Fenn Masterson's Discovery: or, The Darewell Chums on a Cruise

CHAPTER VI
IN PERIL

“Here’s the stuff from the store, mom!” exclaimed Fenn, as he rushed into the house.

“What’s the matter?” asked his mother anxiously. “Has there been an accident, Fenn?”

“Got to find the boys! Captain Wiggs! Modoc! Going on a cruise! Tell you later!” was what Fenn exclaimed in jerky sentences as he hurried down the side steps and out of the yard.

“Oh, those boys! They get so excited you can’t do anything with them!” exclaimed Mrs. Masterson. “I wonder what they’re up to now?”

If she could have seen her son and his chums, whom he met on the street, soon after his hurried exit, she would have been more puzzled than ever.

“Great news! Great!” yelled Fenn, as he caught sight of Frank, Ned and Bart approaching him. “We’re going with Captain Wiggs to make a tour of the Great Lakes! Whoop! Hold me down, somebody!”

He grabbed Ned and Bart, each by an arm, and began whirling them around in a good imitation of an Indian war dance.

“Here! Let up!” cried Frank. “What’s it all about? Who’s killed?”

“Nobody, you ninny!” shouted Fenn. “We’re going on the Modoc!”

“Who says so?”

“When?”

“How many of us?”

“Where?”

“Are we all going?”

All Fenn could do was to nod his head vigorously. He was all out of breath. As soon as he could get enough wind to talk, he rapidly explained what Captain Wiggs had said.

“Does he mean we’re to work our passage?” asked Frank. “I don’t know as I care to shovel coal, if that’s what he means.”

“I guess he was only joking about that part of it,” answered Fenn. “I’m going, if I have to scrub the decks. It will be sport.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Bart. “I don’t mind working my way for the sake of the trip. When can we go?”

“Let’s go down to the wharf and have a talk with him,” suggested Ned, and they all agreed this was a wise idea.

A little later they were in the large cabin of the Modoc, which, for a freight boat, was well fitted up.

Captain Wiggs repeated the invitation he had given to Fenn. The boys would be welcome to make the trip with him, he said, as long as their parents consented. They would need an outfit of clothing, with rough garments for stormy weather, which might be encountered.

“And we’ll do anything we can to help you run the boat,” added Bart, who felt that some return ought to be given for the captain’s generosity.

“Well,” replied the commander, in drawling tones, “I don’t expect too much. But if you could manage to keep the door mats clean it would be a great help.”

“Door mats – on a ship?” questioned Ned.

“Yes; of course,” replied the captain, with an assumption of dignity. “You see the salt spray gets all over the deck, and if it’s tramped into the cabins it makes the floors dirty. My steward is very particular about clean floors, and I thought that if you could help keep the mats clean, why it would make his work easier, and he wouldn’t grumble so much. However, if it’s too much trouble, why of course – ”

“Oh, we’ll do it,” hastily agreed Fenn, fearing that the trip might be called off. He did not quite know how to take the captain’s remarks, for the commander had not the least suspicion of a smile on his face. After all, thought Fenn, it might be necessary to clean the door mats, and he resolved to do his share of it.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” went on the commander, as if a load had been taken from his mind, “we’ll go into further details.”

He then explained to the boys what they would need in the way of clothing and baggage, and he briefly described the trip. The duration of it was a little uncertain as he could not tell how long he would have to wait at Duluth, after unloading, before he could get a cargo to bring back.

“I guess I’ll get you home safe in time to begin the fall term of school,” he said, “and that ought to answer.”

“It will,” declared Ned. “It’s mighty fine of you to ask us.”

“Oh, I guess you’ll be worth your salt,” commented Captain Wiggs. “Besides attending to the door mats, I may expect you to look after the scuttle-butt, now and again.”

Fenn wanted to ask what the scuttle-butt was, but as the steward came in just then, to get some orders, the boys decided it was time to leave.

They promised to be on hand the day set for sailing, and then, with their minds full of the happy prospect ahead of them, they went ashore.

The parents of the lads offered no objection to their making the cruise in company with Captain Wiggs, who was well known in Darewell. In due time valises and trunks were packed and the four chums, the envy of their less-fortunate school companions, strolled down to the wharf and boarded the Modoc.

The steamer was a large one, and had good accommodations for passengers, though she seldom carried any. This time, besides the boys, there was only one man, who was making the trip for his health. He was Burton Ackerman, who lived in a small town not far from Darewell.

They found that their staterooms, which were of good size, adjoined one another. They put away their belongings, and then went up on deck. The Modoc had cast off, and was slowly gathering speed as it dropped down the river toward Lake Erie.

“Don’t forget the scenery, boys!” called the captain, as he passed.

“We won’t,” answered Ned, with a laugh.

The boys had often made the trip to Lake Erie, and there was little of novelty for them in this. But, when the steamer had gotten well out on the big body of water, they crowded to the rails, for they had never been out so far as this before.

“It’s almost as good as an ocean voyage,” exclaimed Bart.

“What are you thinking of, Stumpy?” asked Frank, noticing that his short chum was rather quiet.

“I know,” declared Ned. “He’s wondering if he’ll see Ruth.”

“Oh, you – ” began the badgered one, when the attention of the boys was taken from tormenting their chum by several sharp blasts of the Modoc’s whistle. There was an answering screech and Frank suddenly exclaimed:

“Look there, boys!”

They all looked. On the port side, bearing right down on them, and coming at full speed, was an immense grain barge. It appeared to be unmanageable, for the whistle was frantically blowing, and a man in the pilot house was waving his hand.

“Toot! Toot! Toot! Toot!” screamed the whistle of the Modoc.

“She’s going to ram us!” cried Fenn. “We can’t get out of the way in time!”

There was a confused jangling of bells from the Modoc’s engine room, followed by more whistles, and then the steamer began to swing around. But still the grain barge came straight on. A collision seemed inevitable.

CHAPTER VII
AN ELEVATOR BLAZE

From somewhere Captain Wiggs reached the deck on the jump. He tore past the boys on the run, and fairly burst into the door of the pilot house, where the first mate was in charge.

“We’d better get ready to jump!” cried Frank. “It looks as if we were going to be cut in two.”

“Grab life preservers!” shouted Ned. “Here are some back here!”

He turned to lead the way to where, under an awning, some of the cork jackets were hung in racks. Before he could reach them a peculiar shiver seemed to run over the Modoc.

“She’s hit us!” yelled Bart. “Everybody jump!”

The boys made a rush for the rail, intending to trust to their swimming abilities rather than to chance remaining on the steamer after the grain barge had hit her.

But their plans were suddenly frustrated for, as they reached the rail, something that towered away above their heads loomed up, and the grain vessel came sliding along side of the Modoc, just as if the two craft were about to tie up together for loading purposes.

The grain barge only bumped gently against the side of the steamer. The shrill whistles ceased. The jangling bells were silent. By the narrowest of margins a bad collision had been avoided.

Out of the pilot house came Captain Wiggs, running along the rail until he came opposite the pilot house of the grain barge. Then, standing on a signal flag locker the commander addressing the man in charge of the vessel which had given them all such a scare, exclaimed:

“Say, what in the name of the Sacred Cow are you trying to do, anyhow? Don’t you know how to steer, you inconsiderate slab-sided specimen of an isosceles triangle!”

“Sure I know how to steer,” replied the man, who was as cool as the captain was excited. “I was steering boats when you was a baby. But I’d like to know how in the name of Billy Hochswatter’s mud-turtle any one can manage a boat when the steam steering gear breaks just as another vessel gets in front of me.”

“Oh, then that’s different,” replied Captain Wiggs, with an understanding of the difficulties of the situation.

“Yes, I guess it is,” retorted the other.

“Why didn’t you use the hand gear?” asked the commander of the Modoc.

“That got jammed just as they were swinging my boat around, and all I could do was to signal for a clear course.”

“Well, I gave it to you, but I almost had to rip my engines off the bed plates to do it,” retorted Captain Wiggs. “I reversed at full speed, and swung that wheel around until it looked like a spinning top. Only for that we’d be on the bottom of the lake by now.”

“That’s right,” agreed the other pilot. “You had your nerve with you. Well, as long as there’s no damage done I s’pose you can go ahead. I’ll have to lay-to for repairs.”

“Um,” was all Captain Wiggs replied, for he had not quite gotten over his scare, used as he was to narrow escapes from danger. Slowly the Modoc was backed away from the side of the grain barge, and, when at the proper distance, she was sent ahead again, the other craft coming to anchor.

“I hope I don’t meet him again this voyage,” murmured Captain Wiggs, as he walked up to where the four chums stood. “He’s the most unlucky fellow I know. Something is always happening to his boats.”

“Who is he?” asked Ned.

“Captain Streitwetter. He’s a German from Germanville. Did you hear him mention Billy Hochswatter’s mud-turtle?”

“Yes,” said Bart. “What did he mean?”

“That is a story,” replied Captain Wiggs gravely, “which can only be told after the dinner dishes are washed. You’d better look after them,” and with that he walked away.

“There he goes again!” exclaimed Frank. “You never know what he is going to say. I believe he’s stringing us.”

“I almost know it,” retorted Fenn. “It’s only a way he has, but the trouble is we don’t know whether or not he wants us to do the things he says. I wonder if we had better do anything about the dishes?”

“Of course not,” said Frank. “The cook sees to that.”

“But maybe the cook is sick,” insisted Fenn. “Captain Wiggs might want us to help.”

“If I thought so I’d offer at once,” put in Ned. “I used to do it at home, once in a while, to help out.”

“I’ll go ask him,” volunteered Fenn, and he started to find Captain Wiggs, when he was halted by seeing the commander step from behind a pile of boxes. The captain was laughing heartily.

“That’s the time I had you guessing; didn’t I?” he demanded. “Wash the dishes. Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! That’s pretty good!”

The boys, looking a bit sheepish, soon joined in the merriment at their expense, and the little pleasantry served to banish the nervous feeling that remained after the narrow escape from the collision.

“Billy Hochswatter’s mud-turtle!” repeated the captain. “That’s what Captain Streitwetter always says when he’s excited. I don’t believe there ever was such a person as Billy Hochswatter.”

“I either,” added Fenn.

“I must go down to the engine room to see if we suffered any damage,” the commander of the Modoc went on. “You boys amuse yourselves as well as you can until dinner time. You don’t have to peel the potatoes,” he added with a wink.

“We’ll have to get even with him, somehow,” suggested Ned, when the captain was out of hearing.

“How?” asked Bart.

“I haven’t thought it out yet, but we must play some kind of a trick on him. He’ll think the Darewell chums are slow if we believe all he tells us, and don’t come back at him. Try and think up something.”

“Good idea,” commented Fenn. “We’ll have the laugh on him, next time.”

The day passed quickly, for there were many novel sights for the boys to see. Captain Wiggs was kept so busy, for there were some repairs needed to one of the engines, because of the sudden reversing, that the boys did not see him again that day. He did not appear at dinner or supper, and the steward said the commander was taking his meals in the engine room.

The Modoc was going along at less than her usual speed, but was making fairly good time.

“Well, I s’pose we might as well turn in, boys,” suggested Fenn, about nine o’clock. “I believe that is the proper term aboard a ship.”

“Yes, messmates,” spoke Ned, assuming a theatrical attitude, “we will now seek our downy hammocks, and court ‘tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,’ to arise in the gladsome morning, and ‘you must wake and call me early; call me early, mother dear, for I’m to be Queen of the May, mother; I’m to be Queen of the May!’”

“We’ll call you ‘loony,’ instead of ‘early,’ if you get off any more of that nonsense,” murmured Frank.

“That’s what,” agreed Fenn. “You’re not studying English Lit. and French history now, Ned.”

“Very well, most noble gentlemen,” went on Ned. “I shall obey you, right gladly, I ween!” and he made a dive for his stateroom before Bart, who made a sudden grab could lay hands on him.

The others soon turned in, and, in spite of their new and strange surroundings and beds, were soon sound asleep.

It must have been about midnight that Fenn was awakened by hearing a great tramping on deck. It was followed by confused shouts, and then came the jangling of the engine room bells. The Modoc seemed to increase her speed.

“I wonder if there’s another collision coming?” he said as he sat up. He heard Bart moving in the next room, and presently Frank’s voice was heard calling:

“Say, fellows, something’s wrong.”

The noise on deck increased, and it sounded as though several men were running to and fro, dragging ropes about.

“I’m going up!” decided Fenn, jumping out of his berth and hastily pulling on his clothes. From the open doors of his chums’ rooms he could see that they, too, were attiring themselves with little regard for how they looked.

Up on deck they hurried. As they emerged from the companionway their eyes were met with a bright glare.

“A fire!” exclaimed Ned. “The boat’s afire!”

“Don’t say that! Don’t say that, young man, I beg of you!” besought a man, attired in his trousers and night shirt, as he approached Ned, who recognized him as Mr. Ackerman, the sick passenger.

“What is it?” inquired Fenn, who was right behind Ned.

“He said the ship was on fire,” repeated Mr. Ackerman. “I can’t stand it. I have heart disease. Excitement is bad for me. Do, please, one of you, go and find out how fast it is burning, and come back and tell me.”

He sat down at the head of the companionway, as coolly as though he had asked to be informed which way the wind was blowing. Evidently he knew how to take care of himself, so as not to aggravate his malady.

“The ship isn’t on fire!” exclaimed Bart, crowding past Ned and Fenn.

“But something evidently is burning,” insisted Mr. Ackerman. “I can smell smoke, and see the reflection of the blaze.”

This was not strange, considering that the Modoc was in the midst of a cloud of vapor, and that bright tongues of fire could be seen close to her bow.

“It’s a big grain elevator on shore that’s burning!” exclaimed Frank. “See! There it is!”

As he spoke the smoke which enveloped the steamer was blown aside. The boys could then note that, during the night the vessel had approached close to shore. They were near a good-sized city, and, among the wharfs was a big building, built to hold grain in readiness to load on the lake steamers.

From the top of this flames were shooting high into the air, and the Modoc was approaching it at full speed.

CHAPTER VIII
FENN HEARS SOMETHING

“What’s the matter? Can’t Captain Wiggs stop the ship?” cried Fenn, for it certainly looked as if the Modoc was going to run, full tilt, into the flames, which were right at the water’s edge, as the elevator was on the end of the wharf.

“Clang!”

The half speed bell sounded from the engine room. The steamer began to slacken speed.

“Clang! Clang!”

Two gongs. Stop the engines. The Modoc was going ahead under her own momentum only. Then another signal.

Under the stern of the steamer the water boiled and bubbled as the great screw was reversed, to check the vessel’s way. The jingling bell, following the signal to reverse, indicated to the engineer to back his machinery at full speed, and the big craft fairly quivered, so great was the strain of stopping her up short.

But they were master-hands aboard the Modoc and she swung broadside to a wharf as gently as a boy brings his toy boat to a stop. From the deck men leaped to the string piece, with great ropes in their hands, which they made fast to butts and piling. The steamer was tied up, so close to the burning elevator that the boys could feel the heat of it.

“What are you going to do, captain?” asked Mr. Ackerman, who seemed to have recovered from his nervousness, when he found the Modoc was in no danger.

“I’m going to help douse that fire!” cried the commander. “Lively with that hose, men! Lively now! Snatch her quick and I’ll give you all the water you can handle!”

Several brawny deck-hands began pulling a line of hose over the side. Other men were lowering a big boat, into which the men with the hose jumped. The hose was unreeled after them as they pulled out on the lake, in front of the burning elevator.

“I’m afraid it’s a goner,” remarked Captain Wiggs, as a gust of wind sent the leaping flames licking along the surface of the water.

“How did it happen?”

“Whose place is it?”

“What are you going to do?”

Those were some of the questions which the boys asked Captain Wiggs. He answered them all, comprehensively.

“It’s an elevator in which the owners of the Modoc are interested,” he said. “I was to call there to-morrow for a load of grain. I was heading for the wharf, intending to tie up until morning, when I saw flames shooting out of the top of the shaft. I’ve got a powerful pump aboard, and I knew they didn’t have any fire boat in town, so I speeded the Modoc as close as I could. I don’t believe I can do much, but I’m going to try. I’m afraid the fire has too much start.”

“Can we go ashore and watch it?” asked Ned.

“I guess so. Don’t go too near, and be careful you don’t fall off the pier. It’s deep water all around.”

Captain Wiggs hurried down to the engine room, for the men with the hose in the boat were now as close as they dared to go to the fire, and could use water.

“Come on, fellows!” cried Ned. “We don’t often get a chance to see a big fire like this.”

They leaped to the wharf, since no gang plank had been run out, and were soon hurrying along the pier to shore. The elevator was several slips or piers distant, and the boys would have to go ashore to reach it. As they ran on they could hear the big pump of the Modoc beginning to force water from the lake through the hose, the nozzle of which the men in the row boat directed at the fire.

In the street along the water front the four chums found a great crowd. Every one was hurrying to the blaze. Men were shouting, boys were yelling, and even women and girls had hurriedly dressed to come out to the conflagration.

“The whole block back of the elevator’ll go, if they don’t stop it pretty soon!” yelled a man as he passed on the run.

“Here comes the water-tower!” shouted several.

“Look out there!”

“Clear the way!”

An insistent clanging of a fire gong to the accompaniment of barking dogs told that some piece of apparatus was dashing along the street. The boys felt some one from behind thrust them to one side.

“Look out!” a policeman shouted in their ears. “Do you want to be killed?”

They shrank back, burying themselves in the crowd on either side of the way, just as the water tower, with the plunging horses foam-flecked and heaving, dashed by.

“They’ve sent for more engines from Frenchtown!” cried some one in the throng.

“They’ll need all they can get.”

“The warehouse’ll go next!”

“They’d better use dynamite!”

“This shows we ought to have a fire boat!”

“This department don’t know how to handle a blaze like that!”

Remarks of this nature kept floating to the ears of the boys as they hurried along, arm in arm, so they would not become separated in the press that was on every side of them.

Above the din sounded a shrill whistle, and a fire-engine, spouting sparks, with the stoker at the back, clinging to the rail with one hand, and with the other throwing soft coal on the glowing mass under the boiler, crammed his head out to see how much farther the panting horses had to run.

The blazing elevator was hidden from sight of the boys by several buildings that intervened, but by looking up they could see the lurid sky, and the smoke-laden air, in which glowed dull red sparks, like stars. Suddenly the crowd, of which the four chums formed a part, swung around a corner. Then a terrible, but vivid scene was presented.

On the end of a big wharf, with the black lake as a background, was the flaming structure. It stood out boldly, like a picture framed in ebony, illuminating itself by leaping, licking tongues of yellow fire, that seemed to tumble and toss – to twist and coil about like devouring serpents.

Up shot the flames – far above the slanting, narrow roof of the elevator. The windows shone out as though millions of candles had been placed in them. Through some casements, darting spears of fire glanced, as if to transfix anything in their path, not satisfied with what was within. The piles of grain made a dense smoke, and the peculiar structure of the building, like some immense chimney, gave a draught that seemed to doom the elevator to complete destruction.

At the foot of the building could be seen a dark mass of firemen, moving here and there. In spots it was illuminated by little spurts of flame, where the engines were puffing like mad to send the quenching water on the fiercely burning timbers.

“They’ll never stop that fire!” shouted a man close to the chums. “The roof’ll cave in soon!”

“Why don’t they use the stand pipes in the elevator?” asked another man. “No engine they’ve got can throw water to the roof.”

“The stand pipes are melted by now,” was the answer. “They tried ’em, but it got too hot. There she goes!”

The flames seemed to make one final leap, as if to reach a higher point in the air than they had yet attained. There was a sound as though a great gun had exploded and the roof, blown off by the heated air inside, and by the gases generated from the burning grain, was scattered into a thousand pieces.

Then, as if satisfied that it had accomplished what it set out to do, the fire died down a little. The top stories of the elevator toppled in, and the mass seemed to crumple up. Owing to the packed heaps of grain it was burning slowly, now that most of the wood work was consumed.

“That’s another blow to Hayward!” spoke a voice so close to Fenn’s ear that the boy started in spite of himself.

“Hush!” cautioned a man, who was beside the one who had first spoken, “some one might hear you.”

“No one knows what I’m talking about,” was the answer. “I guess Hayward will be willing to talk business now. He can’t stand many such losses as this, even if he does own most of Bayville. I understand he didn’t carry much insurance on this grain, as it was stored for quick movement. Now, when I see him – ”

The man stopped suddenly, for Fenn was looking right at him. Somehow the youth knew instinctively that he was talking about the Mr. Hayward who had been injured in the auto accident. What could it mean? Why was the speaker glad that the westerner had suffered a loss in the elevator fire? Fenn wanted to hear more.

But the man who had first spoken, said nothing further. He grasped his companion by the arm, and nodded toward Fenn. The other boys were still watching the fire, and were some distance away from Stumpy.

“Were you – ” began the first speaker, looking at Fenn, when his companion suddenly drew him back among the crowd.

“Stop! Stop!” Fenn heard him whisper. “I must get hold of him and – ”

There was some mystery here. Fenn vaguely felt it, but he could not tell what it was. There was a movement in the throng, and Fenn’s chums were pressed back to where he stood.

“Here comes some more engines!” was the cry.

Additional steamers, summoned from an adjoining city, rattled up. The fire, which had died down, seemed to break out afresh, as the flames seized on new material.

“I tell you I’m going to find out about him!”

This was the voice of the man who had spoken of Mr. Hayward. Fenn glanced around. The fellow, who had a sinister face, was making his way toward him.

“Maybe they’re thieves or pickpockets,” thought Fenn. “I guess we’d better get out of here while we have the chance.”

He leaned forward and grasped Bart by the arm.

“Come on!” he hoarsely whispered.

“What for?” inquired Bart. “The fire isn’t half over.”

“Come on,” repeated Fenn earnestly. “I think Captain Wiggs may want us.”

He was so insistent, and nodded in such a peculiar way that Bart realized something unusual was in the wind. Pulling Ned and Frank close to him, Fenn whispered:

“I think some pickpockets are trying to rob us. I’ve brought my money with me. Let’s get out of here.”

The boys made a quick turn in the crowd, and worked their way to where the press was not so thick. Fenn led the way, looking back to see if the men were following.

They were. The man with the sinister face, and his companion, were trailing close after the boys.

“Come on!” cried Fenn, suddenly breaking into a run.

But the men were not to be so easily left behind. They, too, quickened their pace, and pursued the four chums, though what their motive was the boys could only guess.