by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XX.
EMILY GOODRIDGE.
In the water, struggling for his own or another's life, a man's stock intrade consists mainly of breath. Without that he can't do much, andgenerally he fails for the want of it; not when life deserts him, butwhen he might, by an economical use of it, have been able to savehimself. I had been in the water enough to learn this lesson, and to becompetent to advise all my young friends, in the moment of peril, torefrain from useless and unreasonable struggling, for that wastes thebreath, and fritters away the strength.
I held on at the raft till I had recovered my breath, and felt strongenough to make another effort; for I found that my own life and that ofmy charge were to depend principally on my own exertions. Sim waswilling, but he was stupid; and I was afraid that some blunder of hiswould yet lose me the battle.
I brought the helpless girl on my arm so that she could take hold of theraft, but she seemed not to have the power to do so.
"Sim, mind what you are about now!" I called to my help.
"I will, Buck! What shall I do?" stuttered he.
"Lie down on the platform so that you can reach the girl."
He obeyed, and held out his great paws towards my helpless burden. Iraised her up a little, and he grasped her under the arms. He was asstrong as an ox; and raising her a little way, he turned over, and thenlifted her clear from the water, but dragging her up as roughly asthough she had been a log of wood. I needed no help myself, and was onthe raft almost as soon as the girl. She was utterly exhausted, andunable to hold up her head. Sim and I carried her into the house. Welaid her in Sim's bunk, and Flora was as tender with her as though shehad been a baby.
"Hookie!" exclaimed Sim, staring at the sufferer, with his mouth openwide enough to take in a canal boat. "Is she dead?"
"No--not dead!" replied Flora, as she lifted the wet locks from herface, and gently rubbed her temples. "What shall we do for her,Buckland?"
"She is chilled with the cold, and worn out with fear and exertion."
"I shall be better soon," said the girl, faintly. "I feel better now.Let me rest a moment."
"Give her some hot tea," suggested Flora.
The tea-pot was on the stove, and I prepared a cup of tea for her. Shedrank it, and the effect was good.
"I feel better; but I am so cold!" said she.
Flora and I consulted what it was best to do, and we finally decidedthat her wet clothing must be removed. I carried her into my sister'sroom, and laid her on a blanket. I then closed up the shutters of theouter room, replenished the fire, and left Flora to do the rest. Thestove would heat the house as hot as an oven when the windows and doorswere closed.
Sim was now at the steering oar, where I joined him. Except thefragments of the wreck which floated on the river, there was no vestigeof the terrible calamity in sight.
"Do you think she will die?" asked Sim, looking as anxious as though thegirl had been one of our own party.
"No; she is better now. She will be all right in a day or two."
"Who is she?" asked he, opening his mouth and his eyes to express hiswonder.
"I don't know--how should I?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"No--she isn't able to talk much yet. She hasn't said ten words."
"Didn't she tell you who she was?"
Sim asked silly questions, and I had not always the patience to answerhim, especially when he had asked the same ones half a dozen times. Ihad as much curiosity as he had to know who and what the young lady was,and I was impatient to hear from Flora. As she did not call me, I wassatisfied her patient was doing well. It was quite dark now, and I waswalking rapidly up and down the raft, to keep myself warm, for I hadhad no opportunity to change my wet clothes for dry ones.
"Buckland!" called the soft voice of Flora, "You may come in now."
"How is the girl?" I asked.
"She is nicely now. I have rubbed her, put dry clothes upon her, andcovered her up with blankets in my bed. She wants to see you."
I followed Flora into her room. The stranger, with the exception of herhead, was buried in the blankets, and by the dim light of the lantern Isaw as pretty a face as it ever had been my good fortune to beholdbefore. I had hardly seen her until now; certainly my first impressionsof her features and expression were derived from this observation,rather than from any former one. She had a very mild, soft blue eye; butshe looked quite sad and troubled.
"I wish to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life," saidshe. "I shall never forget your kindness, and I hope I may be able to dosomething more for you."
"O, never mind that," I replied. "That's all right. I'm glad I had achance to do as I did."
"You are a brave and noble young man, and you saved my life. It may dofor you to forget it, but it will not do for me to do so."
"I won't complain if you do;" and as all heroes say under similarcircumstances, I told her I had only done my duty.
"Yet I almost wish you had not saved me," she added, with a shudder, asher eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"Why so?" I asked, though I had not much difficulty in reading the causeof her sadness.
"My mother! O, my mother!" cried she, in agony.
Poor girl! I wanted to cry with her. Flora threw her arms around herneck, and wept with her.
"Your mother was in the steamer--was she?" I added.
"She was--and lost."
"Perhaps not," I suggested.
"O, I know she was."
"Probably some were saved."
"I dare not hope so," sobbed she, uncovering her eyes, and glancing atme. "I was sitting clear back, as far as I could get, looking into thewater, when this terrible thing happened. I was thrown into the river bythe shock, or I jumped in--I don't know which. I caught hold of thatstick, but I did not know what I was doing."
"But where was your mother?" I asked. "She may have been equallyfortunate."
"The boat was racing with another, and Mr. Spear asked my mother to goforward, and see the furnaces under the boilers, which, he said, werered hot. I was reading a book, and did not want to go. In two or threeminutes after they went, the boiler burst. My mother must have been verynear the furnaces when the explosion took place."
"Who was Mr. Spear?"
"He was the gentleman who was taking charge of us."
"But it is possible that your mother was saved."
"I wish I knew!" she exclaimed, with tremulous emotion. "Can't youascertain? I shall be so grateful to you!"
"I will try," I replied. "We are not more than ten miles from the placewhere the accident happened, and I can return."
"O, I wish you would!"
"Do you wish to return?" I asked.
"She cannot go to-night," interposed Flora. "She is all worn out."
"I do not feel able to go," added the poor girl; "and I do not wish togo unless my mother is saved."
"What is your mother's name?"
"Mrs. Goodridge."
"And yours?"
"Emily Goodridge."
"Where do you live?"
"In New Orleans. My father is a merchant there. I have been sick, andthe doctor said I must go to the North; but my mother--"
She could say no more, for her sobs choked her utterance. I assured herI would do all I could to ascertain the fate of her mother. I went intothe other room, and changed my clothes, and wrote down the names whichEmily gave me, so that I need not forget them. After assuring myselfthat everything was right in the house, I went out and hoisted thesail. Taking the steering oar, I ran the raft up to the shore on theMissouri side, as the wind was favorable in that direction. I securedthe craft in the strongest manner, in order to make sure that she didnot go adrift during the night.
I knew there was a village not far above, for I had seen the lights ofit through the window as I was talking to Emily. I went on shore, andwalked about a mile, which brought me to the place. I went into a storethat I found open on the levee, and inquired of the keeper in whatmanner I co
uld get to Cairo. He told me I could only go by a steamboat,and that I might have to wait an hour, or a couple of days, for one.But, while I was talking with him, a man came in and said there was aboat coming up the river. The person who brought this pleasingintelligence was rough looking, and I offered him a dollar if he wouldput me on board of her. He accepted my proposition so good-naturedlythat I concluded the boat was coming up to the town; but she did not,and he put me into a bateau, and pulled off to her. At first she wouldnot stop.
"Great news!" I shouted, at the top of my lungs.
Curiosity did what good-nature would not, and the boat stopped herwheels long enough for me to jump on her deck.
"What do you mean by great news?" demanded a gentleman, who, I soonfound, was the captain. "Did you say that to make me stop the boat? Ifyou did, I'll heave you overboard."
"No, sir; I did not," I replied, with becoming promptness after thethreat he had used.
"What's your great news, then?" demanded he.
"Do you know what two steamers went up the river about two or threehours ago?" I asked.
"Certainly I do--the River Queen No. 4 and the Centurion. They passed methis morning. But what's your news, boy?"
"The Centurion blew up about seven o'clock, as she was going into theOhio River."
"The Centurion!" exclaimed he.
"Yes, sir."
"Is that so, or are you making up this story?"
"It is true, sir. I saved a young lady who was a passenger. I left herbelow this village, and I want to go up and find out whether her motherwas lost, or not."
"What is her name?"
"Emily Goodridge."
"Goodridge? Do you know her father's name?"
I looked at my paper, and found the name was Edward F. Goodridge.
"He is one of the heaviest merchants in New Orleans," added the captain,thoughtfully.
My news proved to be all I had represented it, and I was plied withquestions which I could not answer, by the passengers interested in thefate of those on board of the unfortunate steamer. I could only tellthem that the boat had been blown all to pieces, and that there wasplenty of assistance at hand to save those who were thrown into thewater.
In less than an hour my news was fully confirmed on the arrival of thesteamer at Cairo. We were informed that the River Queen No. 4 was stillthere, with the survivors of the disaster on board, and I hastened tofind her.
