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The Young Engineers on the Gulf, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 5. Wanted---Daylight And Divers |
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_ CHAPTER V. WANTED---DAYLIGHT AND DIVERS In a trice the foreman of the gang on the wall wheeled his men about, running them out seaward toward the scene of the latest explosion. That much was plain from the twinkling of the rapidly-moving lanterns. "Come on, Renshaw!" Tom shouted. "You, too, Nicolas. You can pull an oar." Reade was already racing out on to the small dock. He all but threw himself into a rowboat that lay tied alongside. "Cast off and get in," Tom ordered his companions, as he pushed out a pair of oars. "Nicolas, you're also good with a pair of oars. Mr. Renshaw, you take the tiller. Inform me instantly when you see the first gleam of the 'Morton's' search-light. Evarts ought to have caught the scoundrels this time. Evidently he's been cruising softly without showing a light." Mr. Renshaw gathered up the tiller ropes as Tom pushed off from the dock. Then the chief engineer addressed himself to the task of rowing. His firm muscles, working at their best, shot the little craft ahead. Nicolas, at the bow oars, did his best to keep up with his chief in the matter of rowing, though the Mexican was neither an oarsman nor an athlete. "Don't you make out the motor boat's lights yet?" Tom asked impatiently, after the first long spurt of rowing. "Not yet, sir," replied the superintendent. "I shan't miss the light when it shows." A few minutes later the superintendent announced in a low voice: "There's some craft, motionless, just a bit ahead." Tom, without stopping his work at the oars, turned enough to glance forward. "Why, it's---it's the 'Morton'!" he gasped. "I believe it is," declared the superintendent, staring keenly at the nearly shapeless black mass ahead. Tom, with his jaws set close, bent harder than ever at the oars. "Senor!" wailed Nicolas, gaspingly. "If you do not go more easily I shall expire for lack of breath. I cannot keep up with you." Reade fell into a slower, stronger stroke. "Drop the oars any time you want to, Nicolas," Reade urged. "There won't be much more rowing to do, anyway." Presently Tom himself rested on his oars, as the boat, moving under its own headway, approached the motor boat. "Going to board her on the quarter?" the superintendent asked. "No; by the bow," Tom answered. "Let go the tiller ropes. I'll pull alongside." As they started to pass the boat a sound reached them that made Reade grow wild with anger. Snore after snore, from five busy sleepers! Tom pulled softly up to the bow. "There's the anchor cable!" snorted Tom, Pointing to a rope that ran from the bow of the "Morton" down into the water. "Did you ever see more wicked neglect of important duty? And not even a lantern out to mark her berth! Get aboard, Mr. Renshaw, and go aft to start the engine. Nicolas, you take this boat astern and make fast. Don't wake the sleepers---poor, tired shirkers!" Tom, in utter disgust, leaped aboard the boat at the bow. There, behind the wheel, Evarts lay on the floor of the boat, his rolled-up coat serving as a pillow. Almost noiselessly Tom hauled up the light anchor. Then he stood by the wheel. "All ready at the engine, Mr. Reade!" called the superintendent, softly. "Let her go," Tom returned, "as soon as Nicolas boards." The Mexican was quickly aboard, after having made the rowboat's painter fast. "Headway!" announced Renshaw, throwing over the drive-wheel of the engine. "Put-put-put!" sputtered the motor. Then the "Morton" began really to move. With the first real throb of the engine the electric running lights gleamed out. Aft Conlon began to stir. Then he opened his eyes. "What---" he began. "Silence!" commanded Mr. Renshaw. "Tell me who's at the wheel?" Conlon begged. "Mr. Reade," replied the superintendent, dryly. "Now, keep still!" "Whew---ew---ew!" whistled Conlon, in dire dismay. Then he sank back, watching the engine with moody eyes. The other three men aft still slept. Presently Tom, in shifting his position, touched one foot lightly against the foreman's head. Evarts half-awoke, then realized that the boat was moving. "Who started this craft against my orders?" he drowsily demanded, as he sat up. "I did," Tom retorted witheringly, "though I didn't hear your orders to the contrary." "You---Mr. Reade?" gasped the foreman, leaping to his feet. "Yes---and a fine fellow you are to trust!" Tom rejoined. "I leave you with very definite orders, and you go to sleep. Then there's another explosion out on the wall and you sleep right along." "Another explosion?" blurted Evarts, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "Here, let me have that wheel, sir. I'll have you out there quick!" "You've nothing more to do here," Tom answered, dryly, without yielding the wheel. "What do you mean by that?" Evarts cried quickly. "Can't you guess?" wondered Reade. "Mr. Reade means," said Conlon, who had come forward, "that we're fired---discharged." "Nonsense!" protested Evarts. "Conlon has guessed rightly, as far as you're concerned," Tom continued. "To-morrow, Evarts, you go to Mr. Renshaw and get your pay. As for you, Conlon, you're not discharged this time. Evarts admitted himself that it was he who gave positive orders to tie the boat up at anchor. You were under his orders, so I can't hold you responsible. Are you wide awake, now?" "Yes, sir," answered Conlon meekly. "Then go back and attend to your engine. Look sharp for hail or bell." "I guess you'll find you can't quite get along without me," argued Evarts moodily. "You'll find that you need me to manage some of the men you've got." "You're through with this job, as I just did you the honor to inform you," Tom responded quietly. "To-morrow Mr. Renshaw will pay you off up to date." "If I'm bounced, then you'll pay me for the balance of the month, anyway!" snarled the foreman defiantly. "You can't drop me without notice like that." "You'll be paid to date only," Tom retorted. "You've been discharged for wilful and serious neglect of duty, and you're not entitled to pay for the balance of the month." "All right, then," retorted the other hotly. "I'll collect my money through the courts. I'll show you!" "Just as you please," Reade replied indifferently. "But I imagine any court will consider seven dollars a day pretty large pay for a man who goes to sleep on duty." "See here, I'll---" "You'll keep quiet, Evarts, or you'll go overboard," Reade interrupted significantly. "I happen to know that you can swim, so I won't be bothered with you here if you insist on making a nuisance of yourself." Mr. Renshaw, having been relieved at the engine, now came forward. "Mr. Renshaw," directed the young chief engineer, "as soon after daylight as it is convenient for you you'll pay Evarts off in full to date and let him go. He threatens to sue if he is not paid to the end of the month, but if he wants to we'll let the courts do our worrying." "All right, sir," nodded the superintendent. Evarts had dropped into a seat just forward of the engine. He sat there, regarding Tom Reade with a baleful look of hate. "You're a success, all right, at one thing, and that's making enemies," muttered the discharged foreman under his breath. Besides attending to the wheel Tom now reached out with one hand and switched on the search-light, which he manipulated with one hand. Shortly he found the spot where the portion of the wall had been blown away by the first explosion. A hundred and fifty yards farther out he beheld the work of the second explosion. Some seventy-five yards in length was the new open space, where at least as much of the retaining wall as was visible above the water had been blown out. "Slow down, Cordon," ordered Tom. "All we want is headway." "All right, sir." Tom drifted in within a few feet of the former site of the retaining wall. The "Morton" moved slowly by, Tom, by the aid of the searchlight, noting the extent of the disaster. "Get back aft, Evarts," ordered the young engineer, turning and beholding the late foreman. "We don't want you here." For a moment or two it looked as though Evarts would refuse. Then, with a growl, he rose and picked his way aft. By this time the other men who had been in his gang were awake. They regarded their former foreman with no great display of sympathy. "I'll confess I'm mystified," muttered Tom, watching the scene of the latest explosion for some minutes after the engine had been stopped. "When daylight comes and we can use the divers we ought to know a bit more about how such a big blast is worked in the dead of night when the scoundrels ought to make noise enough to be heard. It must have been a series of connected blasts, all touched off at the same moment, Mr. Renshaw, but even such a series is by no means easy to lay. And then the blasts have to be drilled for, and then tamped." "As you say, sir," replied the superintendent, "a much clearer idea can be formed when we have daylight and the divers." Tom held his watch to one side of the searchlight. "Nearly two hours yet until daylight, Mr. Renshaw," he announced. "And, of course, it will be two or three hours after daylight before we can get the divers at work. A fearful length of time to wait!" "You'd better go back to the shore, sir," urged the superintendent. "Not while this boat needs to be run," objected Reade. "For the rest of the night I want a man here whom I can trust." "Will you trust me with the boat?" proposed the superintendent. "Why, of course!" "Then let me run back to the dock and put you ashore, Mr. Reade. After that I'll come out here and patrol along the wall until broad daylight." That was accordingly done. The "Morton" lay alongside the dock, and Nicolas instantly busied himself with casting off the rowboat and making her fast to the pier instead. Evarts sullenly remained in the boat. "Come on, Evarts," spoke Tom quietly. "Mr. Reade," expostulated the late foreman, "I'm not going to be thrown out of my job like this." "Which especial way of being thrown out do you prefer then?" Tom queried, dryly. "I'm not going to be put out of my job until I've had at least one good talk with you," insisted the foreman. "I'm afraid the time has passed for talking with you," Reade responded, turning toward the shore. "You lost a great chance, to-night, to serve the company with distinction, and your negligence cost the company a lot of money through the second explosion. Are you coming out of that boat---or shall I come back after you?" Evarts rose, with a surly air. He stepped slowly ashore, after which one of the crew cast off. The engine began to move, and the "Morton" started back to her post. "Oh, you feel fine and important, just at this minute!" grumbled the discharged foreman, under his breath, glaring wickedly at the broad back of the young chief engineer. "But I'll do something to take the importance out of you before very long, Tom Reade!" Truth to tell, Tom, though he was still alert to the interests of his employers, felt anything but important. The thought of Harry Hazelton's unknown fate caused a great, choking lump in his throat as Reade stepped from the pier to land. _ |
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