The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  "Matt, everybody's seen this coming. Your Pa mentioned it to me last fall, and China was there to hear—you can ask him right now if that isn't so."

  "Ask me what?" China had arrived.

  Matt suspected his head might explode. He was grateful and relieved that McFee appeared to hold no resentment or reservations about his courting, but all this about him being slow or that they had all talked about them as if they were a couple?

  China Smith repeated, "Ask me what, McFee?" He cocked his head to the repeated whistle blasts from across the river. "Mrs. Black is busy cooking, but I'll bet that noise will bring her outside."

  Matt hoped the steamboat's approach would become the subject, but Mickey answered.

  "That big Matt and I spoke about little Matt and my sister Erin being just about a perfect match and that time was running on for both of them."

  China saw Matt's embarrassment and chose to shift the attention a little. "Well, Mickey, that conversation did take place, but as I recall, we were also speaking about you and Bridgett Donovan and how you couldn't walk past her without turning as red as a boiled beet."

  McFee said, "I didn't remember that part, China."

  China said, "So, is that what you two are wrangling about now?"

  Matt forced himself back into the conversation. "It's that neither of us knows what to do next, China. I tried to speak to Mickey because he is head of his home, but he started calling me slow and probably stupid and . . ."

  Mickey said, "I did no such thing, China. I do not speak to my boss that way, but Matt is right that we don't know what to do next."

  Smith seemed to study the smoke column rising across the river. He spoke as if to himself. "Being young is a horrible condition. I'm glad I don't have to do it over again."

  Then he turned to Matt and McFee. "What you do is, you each gather an armful of those wild flowers growing against the bank. Squeeze them into a bouquet. That's a French word for a bunch of flowers.

  "Then you march down to your chosen gals, hand them the flowers, and invite them to accompany you to watch the George Washington cross the river.

  "If they agree to come with you, and they will, then you invite them to ride in Matt's carriage to the aqueduct and perhaps go aboard the marvelous steamboat as your guests.

  "If they agree, and they will, signal me, and I will have Mrs. Black make up a nice lunch for four that you can take along, and I will arrange for the carriage to be brought around."

  China said, "That's as far as I can take it right now, boys, so get at it."

  He thumbed Matt from his chair, sat down himself, and waved them away.

  "Get your flowers and get at it before that boat moves too far and you've lost your chance."

  Chapter 23

  Across the river, the George Washington found it necessary to stop at every pullout in the canal to allow admirers to come aboard (for a one-cent fee) and listen to the skipper-owner's fervent descriptions of his boat's unmatchable abilities.

  Impatient spectators were lined along the Susquehanna's west shore to watch the boat's crossing of the swift and high water. Seated in his father's carriage (Matt supposed that the carriage really was his now) the four young people hoped the boat would take its time while they, for the first time together, were able to enjoy each other's company.

  Bridgett Donovan was clearly discomfited by the presence of her father's boss, but Erin whispered (so that all could hear) not to be upset. Matt was no different than any of them.

  As Matt Miller was also his boss, Mickey McFee was daring in suggesting that if the Boss's Boy gave them difficulty he, the Irish Hurricane, was there to defend both ladies.

  Oblivious to the detail that his sister was present and being courted by his boss, McFee was little deterred by Erin's reminder that it was Matt who had first flattened Mickey's nose all over his face.

  Erin's pointed and pithy defense pleased Matt. Until he learned who really was the better man, McFee might yet need to be punched around.

  Mrs. Black's tasty lunch (via China Smith) was devoured with appreciative comments, and still the steamboat loitered on the far side.

  Mickey hazarded, "Maybe he's afraid to cross with the river running so strong."

  Matt did not share the doubts. "Oh he'll come across. I think he is loading wood for his boiler right now, and he is squeezing all of the attention he can out of all of us."

  McFee said, "Well, he's got mine. I've never seen a steamboat. In fact, I've never seen a steam engine up close." The girls admitted their own lack of steam power experience.

  From his position of experienced steam engine examining, Matt described what they would see.

  "This boat is quite ordinary. It was made narrow so that it could use the canals, and the paddle wheels on each side do not stick out beyond the boat the way they should. That means that the wheels grab water only along the bottom tips where the paddles stick below the keel. The boat also has to be very shallow draft so that the paddles will not strike the canal bottom and either break or tear up the canal."

  McFee sought to get in the information game.

  "That sounds to me as if the boat cannot carry much weight, and with its load of wood for heating the engine boiler there won't be much flotation or room for either passengers or cargo."

  His audience listened with some awe, but it was Matt who broke their silence.

  "Flotation? Where did you get that word, McFee? Have you been studying my books when I wasn't looking?"

  Erin was quick to her brother's defense. "He reads all of the time, Matt—everything except his Bible, that is." Her displeasure at her brother's lack of Bible study was clearly a point of contention.

  Mickey came to his own defense with his usual twist of humor. "I learned that word and five others just as hard to drop into conversations. Everybody knows I am smart, but occasionally I like to demonstrate my brilliance."

  "Brilliance? Occasionally? Mickey, you are dazzling us all. I didn't know that you spoke much—other than vile and ungentlemanly curse words, that is."

  McFee's retort was halted by Bridgett Donovan's excited announcement. "The boat is moving again. I think it is coming out of the canal."

  And it was. Whistle shrieking and black smoke towering, the steamboat thrust its nose into the Susquehanna's powerful current. The pilot/owner angled his boat's nose upstream so that the current did not push them down the river. Moving as smoothly as if it were on rails, the George Washington effortlessly breasted the flow and moved smartly toward the western shore. Still, Matt thought that the boat's owner and operator should have hired one of the regular Clark's Ferry pilots to see the boat safely across. Towed canal boats used crossing pilots and, despite the unusually deep water, this stranger-to-the-river just might need someone with special knowledge.

  Passengers aboard the craft waved and spectators on the bridge flailed their arms and added excited calling to the spectacle. The captain and owner stood at the stern handling the long tiller, repeatedly doffing his tall hat in appreciation of the enthusiastic reception.

  Although enjoying the show, Matt was most interested in the performance of the steam engine itself. More compact than the giant engines he had seen at the coal mines or the monsters on the canal that hauled loaded boats up the railroads and over the mountains, the engine turned the paddle wheels with a solid and certain power that Matt Miller found impressive. He saw the boat's captain adjust the clutch on the upstream paddle shaft slowing it a little so that the opposite paddle would help turn the boat a bit more into the current and better drive the boat ahead. Very well done, and a simple and effective system Matt believed.

  Then Matt saw the log.

  In retrospect, he believed he might have been the first to see the huge and waterlogged tree trunk coming down the river. Barely breaking the surface, the floater rolled slightly as it plunged ahead almost like a giant ram and, from a quarter-mile distance, Matt judged the boat was the monster's target.

  Matt found himself sta
nding. He was pointing and shouting, but even those in his carriage missed the terrible danger heading for the steamboat. Mickey McFee came up beside Matt his big fists clenched and his eyes darting, asking, "What?"

  But it was too late for anyone to do more than watch. Playing the crowd, the helmsman did not see the sodden log coming, and Matt expected it was already too late for the boat to swerve aside.

  The ram came under the bridge, and as it passed, spectators on the span finally saw. They screamed and pointed, but not realizing that disaster approached, the boat's helmsman waved and smiled in return.

  Matt doubted the people on the steamboat ever saw the log, but the three or four foot giant smashed end-on into the frail watercraft, striking almost amid ship.

  The impact of the horrendous smash could barely be heard, but the result was stunning. The vessel buckled in on itself, and bits of boat flew into the air. A blast of released steam joined the smoking funnel as the boiler burst from the impact—and that explosion, spectators clearly heard. Stacked firewood flew before falling into the river as if raining from the heavens.

  The craft was driven sideward, but the massive tree trunk imbedded itself within the wreck of the demolished George Washington and momentarily held everything afloat.

  Passengers had been propelled from the wreck and floundered in the water. Matt's eyes were torn from seeing the end of the George Washington to the desperate struggles of survivors to grasp anything floating that would help keep them above water. Matt doubted many could swim and, despite the cords of firewood floating among them, he knew in his heart that all would not survive.

  A head floating free of the sinking wreck caught Matt's eye, but within the moment, he identified the object as only the tall beaver hat that had been worn by the helmsman.

  Then the remains of the George Washington struck something solid and further broke apart. The deadly log floated free, and the tall iron funnel supported by something unseen floated for another few moments, but the heavy iron engine with the ruptured boiler sunk from sight as if they had never existed.

  Downriver, rowboats were pushing out from the Duncannon waterfront. Matt judged they would save some of the survivors, who had managed to grasp or climb upon debris that would keep them afloat, but the water was numbingly cold, and the swift current was rushing those adrift far downstream. The boats had better hurry.

  As suddenly as it had happened, the river was again smooth and empty. The stunned and silenced crowd gradually dispersed. The four in the carriage watched until there was nothing more to see.

  They spoke about the tragedy until the words became repetitive and stale. Then Matt drove the girls home, and he and Mickey stabled the horse and went to the hotel to listen to the gossip and to hear survivors speak of what they had seen and felt.

  Within the hotel's sitting room a dozen voices vied for attention. Survivors and spectators mingled and repeated what they had seen and their version of how the wreck could, or could not, have been avoided. Listeners waited impatiently for their turn to expound, and most estimated the number of passengers aboard that would not be rescued.

  The former owner and captain had been saved, although his magnificent hat had not. He huddled close to a fireplace, sucking in warmth, a broken man, arms clutching his ribs, his bowed head sunken between hunched shoulders. A blanket had been provided, but his clothing remained soaked, and Matt thought he would be wise to remove his shoes and stockings, so at least his feet could dry.

  China Smith sat close to the shattered boat owner, and Matt judged that he did his best to soothe the man's emotions. Losing a boat would be especially meaningful to the former sailor, and Matt guessed that China had seen it more often that he cared to remember.

  The situation was terrible with reports of bodies recovered coming in. It was no time to broach business subjects, but Matt signaled to China who, after carefully reserving his seat, came to where Matt and Mickey stood.

  Matt asked, "How is he taking it, China?"

  "Bad, Matt. Everything he had was invested in that boat, and it is gone for good. Most of it went downriver with the log still driven inside. Nothing has been salvaged, although the end of the funnel is sticking out of the water just below town—for whatever it would be worth."

  Matt cleared his throat in minor embarrassment. "Could he talk business, China? I would not want to push him over an edge or something."

  China's eyebrows rose. "What business, Matt? The man hasn't got a place to lay his head. He's wondering how he will get back to Baltimore where he has family."

  Matt gritted his teeth and stuck to his interests. "The steam engine, China. It is sunk, but I know exactly where, and when the water goes down we can get it. The boiler must be split wide open or it would have floated, but that can be repaired. The rest, including the shafts and clutches, should be there somewhere. I want to buy it all."

  China began to nod. "By golly, you are right, Matt, but I hope you can spot the sinking really close, that engine should not be left underwater too long, and it's a big river."

  Matt warmed to his subject. "After the log hit the boat, the wreck smashed into something just under the water. What it hit was that big rock in the bridge dam. The one that sticks up high when the water is low. There is a deep hollow washed out just below the rock. That will be where we find the engine and probably the rest of the iron parts."

  China listened carefully before pointing out, "One of the paddlewheels left the scene, Matt. I saw it rolling as if it were still attached—going down stream a-helling. Lord knows where that ended up."

  Matt hurried him on. "So, can he talk business now, China? I want to get to him before someone else does, and of course, I want to drive as hard a bargain as possible."

  Smith considered for a long moment before answering. "He can talk. He's more worried about being broke than he is about the boat itself. I gather that he has not been successful in gaining backers, and this wreck will not be forgotten, even though it was not the boat's flaws that demolished it."

  Before Matt could speak, China said, "It might be best if you let me make this deal, Matt. We've been talking personal and close, and he might see me as a sort of acquaintance and perhaps more friendly than a stranger."

  China leaned closer to be even more confidential. "How high are you willing to go to own this wreck?"

  Smith's tone suggested that the sum should not be high, and Matt agreed. Too much money offered might waken the boatman's awareness of what he was selling and raise resistance. Too low an offer would be insulting, but the fact was, Matt Miller did not have the slightest idea of how much he should pay to own the wreck. He needed a steam engine badly. Should that make him offer more? Matt did the wise thing. He left it to China Smith.

  China grumbled, but he went back to his seat beside the owner, and they spoke together before Smith motioned for Matt to join them.

  China spoke as if he and Matt had not discussed the matter in any way. Matt played along. This was business, and he had already been at it for a few years.

  China said, "The skipper here might be interested in selling his damaged boat, Mister Miller. He lives in Baltimore, and salvaging his craft could be inconvenient. Would your company be interested?"

  Matt made his eyebrows rise in astonishment.

  "We don't buy boats, China. We build them."

  He pretended to look out the hotel door and added, "What boat are you talking about, anyway? What is left of the George Washington is passing Harrisburg about now, and the rest of the boat is sunk somewhere between the bridge and Dauphin. The engine exploded in a hell of a blast, and it is a wonder that people weren't badly burned."

  "The iron is out there somewhere, Matt. That should be worth something." Smith let his voice sound uncertain, as if he wanted to help but feared claiming too much. The owner simply sat, leaving his immediate future to those bargaining.

  Matt scrubbed at his jaw and tugged on his upper lip. Then he addressed the boat owner and made his words as bel
ievable as possible.

  "Mister Smith is right. The iron is worth something, but finding and raising it will not be easy. I'm not sure that we can make out on the deal."

  China interrupted. "Come on, Matt. This gentleman is in dire straits. He needs to get back home and get on with his business. You are the only person along this part of the river that could use the iron. Make an offer."

  Matt said, "All right, I will make an offer. If you, China, agree to take charge of raising the iron and whatever else I may find, I will pay this gentleman one hundred dollars for what is left of his boat." The owner groaned aloud, and Matt added, "Iron is not rare as it was even twenty years ago, so I can go no higher."

  China turned to the distraught owner and they spoke softly together. Then he again turned to Matt.

  "I will agree to handle the salvage, but only if you add fifty dollars to your offer, Matt. Without my services you will have a difficult time even locating the wreck. I can provide the flatboats and rig the tackle to raise whatever we find. Fifty more dollars for this gentleman and you have an agreement."

  After appropriate weighing and complaining, Matt gave in, and they struck hands on the deal. Matt went to get the dollars, and China stayed to help the former owner accept that he had made the best bargain possible.

  McFee walked up the hill with Matt. He said, "So that is how business is conducted. I've got to say that you and China worked smoother than sliding on ice. That poor slob never had a chance."

  Matt nodded agreement but added, "Bargaining like that is peculiar business. After it is over, both sides should feel that they did the best possible. The maneuvering, disclaiming, and grumbling is all part of making everyone believe they did their best and struck a hard and close bargain. He got enough money to get out of town and to arrive home with something in his pocket.

  "I got a steam engine. Assuming I can find it—which I can, also assuming that Tim Cameron and his iron hammerers can repair the boiler—and I believe they will do that easily, I will have gained an engine worth two thousand dollars.