania."
"Isn't there danger in going into such a place, Alick," asked my
father.
"I think not, sir," I answered. "I have a chart with the soundings on
it, and I am sure I can run into the inlet in the day-time; and it will
not be dark at seven, when we get there."
No further objection was raised to my plan. Just before the time set
for reaching the point off the inlet, all hands were on the lookout for
it. From my chart I learned that the inlet, on account of the shifting
sand, had moved to the southward about a quarter of a mile. For a
considerable distance on each side of the narrow channel leading into
the inlet and river, there were breakers, such as we had seen on the
coast of North Carolina, and at various points south of it.
Washburn was the first to discover the opening, and point it out to me.
I looked on the shore for a couple of wrecks whose positions were laid
down on the chart; but I could not find them. The shoals were caused by
the sand brought out of the inlet by the current of the river. The bar
changed with every storm; but I could plainly see the channel, for its
waters were less disturbed and broken by the rollers from the sea.
"It looks a little risky," said Washburn, shaking his head.
"I think not; the tide will be high in about an hour, and that will
give about eight feet and a half on the shoalest places," I replied. "I
don't think we are drawing over eight feet now."
"Eight and a half, sure. We might scrape over the bottom an hour from
now; but we shall stick as sure as we run into that narrow channel. The
worst place is just on the edge of the breakers."
"Sail on the port bow, sir," said Ben Bowman.
It was a small schooner, which I thought might be a fisherman. She was
headed directly for the narrow channel. As we were nearly up with the
opening, I rang for the engineer to stop and back her. But the little
schooner had to beat up, and as she was still about two miles off, I
was soon tired of waiting for her. I rang to go ahead again, and headed
the Sylvania in a direction to intercept the schooner. A few minutes
brought us within hail of her.
"Schooner ahoy!" shouted Washburn.
[Illustration: "'Schooner ahoy!' shouted Washburn." _Page 122._]
"On board of the steamer!" replied the skipper of the craft.
"Where are you bound?" demanded the mate.
"Into New Smyrna. We have been out fishing."
"When did you leave the town?"
"This morning, at four o'clock. Be you the steamer that tried to get
into the inlet yesterday?" asked the skipper, as we were now within
easy talking distance of him.
"Did a steamer try to get in yesterday?"
"Of course, or I wouldn't say so. But it was not full tide by two
hours, and she stuck in the sand about as soon as she got in between
the shoals."
"What did she do then?"
"She waited till the tide lifted her and then she backed out, and
hooked it to the southward as fast as she could. We were at anchor
inside of the inlet, and saw the whole of it. She looked just like this
craft. Plenty of fresh fish on board?"
At my request Cobbington bought a considerable quantity of sheeps-head
and cavallo. The only fish we had on board was shad, and we had eaten
that so much during the past month that we were tired of it. These
fresh fish were therefore a great treat, as we found next morning.
We started the engine again, satisfied that the Islander had not gone
into Mosquito Inlet. I gave the information to Colonel Shepard.
"Then Mr. Cornwood will not be likely to intercept the Islander at Key
West," said he.
"Not unless she put in at some other port, though I know of none where
she could have made a harbor until after the storm was over. But she
may stop over at Key West a day or two," I replied. "It all depends
upon what Captain Blastblow understands his instructions to be."
"Cornwood took the train at Jacksonville for Cedar Keys this morning,
and will be there this afternoon. He will reach Key West on Sunday
morning," added the colonel.
"We shall be there only a few hours later; and if the weather is
favorable we may get there as soon as the messenger you sent."
"I do not see that we can help the matter. If Cornwood don't get to Key
West in season to intercept the Islander, he will lose his two hundred
dollars, and my runaway craft will continue on her way to New Orleans."
This was all that either of us could make of it, and all we could do
was to wait till we got to Key West for further information. If the
Islander was twenty-four hours ahead of us, it was useless to attempt
to overhaul her. The Sylvania was a great deal more comfortable for the
passengers when she went along at her ordinary rate than when she was
forced up to twelve knots an hour; and I was not disposed to hurry her
on a useless mission. My passengers appeared to be enjoying themselves
all the time. I could not see how they could help being happy.
Some of them were reading books from the library I had started at
Detroit, and replenished in several places on the route to the South.
Others were playing various games. Mr. Tiffany and my father could play
chess all day long, and most of the night. The meals were served as
elaborately as at a first-class hotel, and we had everything from the
market that could be supplied in the summer in the northern states. I
was decidedly of the opinion that our passengers had nothing to worry
about, unless Colonel Shepard could be excused for worrying about his
steamer.
At eight o'clock the first watch went on duty, in charge of Washburn,
who was as competent to handle the vessel as I was. He had the chart,
with the courses and distances marked on it. When I left the
pilot-house, Cape Canaveral, or rather the light on it, was in sight.
At nine o'clock we were just abreast of it, which proved that our dead
reckoning was correct. From this point the course was south by east,
one hundred and five miles.
As soon as the Sylvania was on her new course, I left the pilot-house,
where I had gone at nine, and turned in. I had slept all the night
before, and the laughter of the younger of the passengers on the
hurricane-deck above me did not permit me to sleep. But I heard Colonel
Shepard call his daughter away at ten, and then I went to sleep. I
could not tell how long I had slept when the stopping of the steamer
waked me.
"What schooner is that?" shouted Washburn, from the pilot-house.
I was on deck soon enough to hear the reply.
"The Violet, New Orleans to New York," came from the vessel hailed.
"Did you see a small steamer about the size of this one?" asked
Washburn.
"We passed one about three hours ago. She looked enough like you to be
the same vessel."
"Thanks," shouted Washburn, as he rang the bell to go ahead.
I looked at my watch, and found it wanted but a few minutes of twelve,
and I went into the pilot-house.
CHAPTER XI.
DIFFICULT NAVIGATION.
"Three hours ago, which means that the Islander is about thirty miles
ahead of us," said Washburn, when I went into the pilot-house.
"She must have put in somewhere, and it was not at Mosquito Inlet," I
replied. "I don't quite understand it."
"I think I do," added Washburn, as he called in Buck Lingley and gave
him the wheel.
He led the way to the chart on the shelf, upon which a light was cast
from the binnacle. He pointed out Matanzas Inlet, at the southern point
of Anastasia Island, and fifteen miles south of St. Augustine.
"She went into that inlet," said Washburn.
"But there isn't water enough in it to float the Islander," I replied.
"I think she did not go in far, if at all. The wind was off shore
yesterday, and under the lee of the land there is no sea of any
consequence, except what is caused by the rollers. If the captain of
that schooner has given the time correctly, it shows that the Islander
went to sea about an hour and half before we did. That will put her
thirty miles ahead of us," Washburn explained; and his reasoning seemed
to be correct.
"The Islander put in somewhere, or she would have been two hundred and
forty miles farther on the way to Key West than we are," I added. "She
did not stand off to sea, as there was not the least need of that, for
the wind has been off shore since we came out of the St. Johns."
"I am confident we are right. Now the question is, shall we chase her?"
asked Washburn. "She is thirty miles ahead of us; and we have nearly
three hundred and fifty miles to make to reach Key West."
"There is no wind to-night to help us, and it will take as much coal to
get the two extra knots out of the Sylvania as it will to make the
ordinary and regular ten knots an hour, to say nothing of the wear and
tear of boiler and machinery," I replied, musing.
"But the Islander will get to Key West before Cornwood does, if she
puts in there, and we may miss her altogether."
"I should like to get near enough to her to watch her movements," I
added. "I think if we crowd the Sylvania for six or seven hours we
shall get a sight of her. I am inclined to hurry her."
"I am decidedly in favor of it, for she may escape her owner altogether
if we don't follow her up."
"Eight bells! All the port watch!" called Buck Lingley, who had been
relieved at the wheel.
I went on deck, and when Ben Bowman came up I told him I wanted him to
give the vessel all the steam she would carry. There was a light breeze
from the westward, but not enough to help the speed of the steamer, and
we did not put on any sail. I took my place at the wheel while Hop
Tossford was the lookout on the topgallant forecastle.
In a short time the screw began to buzz, and when Buck and Dyer Perkins
went below, after heaving the lead, the Sylvania was making eleven
knots. I expected her to do better than this. At four o'clock in the
morning, when the starboard watch were called, we were off Indian River
Inlet. Nothing had been said about trying the fish since we left
Jacksonville. There was not water enough in Indian River to float the
steamer, and I gave up all thought of renewing the exciting sport we
had had in these waters when we came over from the St. Johns. At four
o'clock I turned in and slept till eight.
I found the barometer had been dropping again, and the wind came from
the eastward, which was not a good way to have the wind while we were
off the coast. While I was eating my breakfast, the Sylvania came up
with Jupiter Inlet, where Washburn changed the course to south,
three-quarters east. The log-slate showed that we had made eleven and a
half knots. I figured up the distances, and concluded that the Islander
must be about twelve miles ahead of us. I did not give the other
steamer the credit of making more than ten knots an hour.
The wind had freshened considerably since I left the deck early in the
morning, and I ordered all sail to be set. Soon after the log showed
that we were making twelve knots, which was about the best speed we had
ever made. We kept her going at this rate till noon, and I had the
wheel during the time. In the course of the forenoon we had visits from
all the passengers, but the wind was raw and cold, and they did not
remain long on deck.
"Sail, ho!" shouted Hop Tossford, from the topgallant forecastle.
"Where away?" I asked, looking ahead, though as it was not clear I saw
nothing distinctly.
"Sharp on the weather bow," replied the lookout.
I looked in the direction indicated, and could just make out a sail. I
examined it through the glass, and was satisfied it was the Islander. I
had calculated that we ought to be up with her by noon; but it was
evident to me that her captain had been hurrying her, as I did not
anticipate he would do. I soon assured myself that she was not on the
same course as the Sylvania. She was headed at least a point more to
the westward. We had on all the sail it was prudent to carry, and Ben
Bowman declared the engine was doing its best.
"We have been gaining on her every hour," I said to the mate. "If we
keep on we shall overtake her in a few hours, though she is making her
best speed."
"But she is going more to the westward than we are," added Washburn,
looking at the chase through the glass.
"I think she is making a mistake, for I should not care to be mixed up
among those shoals if it comes on bad weather; and it looks like it
now."
"The wind is hauling more to the southward, and I shall look for a fog
before night."
We kept on our course as laid down in the Coast-pilot, without regard
to the Islander. I called the passengers at two in the afternoon, when
we again changed our course to south, quarter west, to show them the
Islander. She was still headed a point farther to the westward than we
were. As our course from this point to Key West was on the
circumference of a quarter-circle, I supposed Captain Blastblow only
intended to take the shortest way by keeping inside of us, and I did
not alter anything. But I was confident that he would have to run
outside again in order to avoid the shoals of Virginia and Biscayne
Keys. I had studied the chart carefully every day, and had found places
where there was not more than four, or even more than two, feet of
water at low tide, as it was at this time.
At four o'clock the Islander was not more than a mile to the south of
us, though she was two miles nearer shore than we were. We were abreast
of the light-house at Cape Florida, and I expected to intercept the
Islander when she came out from the dangerous shoals, rendered doubly
dangerous by the threatening weather. But the other steamer gave no
indications of changing her course, and I soon saw her close to the
light-house.
"She seems to be behaving very strangely, Captain Alick," said the
mate, as we were watching her from the pilot-house.
"It seems to me that she is losing time. There are shoals and rocks
just to the southward of her," I replied.
"There she goes about!" exclaimed Washburn, as she pointed her bow to
the eastward. "I think we had better take in all the sail we carry, for
we have only a mile of southing to make while the other steamer makes
two miles of easting."
All hands were called for this duty, for the wind was coming heavier
and heavier every minute. The mate and the four men made quick work of
it. The Islander carried no sail, though her people must have seen the
Sylvania two hours before.
"I am glad Captain Blastblow has come to his senses, and is standing
out from the shore," I added. "About five miles to the eastward of the
line of Keys, which form part of a circle, from Cape Florida to Pickle
Reef, more than forty miles, is a series of reefs and rocks. There is a
passage between the reefs and the Keys, through which vessels of light
draught may pass. But I believe in having plenty of sea room when the
weather looks as it does now."
When we were abreast of Cape Florida the Islander suddenly put up her
helm, and stood off to the south-west. This movement indicated that she
had no intention of coming any nearer to the Sylvania. I was perplexed
at this change of course, because I could hardly conceive of such a
thing as Captain Blastblow taking the inside route in that threatening
weather. There was nothing to protect his vessel from the heavy seas,
and in some places he would have hardly water enough to float the
Islander.
In about another hour Fowey Rocks were between the two vessels. There
was no way of getting out of the inside passage except that by which he
went in, or at the southerly end of the series of reefs.
"It looks to me just as though the Islander wanted to keep out of our
way," said Washburn, when we had settled the question as to what the
Islander intended to do.
"That had not occurred to me before," I replied. "Why should she try to
avoid us?"
"That's what bothers me. I can't see the least reason for such conduct
on the part of her captain," added the mate.
"It looks to me like very risky business to go into such a place as
that with a south-east gale threatening," I continued, as I went to the
shelf to find a chart of the Florida reefs, which I had carefully
studied. "There is one place where the Islander will have only six feet
of water at low tide, perhaps seven and a half or eight at this time of
tide. I think she will have to get in behind one of the Keys, and
anchor to wait for the tide to rise."
"I hope nothing will happen to the Islander. I suppose Captain
Blastblow knows what he is about, and probably has a pilot for the
inside of the reefs," said Washburn.
"If it was good weather, it would be another thing, and I should not
have hesitated to follow him, for we have the Coast Pilot, and the best
charts of the Coast Survey."
"It is getting to be very rough out here," added Washburn, as the
Sylvania began to roll heavily in the billows that swept in from the
open sea. Our passengers were taking their afternoon naps, but they
soon found out that we were in an angry sea. I went into the cabin to
comfort them. Mrs. Shepard wanted to know if we could not put in at
some port, as we had done on Thursday.
"There is no port we can enter before we reach Key West, madam. With
the wind as it is now, and blowing hard, I am afraid to go any nearer
the reefs than we are now."
"I hear that a great many vessels are wrecked on the Florida Reefs,"
added the lady.
"That is quite true, Mrs. Shepard; and for that reason I shall not
approach them any nearer than we are now. As long as we have plenty of
sea room, I do not apprehend any particular danger."
The rain began to fall about six, and the weather was so thick we could
no longer see the Islander. The last time we had seen her she must have
been some miles farther to the northward than the Sylvania, and I was
satisfied that Captain Blastblow had not gained anything by going
inside of the reefs. As I made it out from the chart, he had twice been
obliged to go to the eastward over two miles, in order to keep in the
deepest water. I suspected that he had been aground, and had to wait
for the tide; for at dark, when we saw the steamer for the last time,
we were at least five miles farther south.
"We will keep her going as briskly as the heavy sea will permit, until
about midnight; and then we will ease off till daylight. Then I think
we shall get another sight of the Islander," I said to the mate, as he
was about to turn in at eight.
"I don't think there is any danger of her getting ahead faster than we
do," replied the mate, with a yawn. "I believe I shall sleep well, if I
don't get pitched out of my berth."
He was leaving the pilot-house, when the distant report of a gun came
to our ears. I concluded at once that the Islander was in trouble.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CALAMITY ON FRENCH REEF.
I jumped to the conclusion that the Islander had struck on one of the
shoals I had noticed on the chart, and the heavy sea was pounding her
on the bottom. It could be only a question of time when she would knock
a hole in her bottom and go to pieces. Washburn was wide awake as soon
as he heard the gun, and giving him the wheel, I proceeded to examine
the chart.
According to the dead-reckoning we ought to be a little to the
southward of French Shoal. While I was satisfying myself in regard to
our position, another gun sounded over the troubled sea.
"That can't be the Islander's gun," said Washburn. "She has nothing on
board but a little yacht gun, and the piece we heard is a six, if not a
twelve pounder."
"I think you are right, Bob. The sound came from the leeward. I have no
doubt it is some vessel in distress; and we must do something for her.
Call all hands," I continued, as I took the wheel, and headed the
Sylvania due west by the compass.
Though it was not foggy, the air was thick, and I could see nothing
ahead. We had a very strong wind on our port quarter, and it was
extremely dangerous to approach the reefs from the windward. In a
moment all hands were on deck, except Moses Brickland, who was required
to take the engine whenever all hands were called on an emergency. I
directed Hop Tossford to take the wheel, and keep her due west. I asked
the mate to fire our little yacht gun, in answer to the signals we had
heard. The moment the report sounded through the vessel I heard Mrs.
Shepard scream.
I told the chief engineer to give the steamer about half speed, and
hastened into the cabin to satisfy the passengers that nothing had
happened to us, and explain what we were doing. Mrs. Shepard assured us
that we should all be lost; but I told her we would be extremely
careful.
I asked my father, Colonel Shepard, and Owen to come on deck, leaving
Mr. Tiffany and Gus Shepard to take charge of the ladies. I explained
the situation to them, and while we were talking about it another gun
was heard to leeward. It sounded heavier and nearer than before, and I
was sure the signal was not given by the Islander.
"It is plain enough that a vessel has gone ashore on one of these
reefs," I said. "I can see nothing ahead, but the gun sounds in this
direction."
Before the words were fairly out of my mouth, a sky rocket flashed up
directly over our bow. We had rockets on board, and I directed Ben to
discharge one of them. It was followed by another from the vessel in
distress. Then some Bengola lights were fired, and they illuminated the
sea for a mile at least around her. Buck Lingley was sounding, and
reporting no bottom. I told the engineer to give her more steam, for I
feared the people on the unfortunate vessel might be drowning, and a
minute might save a life, if not more. As long as the bright Bengola
light burned, I kept the steamer going at full speed. Most of the
dangerous reefs were marked by beacons, or at least the outer range of
the reef was so marked.
The sea was very heavy, and Buck Lingley still reported no bottom. He
used a hand lead, which measures twenty fathoms of depth. The Bengola
light soon burned out, and I rang the speed-bell. This reduced our rate
one half. But it seemed to me that we were going altogether too fast,
as the strong south-east gale was driving us towards the reefs. I rang
the gong, and the vessel stopped.
"And a half seventeen!" shouted Buck.
"The water is shoaling," said the mate.
"By the mark ten!" called the leadsman.
"Get out some rockets and Bengola lights, Washburn," I continued,
nervously. "The people on the wreck don't even give us a light to steer
by."
"And a half seven!" shouted the leadsman.
I rang to back her, for she shoaled too rapidly for my nerves. I told
the mate to light a Bengola on the heel of the bowsprit. When he did so
the brilliant light enabled me to see the wreck very distinctly, and
less than a hundred yards from the Sylvania. She was a large bark, with
all her sails furled. Her captain had probably taken in all sail as
soon as the vessel struck the reef.
The chart informed me there were rocks only a few feet below the
surface of the water. The wreck was headed to the south-west, but this
could not have been the direction in which she was sailing when she
struck the reef. On that course she would have got into trouble before.
"By the deep seven!" said the leadsman, in loud and shrill tones.
I rang to go ahead again, and at the same time told the mate to keep
the Bengola lights burning. Ben Bowman was stationed at the end of the
bowsprit that the light might not blind his eyes. I had purchased a
plentiful supply of fireworks in New York for festive occasions, and we
were in no danger of exhausting them, as they had evidently done on the
wreck.
"Give her about ten turns a minute, Moses!" I called to the engineer
through the speaking-tube.
"Ten turns a minute!" he replied, to make sure that I had been
understood.
"Steady, as she is, Hop!" I said to the wheel-man. "If you see anything
like a buoy, stop and back her as quick as you can."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the wheelman.
I went on the hurricane-deck to get a better view of the wreck. It was
hard to stand up in that part of the vessel, for she pitched and rolled
very badly, while she was making so little headway. By holding on at
the railing, I got to a point where I could hug the foremast. The wreck
was very low down, and I concluded that she was full of water.
"And a half six!" said Buck.
This was thirty-nine feet of water, and we were in no danger yet. The
waves were beating over the deck of the bark. It was clear enough that
she must go to pieces before morning. Her bulwarks were stove on the
weather side of her; and while I was looking at her the foremast went
by the board. I saw that the step of the mast must have been torn away
by grinding upon the rocks.
We were within a hundred feet of her stern, and the billows were too
savage to permit of going any nearer. I hastened down to the
pilothouse, rang to stop her, and then to back her. I intended to be
sure that we had full control of the steamer before we went any nearer.
I found that the Sylvania backed well against the head sea, and then I
stopped her screw.
In an instant I found that the steamer was driving towards the wreck. I
rang to back her again, and readily checked her.
I saw that the only way I could approach the unfortunate vessel was to
get under her lee. The sea was altogether too rough for our little
quarter boats, though both of them were life-boats. By occasionally
backing the screw, we ran within fifty feet of the wreck, and I could
hear the roar of the gale through the standing rigging of the bark, and
the heavy pounding of the billows against her side.
"Steamer ahoy!" shouted a man on the taffrail of the vessel.
"On board the bark!" replied Washburn, on the topgallant forecastle.
"What is the condition of the vessel?"
"Our forefoot is gone, and we are stove through forward. She is full of
water," replied the man. "She is grinding on the reef, and will go to
pieces in a few hours."
"How much water have you under your lee?" I shouted.
"From one to three fathoms," replied the captain of the bark, as we
judged that he was.
With the utmost care I ran the Sylvania under the lee of the bark; and
I think it must have taken all the tact of Moses Brickland to handle
the engine in accordance with the bells I rang. But as soon as the bow
of the steamer was under the lee of the bark it was in comparatively
smooth water. From the statement of the captain, and the depth of water
he reported, I concluded that one of the sharp spurs of rock was
sticking through her bottom near where her forefoot had been, and that
she was held in this position by the reef. Buck kept on sounding, and
reported four fathoms at the stern of the wreck. Cobbington was now in
charge of the Bengolas, and Washburn was getting the hawsers ready to
make fast to the bark. We put out our fenders, and the mate heaved a
line into the waist of the wreck. Ben Bowman did the same, throwing his
line over the stern. The lines were caught by the seamen on board, and
made fast.
Though the water was fairly still at the leeward of the bark, I found
that the vessel was rolling badly, and greatly endangering the safety
of the Sylvania. The gale was driving the wreck farther on the reef,
and I feared that the mainmast would go by the board and fall on the
steamer.
"All aboard that are going!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, as I
stood at the wheel, ready to do whatever an emergency might require.
The two vessels were grinding their sides together, and nothing but our
fenders saved our planks from being torn off.
The men on board the bark were very slow in seeking safety, and I was
about to repeat my former call, when I saw two women appear on the rail
by the mizzen rigging. Our hands hastened to their assistance, and as
the bark was so low in the water they had no difficulty in getting them
on our hurricane-deck. As soon as they were safely on board, the men
poured in upon us without further delay. There was not one among them
that would leave the wreck until the women were safe. The officers and
seamen brought with them whatever they could carry of their personal
property. One of them returned and cast off the hawsers.
As soon as the fasts were cast off, I rang to back her; and, bringing
the Sylvania's head up to the wind, I wore her gradually around till
she was headed to the eastward. The sea was white with foam from the
raging billows, and the little steamer leaped like an antelope as she
went ahead on her course. It was impossible to stand up in any part of
her. I ran out about four miles to the eastward, where the steamer was
when we heard the signal-gun from the wreck. We had been absent on our
run to the reef about two hours. We laid our course as before, and I
gave the wheel to Hop Tossford, that I might attend to the wants of the
shipwrecked guests on board.
The Sylvania was rolling on her new course at a frightful rate, and our
deck was deluged with water every moment. The gale seemed to be
increasing rather than diminishing, and I was not sure how long we
could stand such a tumbling about as we were getting. With no little
difficulty and exertion we got a reefed foresail up, which steadied her
very much. I went down into the cabin, where I had sent the ladies from
the wreck. I found our passengers propped up in such ways as they could
devise to keep from being hurled across the cabin floor at each roll of
the vessel. The strangers seemed to be quite at home, and were relating
their adventures to the other ladies, who were listening with so much
interest that they appeared to have forgotten the Sylvania was laboring
in a very heavy sea. I saw that I was not wanted there. I went on deck,
and found that the sailors from the wreck were stowed away in the
dryest places they could find.
I invited them all down into the forward cabin, and assigned the mate
to the spare berth there. The others must sleep on the floor, for we
could do nothing better for them.
"Mr. Mate, where is your captain?" I asked.
"I don't think he came below, sir. He is feeling very badly about the
loss of his vessel," replied the mate. "I will try to find him."
He went on deck with me, and we found him coiled away under the
topgallant forecastle. I invited him to come into the pilot-house, and
he followed me thither.
"I am sorry for your misfortune, Captain," I said, when he had seated
himself abaft the wheel.
"It is a sorry night for me. My vessel is lost, and I have not the
least idea how it happened," he replied, very sadly.
I did my best to comfort him. I saw that he was quite as much exhausted
by his mental sufferings as by his physical exertions. I conducted him
to my state-room, and gave him my berth. In a short time he was asleep.
CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT LOST IN THE STORM.
At eleven o'clock we changed the course of the Sylvania to south-west
half-west, which brought the gale nearly on the beam. The wind was
blowing but little, if anything, short of a hurricane. The great
billows struck against the side of the vessel and the house on deck
with tremendous force. It seemed just as though immense boulders were
hurled against the planking that enclosed my state-room, the galley,
and the engine-room. The sea swept over the hurricane-deck, and struck
heavily upon the planks overhead.
Suddenly I heard a noise over my head, as I stood at the wheel, which
sounded like the report of a heavy cannon. I thought the sea had broken
a hole through. In another instant the steamer was rolling with double
the violence of a few minutes before.
"What was that noise, Hop?" I asked, when I saw that no water was
pouring down upon us.
"It was the foresail, sir; it has been blown out of the bolt-ropes,"
replied Hop, coolly; and he seemed to be incapable of anything like
fear. "We have lost the reefed foresail, and that is what makes her
roll so much worse than she did five minutes ago."
Undoubtedly he was right. The sail had steadied her more than we could
have imagined; and now she rolled like a log in a mill-race. The sea
struck the side of my state-room as though a rock weighing a ton had
been cast against it by some giant of the sea or the storm. I was
afraid our house on deck would be carried away by the tempest.
On board of a large vessel, the loss of a house on deck was a matter of
no serious consequences. It was entirely different with the Sylvania,
for the loss of it would open the hold to the entrance of the sea. The
deluge of water would put out the fire in the furnaces, disabling the
engine. The result must be the loss of the vessel and all on board of
her. I trembled when I thought of it. Another mountain billow struck
the house a little farther aft. I was not willing to wait for another
sea to strike her in what I regarded as her weakest point, and we put
the helm down. We must give up our course for the safety of the vessel.
The steamer made a terrible plunge as we shifted the helm, but we soon
got her across the sea. Now she pitched instead of rolling. I called to
the engineer, through the speaking-tube, to give her but about half
speed, for it made her labor more heavily to drive her into the seas. I
calculated that this rate of speed would keep her about stationary on
the water. I soon found that she was falling astern. I directed the
engineer to give her more steam. I soon gauged it so that she had
headway enough to keep her up to the seas without forcing her through
them. A sort of equilibrium was established, which gave her an easier
position, though it was by no means an easy one. Her bow rose so that
the deck must have been at an angle of forty-five degrees, and then she
dived down from the top of a big wave at about the same angle.
Our port and starboard, as well as the masthead light were burning, and
we had closed in the pilot-house, so that we could see nothing ahead.
But I found the steamer was manageable when I had got her head to the
sea, and I sent Hop Tossford to call the mate and Buck Lingley. I could
not tell what might happen, and I felt that all hands should be on
deck. I wondered they had not put in an appearance before. But they
were all used to this sort of thing, for we had been through a tempest
almost as bad in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and several milder ones at
other times.
The water swashed fore and aft, but no longer pounded against the house
on deck. It poured over the bow, so that it was not safe to put a man
on the lookout there. The only thing we had to fear while we were
lying-to in this manner was a collision with some other vessel. The
water poured into the pilot-house so that we could not keep the windows
open. I sent Buck to the hurricane-deck, with directions to lash
himself to the foremast, and keep under the shelter of the dome of the
pilot-house. When I had done this, and heard Buck on the deck over me,
I felt that I had met the last and most imminent danger of the hour.
Though the steamer was still laboring heavily against the tremendous
head seas, she appeared to be holding her position in safety. I gave
the helm to Washburn and Ben Bowman, for it required two to move the
wheel promptly in that violent sea, and went to pay a visit to the
cabin, for I supposed the passengers were enduring torments of suspense
and terror.
On the way I looked into my state-room. The captain of the wrecked bark
appeared to be still asleep, and I did not disturb him. Following one
of the life-lines we always bent on in a gale, I reached the after
companion-way. Like everything in the shape of an opening on deck, it
was securely fastened. But I had a key, and descended the cabin-stairs,
locking the door behind me. Most of the passengers were still up. Some
had retired to their berths, though probably not to sleep.
My father and Mr. Tiffany were playing chess, and did not seem to be at
all disturbed by the war of the elements. Colonel Shepard was holding
his wife upon a sofa, and Owen and Gus were skylarking in the
after-part of the cabin.
"Isn't it terrible, Captain Alick?" asked Mrs. Shepard, in trembling
tones.
"I must say it was about as bad as anything I ever was out in, though
we had it about as bad once on Lake Superior," I replied, as cheerfully
as the occasion required.
"Do you think there is any danger?"
"I don't think there is just now," I answered. "The steamer is working
very well at present, much better than she was an hour ago."
"I thought the water would break through upon us at one time," added
the nervous lady.
"I was afraid it would. We had our foresail blown out of the
bolt-ropes, and she made bad work of it after that. But we have laid
her to now, and she is behaving as well as any vessel of this size can
in such a sea."
"When do you suppose it will be over?" asked the lady, anxiously.
"It is a south-east gale, or rather hurricane, and probably it will not
last long. I shall look for better weather by sunrise, if not before,"
I replied, as I left the cabin.
On my way back to the pilot-house I stopped in at the engine-room. I
found Moses Brickland, seated on his leather-cushioned divan, watching
the movements of the engine. Notwithstanding the uneasy movement of the
vessel the machinery seemed to be working very regularly.
"How does she go, Moses?" I asked.
"She has done very well since you headed her up to the sea," he
answered, without taking his gaze from the engine. "At one time I
thought the sea would break in upon us and swamp the fires. It would
have been all up with us then."
"I felt so myself, and I headed her up to the sea when I saw that it
was no longer safe to keep her on her course. But I suppose you want to
turn in, Moses."
"I, no; I am perfectly satisfied to keep my place here till morning,"
he replied.
"I want Ben Bowman at the wheel, with Washburn. She steers so hard in
this sea that we need to change hands every hour. But I hope we shall
soon be able to relieve you," I added.
"I don't have very hard work, and I can stand it very well till
morning."
I returned to the wheel-house. It was about two bells, or one in the
morning. The tempest had not increased in the last hour, and I hoped we
had seen the worst of it. We were working the engine just enough to
keep the steamer's head up to the sea. The Sylvania behaved so well in
her present position that I dismissed the port watch at two in the
morning; but I could not think of turning in myself while there was any
possibility of trouble ahead. I remained in the pilot-house with
Washburn, while Buck Lingley was on the lookout on the hurricane-deck.
We held our position till about four in the morning, when it was
evident that the gale was breaking, though the sea was still very
heavy.
"Light on the port quarter," said Buck, at one of the small windows of
the pilot-house in front of his station.
I rushed over to the port side, but the windows were so covered with
water that I could see nothing. It was raining hard, as it had been
since midnight. I went on deck, grasping a life-line to keep me from
being knocked over by the flood of water that flowed down from the
forecastle. I reached the ladder and went up to the hurricane-deck.
I supposed the light the lookout had seen was on some vessel. It was at
least ten miles distant; and after a time I satisfied myself that it
was a revolving light. It also flashed, and I was confident it was
eight or ten miles distant. I was rather bewildered, for I had not
expected to find a light in that direction. I hastened down to the
pilot-house to consult the Coast Pilot. I reviewed the course we had
followed after leaving the wrecked bark. By our reckoning we were about
twenty miles to the southward of Carysfort Light when we headed the
steamer to the eastward.
We had kept the screw turning all the time, and I supposed we had been
making some headway during the five hours we had been on this tack.
What was the light, then?
We were headed directly into the Bahama Islands, and I knew we had not
gone far enough to place any light in those islands on our port
quarter. The description in the book of Carysfort Light corresponded
with what I had made out by observation.
"We are about ten miles to the south-east of Carysfort Light," I said
to Washburn, when I had satisfied myself of the fact.
"Impossible! That would put us about where we were when you called all
hands last night!" exclaimed the mate.
"The Light is about where it was when we began to go to the southward
at ten last evening," I replied.
"But we have been going to the southward and eastward for the last five
hours."
"It does not appear that we have gone at all," I continued, looking
over the pages of the book. "We have been drifting all the time. The
steamer is in the Gulf Stream, and that, with the fierce wind, has
carried her a long distance from where I supposed she was. I find that
in a strong easterly wind the Gulf Stream sets to the westward, and
runs in among the Keys. I have no doubt now that this is the reason why
the bark struck last night on the rocks to the southward of French
Reef."
"It appears from what you say that we have not carried steam enough to
prevent us from being drifted to the westward as well as to the
northward," added Washburn.
"That is the fact: we have been drifting about north-northwest. In a
few hours more we should have been on the reef. Ring the speed-bell."
It was plain enough by this time, when it was almost broad daylight,
that the force of the gale was spent. In less than an hour the wind
subsided entirely, and the wind whirled to the south, then to the west,
and finally settled in the north-west. We made our course to the
southward. The clouds rolled away, and the sun rose bright and
beautiful after one of the hardest nights I had ever known.
The wind began to freshen from the north-west, and at six o'clock we
had all sail on her. We all wondered what had become of the Islander.
Captain Blastblow was evidently well acquainted with the navigation of
the Florida Reefs, or he would not have taken his vessel through the
dangerous channel he had chosen. But I was too tired to talk much, and
I slept an hour in Washburn's berth until breakfast-time. When I waked,
I found the captain of the bark sitting in a chair in the state-room.
CHAPTER XIV.
LOOKING FOR THE ISLANDER.
The captain of the bark was a man of about fifty. He was bald, and his
hair and whiskers were sprinkled with gray. I had no doubt that the
violent storm had made an end of his vessel, for the wreck was exposed
to the full fury of the sea, tenfold more violent after we left it than
before.
"Good morning, Captain; I hope you are quite well this morning," I
began.
"I am well enough, thank you; but I cannot forget that I have lost my
ship," he replied. "You had a rough night of it on deck; and I don't
think I ever knew a vessel to pitch and roll so badly as this one did."
"It was a terrible blow, and this is a very small vessel, though she is
as strong as wood and iron could make her. If she had not been well
built, the sea would have taken the house off this deck."
"I thought it was going to do so as it was. I think she was exceedingly
well handled, or she would have gone to the bottom," continued the
captain. "I have no doubt there are scores of wrecks along the Keys
this morning, and many a good fellow may miss his mess after this."
I gave him a full account of the storm, and of our being carried so far
out of our course by the wind and the current. I told him that we had
been delayed so long by the wreck and the storm that we probably should
not reach Key West till three or four in the afternoon.
"I suppose we shall be lucky to get there at all after all that has
happened to us," replied the captain. "What you say about drifting so
far out of your course strikes me as being a little strange."
"What was the name of your vessel, Captain?--I have not even learned
your name," I continued. I intended to point out to him the way in
which the bark had been lost; but I wanted to know something more about
the voyage of the unfortunate vessel.
"Captain Mayfield; and the bark was the Olive, of New York, from New
Orleans, with a cargo of cotton from the latter port," replied the
captain. "I owned a third of her myself; but she is well insured, and
so is her cargo. My wife and daughter were with me, and are now in the
after cabin."
"I think you were fortunate to escape with your lives," I added.
"I know we were, Captain--I don't know your name any better than you
did mine; and it strikes me that you are a very young fellow to be in
command of a steamer, though she is a very small one."
"My name is Alexander Garningham, and I am generally called Captain
Alick. I have been on the water most of the time since I was ten years
old, either on the sea or on the great lakes. I have had as rough a
time on Lake Superior as we had last night, if not a rougher." I told
my story as briefly as I could.
"Your education has not been neglected, Captain Alick," continued
Captain Mayfield. "If you had not managed the Sylvania so well last
night, most of us must have perished; for I have no doubt that the
Olive went to pieces before midnight. She was a well-built vessel, but
rather old. The gale kept forcing her up to the sharp coral rocks, and
she was grinding off her timbers at a very rapid rate when we left her.
If there had been any chance for her I would not have left her. I had
reduced sail at dark, when it began to freshen into a gale. We had the
wind on the beam, and the bark was behaving very well."
"It began to blow the heaviest about six bells," I added.
"We did not get the worst of it. We had the foretop-mast staysail, fore
and main topsails, and the spanker set. The Gulf Stream was with us,
and we were making not less than ten knots an hour. I expected soon to
see Carysfort Light. Our course was north, a quarter east, and I had no
doubt I was making it good."
"I am afraid not."
"Of course I know now that I did not make it good; but I can't see any
reason why I did not."
"I can," I interposed. "It was for the same reason that we were drifted
so far to the northward and westward. When the wind comes strong from
an easterly direction the current of the Gulf Stream is partly turned
to the westward."
"I have read that in the Coast Pilot; but I have been through these
waters so many times without noticing anything of the kind, that I did
not think of it last night. The first hint I had that anything was
wrong was when the Olive struck on the rocks. I knew from the sound of
the crash that she had stove a hole in her bow. She flew back, and then
the wind jammed her on again. I sent hands aloft to furl the topsails,
and others to haul down the jib and take in the spanker. But she drove
on the rocks all the same; and I knew that would be the end of her."
I invited the captain to visit the cabin, for I thought he would wish
to see his wife and daughter. Our passengers were all at breakfast, and
engaged in talking over the events of the night. Captain Mayfield was
invited to join them, and I advised him to do so, while I went back to
the deck to attend to the wants of the rest of the ship's company of
the Olive. The sailors were all on deck, and the mate was in the
pilot-house with Washburn. Gopher had made provision for feeding the
addition to our passengers. I invited the two mates of the Olive down
into the fore-cabin to breakfast, while the cook and steward were
supplying the sailors on the forecastle. I found that Gopher had been
liberal in his supplies, both as to quantity and quality, for the
wrecked people.
By eight o'clock breakfast had been served to all on board. I had not
slept above four hours in two nights, though my short nap had refreshed
me a little. Washburn and all the rest of the crew had been on duty
most of the night, and they were very much fatigued. Moses Brickland
had served a double watch, and Ben Bowman had worked like a trooper
most of the night. I decided, as it was pleasant and plain sailing, to
send all hands to their berths, and take the helm myself, with Ben at
the engine; for he declared that he could stand it with only two hours'
sleep a week. Captain Mayfield and his two mates soon joined me in the
pilot-house. I was so sleepy myself that I could not help gaping and
yawning.
"You've had a hard night of it, Captain Alick, while I have had a whole
night below," said Captain Mayfield. "Myself and my mates have all seen
service in a steamer, and we should be very glad to relieve you."
"Thank you, Captain. I acknowledge that I am rather worn out; but a
little steamer like the Sylvania has her ways, and is peculiar," I
replied.
"Let Beach take the wheel, and you shall see whether he can handle
her," persisted Captain Mayfield.
Beach was the second mate, and I assented. I gave him the course, and
he kept her steady to it. I lay down on the bench abaft the wheel, and
before I knew it I didn't know anything. But I slept only a few
minutes, and when I waked I found the first mate at the wheel. He was
simply trying his hand at it. A little while after the captain took his
turn. We could see the Keys, the spindles and buoys on the reefs, and
it was hardly possible for any mishap to occur on board.
I asked one of them to help me heave the log, as I had sent all my
ship's company below to make up their sleep, except the second
engineer. Captain Mayfield would not permit me to do anything about it.
He called a couple of his seamen, and went aft to do it. He soon
reported twelve knots, with the remark that he did not suppose the
steamer to be capable of such a high rate of speed. He then begged me
to turn in. He was perfectly familiar with the coast and the soundings.
He sent two of his men on the topgallant forecastle to serve as
lookouts, and declared that the mates should keep the wheel all the
time. I was too sleepy to resist, and I turned in. I was soon fast
asleep. The motion of the vessel was now quite steady, though she rose
and fell upon the long seas.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon when I woke, for the new captain
would not permit me to be called. Gopher had dined all on board but the
crew, who had turned in before I did. Ben Bowman had waked himself, and
gone to the engine-room to relieve Moses, at eleven. The attentive cook
had a fresh dinner ready for me; and before I had finished it most of
the other sleepers appeared.
I went to the pilot-house and looked at the log-slate. It had been
faithfully kept during the absence of Washburn and myself. The last
entry was American Shoal, with the time of passing it.
"Where are we now, Captain Mayfield?" I asked.
"Do you see that beacon with a big B on the vane?" he said, pointing to
the beacon, which was within fifty yards of the steamer's bow. "That is
the Eastern Sambo, about a dozen sea miles from Key West."
"You have been making time since I went to sleep."
"We have logged twelve knots every time," he replied. "We shall have a
head wind after we have passed the Western Sambo, or soon after, and we
must take in sail."
I directed Washburn to call all hands and take in sail, with the
assistance at the sheets and halyards of the crew of the Olive.
"Where do you suppose the Islander is about this time?" I asked of
Washburn, after he had taken in sail and squared the yards.
"She may be at the bottom," replied the mate.
Captain Mayfield asked me what I meant, and I told him all about the
Islander.
"Her captain must have understood the navigation, or he would not have
gone inside on such a night as last we had," added Captain Mayfield. "I
don't think you will see the other steamer till you get to Key West, in
little more than an hour."
"He may have gone to the bottom in the hurricane," I suggested.
"He could make a harbor in several places; at Tavernier, for instance.
He may even have run through some opening to the other side of one of
the Keys, and been entirely protected from the heavy sea. He had to be
pretty well acquainted in there to do this. Do you know where he
shipped his crew?"
"At Jacksonville, Florida," I replied.
"Then very likely he had one or more of the Conchs, or natives, who
come from the Bahama Islands, on board. They are fishermen and
wreckers, and know every inch of bottom all along the reefs. I think
you will see the other steamer as soon as you get to Key West, for I
have no doubt she has got there first, if she was going there at all.
Western Sambo, three, five," continued Captain Mayfield. "Make a note
of it, Mr. Dana."
After some further conversation with the captain, I was confident the
Islander could not get by Key West without being seen by Cornwood, if
the steamer in which he was to come to Cedar Keys had not been detained
by the storm. Captain Mayfield did not believe the steamer with
Jacksonville passengers on board had been detained, as she had an
inside passage during all the worst of the hurricane. It was probable
that the agent of Colonel Shepard had arrived in the fore-noon, if not
in the morning.
Our pilot ran the Sylvania about two miles beyond the Western Sambo,
and then headed the vessel to the north-west. He asked me the draught
of the Sylvania, and I gave it to him as nine feet, which was her depth
in the water when her coal-bunkers were full of anthracite coal. The
course was varied considerably to avoid shoal places and reefs; but
Captain Mayfield gave me the sailing directions as we went along, and I
compared them with those in the Coast Pilot. All the passengers had
come on deck when it was announced that we were close in to Key West.
Colonel Shepard was very anxious about the Islander.
The city of Key West is located on the western end of an island of the
same name. Near it is Fort Taylor, a vast structure built on an
artificial island, and connected with Key West by a long bridge. On a
hill is Whitehead Light, and on the north side of the island are
several observatories. The town, consisting mostly of cottages, is near
these towers.
When we were off Fort Taylor, we had a full view of the harbor, but the
Islander was not to be seen.
"There she goes!" exclaimed Washburn, pointing to the north-west.
She carried no sail; but when I looked through the glass I made out her
rig, though she was four miles away.
CHAPTER XV.
A PARTIAL SOLUTION OF THE MYSTERY.
"What does Captain Blastblow mean? Does he mean to run away with the
Islander?" demanded Colonel Shepard, when he realized that his
steam-yacht was again trying to elude him.
"He must have seen the Sylvania," I replied, very much perplexed by the
conduct of the captain of the Islander. "If he stopped at Key West at
all, he must have seen us before he started."
"Is it possible to overtake her, Captain Alick?" asked Colonel Shepard,
nervously.
"As the case now stands, Captain Blastblow is running away from us. He
has some object in view which we cannot comprehend. I have no doubt we
can overtake her, for she can't run in behind any keys, or dodge into
any unfamiliar channels."
"But I ought not to ask you to pursue her any farther," continued the
owner of the runaway steam-yacht. "I know your party wish to stop here,
and I will not compel them to go any farther."
"I think we can see all we want to of Key West from the deck,"
interposed my father. "At any rate, if we wish to spend any time in Key
West, it will be easy enough to come back here, for we have the whole
summer before us, and the winter, too, if the summer is not long
enough."
"I have no desire to stop here, and Margie would much rather continue
with her friend, Miss Edith, than stop at this place," added Mr.
Tiffany. "We are all quite interested in solving the problem of the
intentions of the captain of the Islander."
"We will leave the whole matter to Alick; and whatever he does we will
not complain," said my father.
"You are very considerate and kind, gentlemen, and I am under very
great obligations to you and to Captain Alick for all the favors you
have extended to me," replied the colonel.
"If it is left to me we will chase the Islander," I added. "But we must
land our shipwrecked passengers here, and that will take a little time;
and I want a pilot, for I don't like to lose any time in those shoal
waters and crooked channels."
"Get your boats all ready, Captain Alick, and it won't take five
minutes to land me and my men, and I will put your steamer where you
can get a pilot in two minutes," interposed Captain Mayfield. "I have
no doubt we should have all perished if you had not come to the wreck
at no small peril to your vessel; and I hope the time will come when I
shall have a chance to do something for you."
"Oh, that's all right," I replied. "I hope I never shall be in a
situation to need such help as we had a chance to give you, Captain
Mayfield."
I gave the order to clear away the boats, the davits were swung out,
and the falls manned ready to drop them into the water without a
moment's delay. The ship's company of the Olive shook hands with me,
and thanked me very warmly for what the Sylvania had done for them. I
was sorry to part with them so hastily, but the anxiety of the colonel
seemed to admit of no other course. Captain Mayfield ran the steamer
within a hundred yards of the shore by Tift's observatory. He rang to
back her, and as soon as she had lost her headway, the two boats were
dropped into the water, with two hands in each. They were then brought
up to the gangway steps, which had been rigged out for the use of the
ladies, who were all ready to embark.
We assisted Mrs. Mayfield and her daughter into the stern-sheets of
one, and the captain joined them. The boat shoved off, when the mate
and four of the sailors had stowed themselves away. The captain and the
ladies waved their adieus as soon as Dyer and Hop began to pull. Before
the port boat was off the second mate and the rest of the seamen had
piled into the starboard boat, and both were off at nearly the same
time.
I saw the seamen in both boats assisting the oarsmen, and the boats
went through the water at a lively rate. Not more than two minutes had
elapsed before the party were all on shore. Several men hastened up to
Captain Mayfield, and I saw him select one of them, who immediately
jumped into the port boat. It was hardly a minute more before the boats
were under the falls. They were rapidly hoisted up, and swung inboard.
The men leaped out of them, and Washburn rang to back the boat into
deeper water. The men secured the boats, and the person sent off went
into the pilot-house.
I looked at the clock and found we had lost less than ten minutes in
landing the wrecked party, during which time the Islander had made over
a mile. Moses Brickland had been attending to the furnaces while the
boats were absent with the two firemen, and I was sure that he had a
good head of steam on. The pilot was a swarthy person, with long black
hair, and I had no doubt he was a Conch, as Captain Mayfield had
described them to me. He was well dressed in seaman's blue clothes. I
rather liked the looks of the man, and began to feel confidence in him
as soon as I saw him.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Pilot," I said, giving him my hand, when I
went into the pilot-house after assuring myself that the boats were
well secured.
"Thank you, Captain Alick," he replied with a smile.
"As you seem to know my name, it is no more than fair that I should
know yours," I replied, as good-naturedly as he had spoken.
"I am called Captain Cayo, but my name is Cazador, which is the Spanish
for 'Hunter.' But it don't make much difference what you call me. Cayo
is Spanish for Key, and people here are so used to the word that they
have given it me for a name. Where are you bound, Captain Alick?"
"To New Orleans, or rather we are bound to overhaul the little steamer,
just like this one, which left here not more than half an hour before
we arrived," I replied.
"I should have thought it was the same steamer if I had seen both of
them at the same time," replied Captain Cayo, who had taken the wheel
when he first came into the pilot-house, for he had been engaged to
take the Sylvania through the North-West Channel, as it is called. "You
wish to overhaul the Islander, do you?"
"Her owner is on board of this steamer, and he is very anxious to get
on board of her," I answered.
"Very well; if the Sylvania has the speed we will overhaul her, Captain
Alick," added the pilot.
"Where did you learn my name, Captain Cayo, for you called me by it
before any one had used it on board; and those who came off in the boat
with you invariably call me Captain Garningham?" I inquired, taking up
one of the points which had attracted my attention from the first.
"I heard you called so by a gentleman who arrived here by the morning
steamer from Cedar Keys."
"Who was the gentleman?" I asked, with interest.
"I don't remember his name, if I heard it at all."
"What time did the Islander get to Key West?"
"Not more than two hours before the Sylvania. I went on board of her to
offer my services as pilot. The captain did not want a pilot, for he
had a Conch on board who used to live in the city."
"Then this man is now piloting the Islander through this channel?"
"I suppose he is; but I don't think he is a pilot, for he is taking the
steamer a long way to the eastward of the bar-buoy. She went pretty
near a shoal with only five feet of water on it. I shall make one
sea-mile in going five compared with the course of the Islander."
"I am very glad to hear it. What sort of a looking-person was it that
came in the morning-boat from Cedar Keys?" I asked.
The pilot described Cornwood as though he were a novelist. Of course I
had no difficulty in supposing it was he. In order to get the most
reliable intelligence from the pilot, I told him all about the abrupt
departure of the Islander from Jacksonville without her owner and his
family. I stated my belief that Captain Blastblow was avoiding us, and
that he had put to sea as soon as he discovered the Sylvania headed in
for Key West. I told him the sudden departure of the other steamer was
a great mystery to her owner and all the rest of us.
"I am sure I don't know anything about the matter, Captain Alick. I
don't believe the Islander intended to stop at the city, for the man
from Cedar Keys----"
"His name is Cornwood," I interposed.
"Cornwood went off in a boat and hailed the Islander. She would not
stop till he flourished a letter. I was out in my boat looking for any
craft that wanted a pilot, and I was close aboard of her. When she
stopped I climbed aboard on one side while Cornwood got aboard on the
other side. Instead of delivering the letter to the captain, he said it
was for a person supposed to be on board. The captain indulged in
strong talk; but Cornwood made some statement I did not hear, which
seemed to satisfy him. The steamer came to anchor just outside of Fort
Taylor. When the captain told me he did not want a pilot, I left the
steamer. As I pulled away, I saw that a sharp lookout was kept over the
stern of the Islander, which I can understand now, if I could not
then."
"You don't know whether or not Cornwood delivered any letter to the
captain of the Islander?" I inquired, with deep interest.
"Very likely he did, but not while I was on board. I pulled up the
harbor, and landed the other side of the Lazaretto. Before I reached
the shore I saw Cornwood and a swellish-looking fellow rowing to the
same landing-place. Cornwood was talking very earnestly to the swell,
and continued to do so after they got ashore."
"What did the swell look like?" I asked, wondering who he could be, for
I had seen all the crew of the Islander, and could remember no one that
looked like a swell.
Captain Cayo gave a minute description of the person; but it would have
applied as well to one swell as to another.
"Did you see anything more of Cornwood and this swell?" I asked,
somewhat excited over the narrative, and hoping to get some clue to the
conspiracy for running off the Islander.
"Cornwood and the young fellow took a seat on a bench near the
landing-place, and talked for a full hour. Before they got through I
had a sight of this steamer coming up by the West Sambo. I passed quite
near them, on my way up the hill to the lighthouse, to see if I could
make out your steamer. As I did so, I heard Cornwood call the other
fellow Nick."
"Nick!" I exclaimed, looking at Washburn.
"That explains it all," added the mate.
"What does it explain?" asked the pilot, who seemed to be quite as much
interested in the case as Washburn and myself were.
"It explains another story I have not told, and which I did not suppose
had anything to do with this matter of the running off of the
Islander."
I related the affair of the robbery of the messenger of the bank,
giving all the details of the case, including the unexplained
disappearance of Nick Boomsby. The case looked as plain as day to
Washburn and myself. Nick had taken possession of the package of money,
and concealed it somewhere under the counter; and doubtless there were
holes and corners enough there where it could be put without its being
seen by his father. He wanted to get out of Jacksonville as soon as
possible after the robbery. He had applied to me, with his pathetic
story about being compelled to sell whiskey, and wanted to be taken as
a passenger in the Sylvania.
"Nick had the card written by Colonel Shepard, which he delivered the
night before we sailed," said Washburn.
"I should like to know what was written on that card," I added.
"Probably it was nothing more than an intimation from the colonel that
he should be ready to sail the next morning. He had not room enough on
a card to go into the particulars," answered Washburn. "You saw him
write the card, Alick."
"There was not more than a line or two on it, for it was done in half a
minute, signature and all."
"Captain Blastblow had steam up in the morning, as directed," continued
Washburn. "Nick observed the writing closely, and wrote a letter such
as he wanted for use the next morning. Captain Blastblow is not to
blame, unless it is for letting Nick deceive him."
The case looked plain enough now.
CHAPTER XVI.
ACROSS THE GULF OF MEXICO.
We had arrived at only a partial solution of the mystery, though we had
done enough to relieve Captain Blastblow from any evil intentions in
the premises. What Cornwood's connection with the affair was did not
yet appear. He could not have known that Nick Boomsby was on board of
the Islander, for he had gone to St. Augustine, where we had put in on
account of stress of weather. He could not have known that we intended
to put into St. Augustine, for we had no intention to do so when we
left Jacksonville.
Possibly Cornwood had put one thing and another together until he
believed Nick had taken the four thousand dollars, and had made his
escape in the Islander. It looked as though Cornwood had some
connection with the robbery, for the Islander had hurried on her way to
New Orleans, if she was bound there, as soon as the Sylvania came in
sight. If he had delivered the letter to Captain Blastblow, the latter
would have remained in Key West until the arrival of her owner, as
instructed by the written message.
"Cornwood and Nick did a good deal of talking, it appears, while the
Islander was here," said Washburn, "though we don't know what it was
all about."
"I have no doubt Cornwood took the management of the case at this
point," I replied. "Nick must have forged one letter to induce Captain
Blastblow to start the Islander without her owner and his family; and I
have no doubt Cornwood forged another to make him continue the voyage."
"I hope we shall know all about the matter in a few hours more," said
Washburn.
"You understand the entire situation now, Captain Cayo, and see why we
want to overhaul the Islander," I continued.
"I see the whole of it, and I will do the best I can to outsail the
other steamer; but that depends more on your vessel than on me,"
replied the pilot. "Will you let your men heave the log?"
We had been driving the Sylvania to her utmost, and Ben Bowman reported
that we were making eleven and a half knots, which was doing
exceedingly well in the teeth of a fresh north-west wind. Captain Cayo
went to the westward of the bar-buoy, while the Islander had gone to
the eastward of it more than a mile. I saw that we had gained a mile by
this course, and the Islander was not more than four miles ahead of us.
I gave the pilot my views of the relative speed of the two vessels,
though I told him that Captain Blastblow might get a higher rate of
speed out of her than any one had done before.
"We shall soon see which sails fastest," said Captain Cayo. "The
Islander has laid her course for the South-west Pass of the
Mississippi. All you have to do is to follow her. There is our
pilot-boat; and this is as far as we usually take vessels."
"But I don't care to have you leave us here, Captain Cayo," I replied.
"It is clear enough that the Islander intends to keep out of our way.
She may run in among the Dry Tortugas, and having a pilot on board, she
could easily elude us."
"She might do that when she finds you are gaining on her, as I see you
are, for we have made half a knot on her since we came out of the
channel. But if we leave the pilot-boat behind, I can't get off the
steamer when you don't want me any longer. Besides, it looks like a
change of weather, and pilots are in demand when it is foggy or blows,
at this season of the year."
"What sort of weather do you expect next?" I asked.
"The wind will work round to the south-west, and then it will be
foggy," replied the pilot, scanning the horizon.
"Can't you go to New Orleans, or remain on board till we meet a steamer
for Key West?" I suggested.
"I should be very happy to go to New Orleans with you, for there will
be no steamer for Key West for several days. But I am not a pilot for
the Mississippi River, and you will have to pay another just the same
as though I were not on board."
He named his price, besides expenses; and as it was reasonable, I
accepted it at once. My experience the night before, when I found the
Sylvania was ten miles from where I supposed she was, made me extremely
cautious. I felt entirely competent to take the steamer to the
South-east Pass of the Mississippi; but it was evident that Cornwood
had obtained control of the Islander, acting as the agent of Colonel
Shepard, and that he would not permit the Sylvania to come near her if
he could avoid it. Probably the Conch who had acted as her pilot so far
would understand the channels of the Tortugas, and could easily take
the Islander where I should not care to follow her.
The pilot-boat lay very nearly in our course, and a boat put off from
her as we approached. Captain Cayo stopped the steamer when the boat
was abreast of her. He jumped upon the rail, and told the oarsmen that
he was going to New Orleans.
"Now start her, Mr. Mate," said he to Washburn, as he crawled over the
rail to the deck.
"Now Cornwood will believe the pilot has left you," said Captain Cayo.
"The Islander is still two miles off, and I don't think her people
could see me when I crawled back over the rail."
It was a dead calm on the Gulf of Mexico, and the Sylvania was still
making eleven and a half knots an hour. I calculated that we had gained
two knots on the Islander, one by taking the shorter course, and one by
outsailing her.
"I think we had better keep her more to the southward," said Captain
Cayo, after he had taken a survey of the horizon, especially in the
southwest, where a pile of clouds seemed to be gathering.
"Why to the southward?" I asked.
"I think the captain of the Islander must see by this time that we are
gaining on him, and that it is only a question of three or four hours
when we shall overhaul her," replied the pilot. "If I were in his
place, I should steer for the Tortugas, and leave you five or ten miles
behind by dodging into some shallow channel. By keeping to the
southward, we shall be in a better position to head her off."
"I see; and we are almost up with the Tortugas. If we keep to the
southward, we shall be right in her course if she attempts to run for
those islands."
"Right you are, Captain Alick," added the pilot, as he changed the
course to due west. "There is a breeze coming up from the southward,
which is quite a regular thing towards night. It will blow fresh for
some hours, just about a whole sail breeze. I think you had better get
your sails set, for the one that uses the wind first will make the
most."
I told the mate to call all hands, and put on every rag of canvas we
could set. Before he had the foretopsail shaken out, the breeze came,
though it was very light. By the time the rest of the sails were set,
it was blowing lively. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and we
were fairly up with the Tortugas, and at least a mile to the southward
of the Islander. If she attempted to get in among the islands, she must
run across our course, and less than a mile ahead of the Sylvania. We
could easily cut her off.
"She can't get in among those islands now without running into us," I
said, after I had carefully surveyed the situation.
"That is as true as preaching," added Captain Cayo, laughing, when he
saw that the other steamer was checkmated if she had intended to resort
to any stratagem to avoid us. "We may as well put the steamer on her
course for the South-east Pass."
He suited his action to the words. The wind was freshening, and the log
indicated that we were making twelve knots strong. Moses was still
crowding on all the steam the boiler would bear, and I am sure the
yacht never sailed any faster.
At six I estimated that the Islander was not more than a mile ahead of
us, and another hour would wipe out all the difference.
"This wind is good for us in one way, and bad in another," said Captain
Cayo, shaking his head after a searching gaze to windward.
"You mean that we are likely to have some fog," I added.
"Not only likely to have a fog, but sure of it. It is miles deep to the
southward and westward."
"Of course the Islander will be able to keep out of the way in a fog;
and we can't help ourselves," I replied, trying to yield as gracefully
as possible to the necessity of giving up our point.
I had hardly uttered the words before the fog swept down upon us. It
was very dense, and we could not see a ship's length ahead of us; at
about the same time the wind suddenly subsided. We could see nothing of
the Islander, and I had no doubt she had already shifted her course to
the north or the south.
"The game is all up, Captain Cayo," I said, very mournfully.
"Up for the present," replied the pilot, as he called through the
speaking-tube for the engineer to stop the steamer.
Captain Cayo put his head out of one of the front windows of the
pilot-house, and listened attentively for several minutes. I understood
that he had used the speaking-tube instead of ringing the gong, so that
those on board of the Islander should not hear the sound, as they
might, it was now so still.
"Go ahead," continued the pilot through the tube. "She has headed to
the northward, and we will see what we can do on the same tack."
The pilot headed the Sylvania to the north. I hoped the wind would
breeze up again and carry off the fog; but there was no indication of
it. Our sails made so much noise, flapping and pounding against the
spars, that I was obliged to order all sail taken in. When we had gone
an hour on the present course, the pilot ordered the engineer to stop
her, as before. Washburn and Ben Bowman were on the top-gallant
forecastle, and they listened with all their might. We all did the
same, but we could not catch a sound of any kind. If the Islander had
been within a mile of us we could have heard the clang of her screw.
She had either stopped her engine, or gone off on some other course. We
went ahead again, headed to the north-west.
"We might keep this up all night, and not find her," said Captain Cayo,
disgusted with the situation.
"What had we better do?" I asked.
"We can't do anything. We can't fight against the fog. Are you sure the
Islander will go to New Orleans if we let her alone?"
"I feel reasonably sure of it," I replied. "Captain Blastblow evidently
is not engaged in the conspiracy; and I don't believe Cornwood could
induce him to disregard the instructions of his owner. His course
indicates that he intends to go there, only he seems to be determined
to keep out of the way of the Sylvania."
"I have no doubt Cornwood and Nick Boomsby want to go to New Orleans,"
added the pilot. "I don't see why it won't be just as well to pick them
up there as it will be here."
"But they will not allow themselves to be picked up," I answered. "They
will get ashore as soon as the Islander reaches New Orleans, whether
they get there before or after we do."
"If I wanted to make sure of the rogues, I should get to New Orleans as
quickly as I could."
"We should be sure to get there before the Islander," I added.
"So much the better. When you get there, procure a couple of officers,
and run back down the river till you meet the other steamer. Throw your
officers on board of her, and they will then have no chance to escape.
If we wait here all night, the Islander will make the best of her way
to her destination, while we are waiting for the fog to clear off, and
of course the rogues will put themselves out of sight," said Captain
Cayo.
"I think it is the surer way to run for New Orleans. I don't know that
we need any officers," I replied. "We can run into the Mississippi,
find some place of concealment, and pounce on the Islander when they
least suspect our presence."
"I like that plan still better," replied the pilot.
We agreed upon this course, and the Sylvania was headed for the
South-east Pass of the Mississippi. We gave her full speed, and on
Tuesday afternoon we were off the pass. It was a dull passage. We took
a pilot, and as we had no difficulty in crossing the bar, we were soon
in the river. The whole region was swamps and lagoons, about as
uninteresting as we could expect to find.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SYLVANIA IN AMBUSH.
As soon as we were in the river, the Mississippi pilot was discharged,
and we continued on our voyage up the stream. We did not know by which
pass the Islander would come in, and we kept on till daylight in the
morning. We then ran up to the shore, which was covered with small
trees. The place we had chosen was at a bend of the mighty stream,
where we could not be seen until the Islander was close upon us. We
made fast to a tree, and sent Hop Tossford ashore to watch at the bend
for the approach of the other steamer.
As the water was deep enough for the Islander in whatever part of it
she went, I thought she would come within a few yards of our position,
as that would lead her up stream by the shortest way. Our passengers
had spent their time in the usual manner on the voyage, and one day at
sea was very like any other day when the weather was fine. We had
passed out of the fog before midnight, and the two days on the Gulf had
been as pleasant as possible. Some of them landed on the high bank of
the river where we had made fast; but we required them to keep within
call.
In the pilot-house we had voted that it was not best to say anything
about Cornwood's relations with Nick, and none of the passengers even
knew that Nick was on board of the Islander. We simply told them that
we had lost the other steamer in the fog, and we were afraid we should
miss the Islander in New Orleans if we delayed to look for her in the
fog.
The pilot took the spare berth in the fore cabin, and made himself
entirely at home on the steamer, as I desired he should. We had
arranged our plan for the capture of the Islander when she came up the
river; and none of us had any doubts in regard to her coming. Captain
Cayo was to have the duty of taking possession of the person of
Cornwood, and Buck Lingley was to do the same kindness to Nick. Colonel
Shepard was to be close at hand to deal with Captain Blastblow, if he
objected to the proceedings.
All the forenoon passed away without a sight of the Islander. We dined,
and began to inquire if there was any way by which the Islander could
get to New Orleans without passing the point where we had taken
position. We could find none she was likely to take. We were beginning
to believe our well-laid plan had miscarried, when Ben Bowman, who was
on the lookout for the prize, hastened on board with the intelligence
that the Islander was within four miles of us.
We had covered our topmasts with green branches to prevent the people
on the Islander from suspecting our presence before she turned the
bend. A little point covered with trees a short distance below us
concealed the hull of the Sylvania, and I was satisfied that she could
not be seen by Cornwood before it would be too late to keep out of our
way.
"All hands on deck," I said to Washburn, as soon as Ben Bowman had
announced the approach of the runaway steamer.
"All on deck, sir, except Ben Bowman," returned the mate, as soon as he
had given the call.
The second engineer had returned to the point to observe and report
upon the movements of the Islander. He informed me that the steamer
seemed to be making the shortest course the bends of the stream would
permit, and she was headed for the point behind which the Sylvania was
concealed.
I had arranged my plan of operations. Our steamer was headed up the
stream, and held by a single hawser leading to the bowsprit-bitts. We
had passed the rope around the tree, and made the end fast on board, so
that we could let go without any one going on shore to do so. The
strong current of the river would carry the steamer's head away from
the shore, and we had only to dart out alongside the Islander, and make
fast to her. We had rigged out our fenders, so that neither steamer was
likely to be damaged by a collision.
Ben Bowman and Buck Lingley were to carry a line on board of the prize,
and make fast the instant we came alongside of her. Colonel Shepard was
to get on board of the Islander as quick as he could, and give his
orders to Captain Blastblow. I did not apprehend any difficulty in
carrying out the programme. I was confident that the captain of the
runaway vessel would respect the orders of his owner. We had banked our
fires in the morning
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