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

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER X

  SAM SHAW APPEARS

  The vessel had not come to a stop, before orders were hurriedly givento let go the anchor. The narrow escape had decided Captain Marshallthat it would not be safe to proceed, and, as there was good holdingground not far from the rocks, he determined to lay-to until the foglifted.

  From the pilot-house came the captain, Mr. Weatherby, and Andy Simmon.The pilot was very much excited.

  "Those were false lights, or else something is out of order with themachinery," he exclaimed. "The light on the point flashes once everyfive seconds. The next light, beyond the point, flashes once everyfifteen seconds. This light flashed once every fifteen seconds, forAndy and I both kept count."

  "That's right," said the assistant.

  "And I calculated by that," went on the pilot, "that we were beyondthe point, for I couldn't see anything but the light, and I had to goby that. I was on the right course, if that light was the one beyondthe point, but naturally on the wrong one if that was the pointlight."

  "And it was the point light," said the captain solemnly.

  "It was, Mr. Marshall, and only for the lookout we would now be on therocks."

  "I can't blame you for the narrow escape we had," went on thecommander. "Still----"

  "Of course you can't blame me!" exclaimed the pilot, as thoughprovoked that any such suspicion should rest on him. "I was steeringright, according to the lights. There is something wrong with them.The lights were false. Whether they have been deliberately changed, orwhether the machinery is at fault is something that will have to befound out. It isn't safe to proceed until morning."

  "And that will delay me several hours," grumbled Mr. Marshall.

  "I can't help that. I'll not take the responsibility of piloting theboat in this thick fog, when I can't depend on the lights."

  "No, of course not," was the answer. "We'll have to remain here,that's all. Have the fog-horn sounded regularly, Mr. Bumstead," thecaptain added to the mate; and all through the night, at ten-secondintervals, the great siren fog-whistle of the boat blew its melancholyblast. Nat found it impossible to sleep much with that noise over hishead, but toward morning the fog lifted somewhat, and he got into adoze, for the whistle stopped.

  Mr. Weatherby went ashore in the morning to make inquiries regardingthe false lights. He learned that the machinery in the pointlighthouse had become deranged, so that the wrong signal was shown. Ithad been repaired as soon as possible, and was now all right. But asthe fog was gone and it was daylight, the ship could proceed safelywithout depending on lighthouses. Nat was up early, and had a goodview of the point and rocks that had so nearly caused the destructionof the _Jessie Drew_.

  Three days later, having made a stop at Cheboygan to take on somefreight, the big ship was on Lake Huron. This was farther than Nat hadever been before, and he was much interested in the sight of a newbody of water, though at first it did not seem much different fromLake Michigan.

  They steamed ahead, making only moderate speed, for the freighter wasnot a swift boat, and on the evening of the next day they ran intoThunder Bay and docked at Alpena.

  "Plenty of work ahead for you and me," said Mr. Dunn to Nat thatnight.

  "How's that?"

  "Well, we've got to break out a large part of the cargo and take onalmost as much again. We'll be busy checking up lists and making outway-bills. You want to be careful not to make a mistake, as that matewill have his eye on you. It's easy to see he doesn't like you."

  "And I don't like him," retorted Nat.

  "I don't blame you. Still, do your best when he's around. I know youalways do, though. Well, I'm going to get to bed early, as we'll haveour hands full in the morning."

  Nat also sought his bunk about nine o'clock, and it seemed he hadhardly been asleep at all when six bells struck, and he had to get up.

  That day was indeed a busy one, and Nat was glad when noon came and hecould stop for dinner. He ate a hearty meal, and was taking a rest ondeck, for the 'longshoremen and freight handlers would not resumetheir labors until one o'clock, when he saw coming up the gangplank aboy about his own age. The lad had red hair and rather an unpleasantface, with a bold, hard look about the eyes.

  "Hey, kid!" the youth exclaimed on catching sight of Nat, "tell mewhere Mr. Bumstead hangs out. I want to see him quick. Understand?"

  "I understand you well enough," replied Nat, who resented theunpleasant way in which the question was put. "You speak loud enough.I know what you mean. Mr. Bumstead is at dinner, and I don't believehe'd like to be disturbed."

  "Oh, that's all right. He'll see me. He expects me. Now you show mewhere he is, or I'll report you."

  "You will, eh?" asked Nat. "Well, I'm not in the habit of showingstrangers about the ship. It's against orders. You can't go belowuntil you get permission from the captain, mate or second mate."

  "I can't, eh? Guess you don't know who I am," replied the red-hairedyouth with an ugly leer.

  "No, and I don't care," retorted Nat, for his life about the docks hadmade him rather fearless.

  "Well, I'll make you care--you'll see! Now, are you going to show mewhere I can find Mr. Bumstead? If you don't I'll make trouble foryou."

  "Look here!" exclaimed Nat, striding over to the stranger. "Don't talkto me like that. I'm not afraid of you, whoever you are. I'll not showyou to Mr. Bumstead's cabin, as it is against the rules. You can't gobelow, either, unless the second mate, who's in charge of the decknow, says you can. He's over there, and you can ask him if you wantto. Now, don't you say anything more to me or I'll punch your face!"

  Nat was no milksop. He had often fought with the lads on the dock onless provocation than this, and, for the time being, he forgot he wason a ship.

  "What's the row?" asked the second mate, who, hearing the sound ofhigh voices, approached to see what the trouble was.

  "Oh, here's a fresh fellow who wants to see Mr. Bumstead," repliedNat.

  "He can't until after grub hour," said the second mate shortly."What's your business, young man? Tell it, or go ashore."

  "I want to see Mr. Bumstead," replied the red-haired lad more humblythan he had yet spoken, for the second mate was a stalwart man.

  "What for?"

  "Well, he expects me."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm his nephew, Sam Shaw, and I'm going to make the rest of the tripwith him. He invited me, and I'm going to be a passenger."

  "Oh, so you're his nephew, eh?" asked the second mate.

  "That's what I am, and when I tell him how that fellow treated mehe'll make it hot for him," boasted Sam Shaw. "Now will you show mewhere Mr. Bumstead's cabin is?" he asked of Nat insolently.

  "No," replied our hero. "You can ask one of the stewards. I'll havenothing to do with you," for Sam's threat to tell his uncle had rousedall the spirit that Nat possessed.

  "There's your uncle now," said the second mate as Mr. Bumstead came upthe companionway.

  "Hello, Uncle Joe!" called Sam; and as he went forward to meet hisrelative Nat went below. In spite of his bold words he was not alittle worried lest Sam Shaw had come to supplant him in his positionaboard the freighter.