Boy Pilot of the Lakes; Or, Nat Morton's Perils

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER VII

  NAT HAS AN ACCIDENT

  Nat vainly tried to recall some of the circumstances connected withhis father's death, that would give him a clue to the reason why themate had Mr. Morton's pocketbook. But the trouble was Nat couldremember very little. The sad news had stunned him so that he was in asort of dream for a long time afterward.

  The body had been recovered, after several days, but there was nothingin the pockets of the clothes, as far as Nat knew, to indicate thatMr. Morton had left any money, or anything that represented it. YetNat knew his father was a careful and saving man, who had goodabilities for business.

  "If I wasn't sure it was his pocketbook, I would say that there mightbe plenty of such wallets, with the name James Morton on them,"thought Nat. "The name is not an uncommon one, but I can't be mistakenin thinking that was poor dad's wallet. How the mate got it is amystery, unless he took it from my father. Or, perhaps dad gave it tohim, yet I don't believe he would do that either, for he once told methe wallet was a present from mother, and I know he would not partwith it. I must consult with Mr. Weatherby."

  Nat did not get a chance to speak to the pilot about the matter untilthe next day. Mr. Weatherby looked grave when he heard our hero'sstory.

  "Are you sure you weren't mistaken?" he asked.

  "Positive," was Nat's answer. "I knew that wallet too well."

  "Then I'll make some inquiries. Suppose you come with me."

  Nat and the pilot found the mate in his office, looking over somepapers.

  "Nat thinks you have something that belonged to his father," said Mr.Weatherby, pleasantly.

  "He does, eh?" snapped the mate. "Well, he's mistaken, that's all I'vegot to say. Now I wish you'd get out of here. I'm busy."

  "But it won't do any harm to make some inquiries," went on the pilot."Do you mind showing me the pocketbook?"

  "There it is!" said Mr. Bumstead suddenly, pulling the wallet inquestion from his pocket. "He said it had his father's name on? Well,it hasn't, you can see for yourself," and he quickly turned thepocketbook from side to side, to show that there were no letters onit. Then, without giving Mr. Weatherby a chance to look at itclosely, he thrust it back into his pocket.

  "Are you satisfied?" he demanded. Nat hesitated.

  "I--I suppose so," answered the pilot. "There is no name on that. Natmust have been mistaken."

  "I told him he was dreaming," answered the mate, with a leer. "Nowdon't bother me again."

  "Are you sure you saw the name on that pocketbook?" asked Mr.Weatherby of Nat when they were out on the main deck.

  "Positive."

  "Perhaps it was some other wallet."

  "No, it's the same one. I can tell because there's a dark spot on onecorner, where it got some oil on once, dad told me."

  "But his name is not on it," remarked the pilot. "I had a good enoughlook at it to determine that."

  "I can't account for it," went on Nat, more puzzled than ever. He knewhe had seen the name, yet now, when he had another sight of thewallet, it had disappeared. And no wonder, for the mate had done hiswork well, and had so smoothed down the leather, where he had scrapedoff the letters, that it needed a close inspection to disclose it.This close inspection Mr. Bumstead was determined neither Nat nor thepilot should make.

  Though he said nothing to Nat about it, Mr. Weatherby had somesuspicions concerning the mate. For a long time he had distrusted theman, but this was because of certain things that had occurred aboardthe _Jessie Drew_. Now there was something else. Mr. Weatherbyquestioned Nat closely as to the incidents connected with Mr. Morton'sdeath. When he had learned all he could he remained a few moments indeep thought. Then he said:

  "Well, Nat, don't think any more about it. It is very possible youwere mistaken about the pocketbook. That form of wallet is notuncommon, and of course there are lots of men with the same name yourfather had. Why the mate should have a pocketbook, with some othername on it than his own, I can't explain. But we'll let matters liequietly for a while. If you see or hear anything more out of theordinary, let me know."

  "I will," promised Nat; and then he had to go to do some work in thecaptain's office.

  "I think you will bear watching, Mr. Bumstead," murmured the pilot, ashe went back to take the wheel. "I don't like your ways, and I'm goingto keep my eye on you."

  On his part the mate, after the visit of Nat and Mr. Weatherby, was ina somewhat anxious mood.

  "I wish that boy had never come aboard," he mused. "I might have knownhe would make trouble. I must be more careful. If I had only been afew hours sooner my nephew would have had the place, and I would nothave to worry. Never mind. I may be able to get him here yet, but Imust first get Nat out of the way. He is too suspicious, and thatsneaking pilot is helping him. Still, they know nothing of the case,nor how I got the wallet, and I'll not give it up without a fight. Imust hide that pocketbook, though. Lucky I got the name off, or I'd bein a pretty pickle. If I had known he was Jim Morton's son I wouldalmost have given up my place, rather than be on the same boat withhim. But it's too late now."

  He placed the wallet in a secret drawer in his safe, and then went onwith his work, but it seemed that his attention was distracted, andseveral times he found himself staring out of his cabin window atnothing at all.

  Nat tried to follow the pilot's advice, and give no more thought tothe memento of his father which he had so unexpectedly discovered, butit was hard work.

  For the next few days he was kept very busy. Captain Marshall foundplenty of tasks for him, and, with running errands for the commanderand the two mates, attending to what the purser had for him to do, andrendering occasional services for the pilot, the lad found himselfcontinually occupied.

  He was learning more about ships than he ever knew before, and on oneor two occasions Mr. Weatherby took him into the pilot-house, and gavehim preliminary instructions in the exacting calling of steering bigvessels.

  The freighter had stopped at several ports, taking on cargo at some,and discharging it at others. All this made work for Nat, but he likedit, for he was earning more than he had ever received before.

  "Nat," said Mr. Dunn, one day, "I wish you would go down into theforward hold, and check over those bales we took on at the last port.We've got to deliver them at the next stop, and I Want to be sure theshipping marks on them correspond to the marks on my list. I had toput them down in a hurry."

  "All right," answered the boy. "Here are the manifest slips allwritten up, Mr. Dunn," and he handed the purser some blanks, filled inwith figures.

  "That's good. You are doing very well, Nat Keep at it and you'll get abetter job soon."

  Taking a lantern Nat went down into the forward hold, to examine somebales of goods, in accordance with the purser's instructions. Thebales were heavy ones, but they had been stowed away in such a mannerthat the shipping marks were in sight.

  As Nat left the purser's office a man, who had been standing near awindow that opened into it, moved away. The man was the mate, Mr.Bumstead, and as he saw Nat disappear below the deck he muttered:

  "I think this is just the chance I want. We'll see how thatwhipper-snapper will like his job after to-day."

  While Nat was checking off the bales, finding only one or two slighterrors in the list the purser had given him, he heard a noise forwardin the dark hold.

  "Who's there?" he asked, for it was against the rules for any one toenter the cargo hold, unless authorized by the captain, mate orpurser.

  No answer was returned, and Nat was beginning to think the noise wasmade by rats, for there were very large ones in the ship. Then heheard a sound he knew could not have been made by a rodent. It was thesound of some one breathing heavily.

  "Is any one here?" asked Nat. "I shall report this to the purser ifyou don't answer," he threatened.

  Still no reply came to him.

  "Perhaps it is one of the sailors who has crawled in here to get asleep," Nat thought. "Maybe I'd better not say anything, for he mightbe p
unished."

  He listened, but the sound, whatever it was, did not come again. Thehold was quiet, save for the slight shifting of the cargo, as thevessel rocked to and fro under the action of the waves.

  "There, all done but one bale," said Nat, half aloud, "and that one isturned wrong so I can't see the marks. Never mind, it's a top one, andI can easily shift it, as it's small."

  He climbed up on a tier of the cargo, first setting his lantern downin a safe place, and then he proceeded to move the bale around.

  Hardly had he touched it when the big package seemed to tumble outwardtoward him. He felt himself falling backward, and vainly threw out hishands to grasp some support. Farther and farther the bale toppledoutward, until it struck against Nat, and knocked him from his feet.

  He fell to the floor of the hold, in a little aisle between two tiersof freight, and the bale was on top of him.

  "He fell to the floor of the hold"]

  He heard a crash of glass, and knew that the lantern had been tippedover and broken. Then everything was dark, and he heard a strangeringing in his ears. Nat had been knocked unconscious alone down inthe big hold, but, worse than this, a tiny tongue of fire, from theexposed lantern wick, was playing on the bales of inflammable stuff.