The Iron Boys on the Ore Boats Part 31

"I think the other s.h.i.+ps saw it before we did, for there doesn't seem to be another boat on the lake."

"No; at least, the little fellows have taken to harbors along the coast.

It wasn't the sundog, however, but the gla.s.s that warned them. You know the gla.s.s has been falling for the past twenty-four hours. We know what to expect when that happens, but we don't know what to expect when the storm strikes us. These lakes are the most treacherous bodies of water in the world. Twenty miles beyond here is the graveyard of Superior, where the hulls of more than fifty s.h.i.+ps lie rotting on the bottom. Some of them went down in weather no worse than this. This is bad enough."

Bob listened attentively.

"Do you ever get seasick in any of these storms?"

"Always," answered the first mate, in a matter of fact tone. "If this keeps on you won't see me at mess to-day noon. You'll have to eat your dinner standing up, but not for me."

The weather grew more tempestuous as the forenoon wore on. The scuppers were running rivers of green lake water and there was not a dry spot on the decks; even the upper works standing high in the air, were dripping with the spray that had been showered over them.

"Let her off three points," commanded the captain.

Almost instant relief from the incessant pounding was noticeable. The waves came aboard only occasionally, though the sea was running the same as before and the s.h.i.+p was rolling almost down to her rails.

"That is better," nodded Steve, his voice echoing in the silence of the pilot-house.

"Did it make you dizzy?" smiled the skipper.

"No, sir. I got all over that after I fell in the hold that time. It isn't a comfortable feeling to have the floor rolling around beneath one's feet, but I am getting so that I do not mind it much. Is that a boat ahead of us there?"

"Yes," replied the captain, placing the gla.s.ses to his eyes. "It's a pig, and she's having a pretty hard time of it. All you can see of her is a smother of foam in the place where the s.h.i.+p is. The smoke from her funnel seems to come right out of the lake."

"Are those whalebacks safe, Captain?" asked the pilot.

"Yes. I commanded one for two seasons. They are perfectly safe, so long as nothing happens to them."

Steve laughed.

"That goes without saying."

"But they are the wettest boats in the world, as you can judge by watching that fellow beating his way against the sea. They have a very thin skin and the least puncture will go through. Next thing you'll hear the hatches blowing off, and down she goes like a meteorite shot from above."

"I don't believe I should care for them. I prefer to be high above water like this, rather than under it all the way down the lakes. If I wanted to travel on a submarine I'd s.h.i.+p on a real one."

The gale was playing tunes on the braces, and the life-span running from the forward to the after deck-house was swaying back and forth. Steve gazed at it a moment then turned to the skipper.

"I never could see the use of those life-spans. If the s.h.i.+p goes down, I don't understand how a life-span from one end of the s.h.i.+p to the other, is going to help any."

"They haven't been on long. A good many lives would have been saved if they had been. You see, the span is a rope on which travels a little swing just large enough to hold a man. Then there is a free rope running through a ring in the top of the swing by which to pull one's self along."

"Yes, I have figured that out."

"Then suppose that to-night, in the darkness, we were to miss our way.

The compa.s.s might go bad, we might be driven out of our course and all that sort of thing, you know--and all of a sudden we might drive our bow full speed on one of those low-lying Apostle Islands!"

"Yes, sir."

"The stern of the s.h.i.+p would sink low and there she would pound to pieces. That's where the men astern would find use for the life-span. By it they would be able to pull themselves to the bow of the boat and perhaps make their escape before the stern finally went down under water. They are a good thing, and you should see to it that the spans are always in working order. I have those on my s.h.i.+p examined every day.

I----"

The captain was interrupted in what he was saying by a yell from the deck. The skipper took a quick look aft through the pilot-house windows, then sprang to the pilot-house telegraph.

"Full speed astern!" crashed the message to the engine room.

CHAPTER XIX

IN THE GRIP OF THE WAVES

"SOMEBODY overboard!" said the captain sharply.

"Who?" demanded Steve, in an equally sharp tone as his relief took the wheel from his hands.

"I don't know."

Just then the figure of a man was seen to leap from the top of the after deck-house into the raging sea.

Bob Jarvis had been clinging to a ladder that the chief engineer was holding up against the whistle pipe, the valve of the whistle having worked loose. The engineer had asked Bob to help him as a favor, which the lad was glad to do, though that was not his department. It was a ticklish position in which to work, and at any moment a lurch of the s.h.i.+p might throw the ladder over and throw the Iron Boy into the sea. He gave no heed to the danger of his position, for he was rapidly becoming a true sailor.

Suddenly, as though some instinct had told him to do so, Bob turned his head and glanced over the deck to the forward deck-house. As he did so he uttered an exclamation. Little Marie had just descended the steps from her father's quarters, and was already on the main deck. In her arms she carried several parcels.

"Go back!" roared Jarvis.

The words were driven back down his throat by the wind, and if the child understood his gestures she did not heed them.

Bob groaned.

"Let me down, quick! The child is trying to get aft and she'll never make it."

With rare presence of mind, Jarvis gave the whistle lever five quick, short jerks, sending forth as many blasts, the signal of danger.

Instantly some one shouted a sharp warning.

By this time the lad had slid down the ladder and was making for the edge of the deck-house to drop down to the deck. He halted all of a sudden. Bob tried to cry out, but the words would not come. He felt a sickening sensation sweep over him, and a sudden dizziness took possession of him.

A white-crested wave had risen up out of the sea right alongside of the big steel ore carrier. For a moment it hung trembling over the s.h.i.+p like an avenging monster. Then suddenly it swooped down. It reminded Jarvis of a steam clam sh.e.l.l scooping up ore. He was thinking calmly now, and he was planning what he should do an instant later.

The green scoop dipped, lifted the little Marie clear of the deck, then raised her high above the steel hatch covers.

A faint cry floated back to where the Iron Boy was standing as the captain's daughter was carried over the opposite side of the s.h.i.+p and dropped into the sea.

A great shout escaped Bob Jarvis. Lifting himself to his toes he took a long curving dive from the deck-house. He cleared the s.h.i.+p's rail with plenty of room to spare, entering the water head first just at the base of a huge swell.

In an almost incredibly short time his hatless head bobbed up on the other side of the swell, leaving him struggling alone on the rough waters. The s.h.i.+p had slipped quickly by. But already her propeller was beating the water with all the force of the steam power behind it, turned on full, in an effort to start the s.h.i.+p going astern.