CHAPTER VIII

THE CRASH IN THE FOG

STEVE was thrown flat on his face on the bridge, while Bob Jarvis doubled up, wedged into the forepeak of the boat on the deck below.

"Full speed astern!" roared the captain.

The chains of the pilot-house telegraph rattled ominously and the propeller, nearly six hundred feet aft of the bridge, began whirling the other way at tremendous speed.

"Hey! What--what--what's happened?" shouted Bob Jarvis. "Have we hit the shore?"

"Close the water-tight bulkheads!" commanded Captain Simms. The mate threw over the electric switch that gave the signal for the closing of all water-tight doors and bulkheads.

"Sound the general alarm!"

Gongs began to ring all over the ship.

"Order the engine and stoke room crews to stand by their tricks. I'll give them warning in time in case we have been badly hit."

The mate obeyed quickly and without a single lost motion. By this time Steve had leaped to his feet. Ahead of him, it seemed almost on top of them, loomed a great black hull. Lights shone dimly through the heavy pall of fog. He understood without having to be told what had happened. The "Wanderer" had come into collision with another ship, presumably the same one whose lights the bridge watch had been watching off to starboard earlier in the evening. Even in the excitement of the moment Rush did not understand how this thing could have happened, if the other boat had held to the courses she was on when he last saw the other boat.

"Make ready the lifeboats!" commanded the captain of the "Wanderer." Then, raising his megaphone to his lips, the master bellowed through it:

"Are you hard hit?"

"We have a hole punched in our side big enough for you to go through. Stand by until we can find out whether we'll float or not."

"Aye, aye, we'll stand by. We want to find out how much of a smash _we_ have got. Mr. Major, get down there and examine the nose of our boat, and see how much of a bang we got. It's lucky for us that we hit the other craft in the position we did."

The mate hurried down to where Bob was still on watch. Even after the crash had come, and he had picked himself up, Jarvis stuck to his post, though he believed the ship to be sinking. And, besides, Bob being right at the point of the collision, so close in fact that woodwork from the other boat showered over him in a perfect rain, got the full force of it. He was bruised and battered, he had lost his hat and he was greatly shaken up by the terrific impact.

The "Wanderer" had backed away to a safe distance, and the first mate was now making an examination of her wound.

"We've broken our nose off," he called up to the bridge.

"Is she taking in any water?"

"Yes, sir; but I think the bulkhead will hold it so we won't go down."

"Good! Ahoy, coal carrier there."

"Aye, aye," came the reply from the deck of the stranger.

"Who are you?"

"The 'James Macomber,' coal laden, bound for Shoal Island."

"Well, I must say you are doing some fine steering. What are you doing over here?"

"We got out of position in the fog."

"I should say you did. How are you?"

"Listing badly to port and settling by the stern."

"Better get your boats over while you have the time. Shall we put over a boat?"

"No; we can manage to get away if she goes."

"I tell you, you're going down! Get away while you've got the time."

"All right; stand by."

"Can I do anything, sir?" asked Steve.

"Yes; go aft and take two men with you. Take the boat and cast off. Lay well away from the ship and give me a hail, so I'll know where you are. Stand by and, mind you, don't drift away and get lost. We'll never pick you up in this fog if you do. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Order Jarvis up to the bridge."

"Bob, come up here. The captain orders you to take the bridge."

Steve ran down the ladder to the forward deck, then on down to the main deck, where all hands not otherwise engaged had assembled. They were leaning over the side peering into the darkness to see what had happened. Steve was beset by questions. He explained briefly what had happened, repeating the captain's orders for himself and two men to man the life-boat and put off to pick up any one needing assistance.

The second mate, then in charge of the deck, assigned two strong oarsmen to go with Rush. The latter was to be in charge of the boat, so the captain had said, though Steve was dubious about his ability to fill that office. Of course he was interested in boats, but he was much more familiar with drifts and levels than he was with navigation of the lakes.

"Man the boat," ordered the second mate.

The men took their places in the life-boat, which already had been hauled up ready for launching, the Iron Boy taking his place in the stern by the tiller.

"Are you ready?"

"All ready."

"Cast off!" came the hoarse command from the second mate.

Steve instinctively grasped the gunwales of the life-boat as the craft dropped toward the water. He thought the boat had broken loose from the davits and was falling into the sea, so swift was its descent. Yet he might have known from the sound of the groaning, creaking block and tackle that he and his companions were still safe.

The life-boat struck the water with a loud splash, rocking perilously as Steve, still gripping the sides, stood in a crouching position ready to jump should the boat tip over. Then the little craft righted itself, though it lay rising and falling, rolling and tossing perilously on the long lake swell. Rush had no idea that the water was so turbulent.

"Cast off!"

The two oarsmen quickly unhooked the blocks from the rings at the extreme ends of the small boat.

"Are you ready?" they asked.

"Yes," said Steve, though he was not certain whether he was ready or not. His mind worked with its usual quickness, however. He knew that he was expected to get off somewhere near the steamer "Macomber."

"Give way!" he commanded.

The sailors pushed the life-boat away from the side of the ship with their oars; then, placing the oars in the locks, fell to pulling steadily. Steve turned the tiller the wrong way the first thing. The nose of the life boat hit the hull of the "Wanderer" with such force as to throw the three men to the bottom of their boat.

"Lubbers!" bellowed the second mate from the deck of the ship. "What are you trying to do--run us down?"

Steve's face was burning with mortification. Fortunately the night was too dark for any one to see this.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded one of the oarsmen.

"I turned the tiller the wrong way," answered Rush truthfully. "Pull away."

The men growled as they fell to their oars once more. A few swift strokes and they were clear of their ship, Rush this time handling his tiller with more skill than before. He tried the rudder cautiously and found that it responded readily to the least movement of the tiller.

"Now I'm all right," he muttered. "That is if I don't run something else down."

Swinging out in a wide circle the lad steered around the bow of the "Wanderer," heading for the spot where he thought the distressed ship lay.

"Lifeboat there!" bellowed the captain through his megaphone.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Where you heading?"

"For the other ship."

"No you're not. You're heading for the shore. Pull to port a little more. There, that's better. Look where you are going, now."

The captain's tone was stern and commanding. Steve leaned well forward, peering into the thick fog ahead. He could not make out the other ship as yet, though he could hear the shouting and the hoarsely uttered commands on her deck. It was a scene such as he had never imagined before, and it thrilled Steve Rush through and through. He felt that he was ready for deeds of valor if he should only get the chance to perform them.

"Steady, men," the boy warned. "We must be near the other ship now. I can hear their voices more plainly. It is curious we can't see their lights, though."

"That's because of the fog, cap'n," volunteered one of the sailors at the oars.

"They're----"

"Look out! We're under the stern of the ship now!" cried Rush, throwing his tiller hard to port.

The life boat hit the stern of the ship, far down under her counter, with a resounding crash. There followed the sound of breaking woodwork, as the gunwale of the lifeboat crashed in. The little craft shipped a heavy sea, drenching all hands.

The sailors had dropped their oars and were preparing to jump.

"Sit down!" commanded the young skipper.

"We're sinking!"

"Well, if we are, let's get in a better place to do it. We don't want to be floundering in the water under the stern of this sinking ship, do we? Get to your oars and pull away!"

The Iron Boy's voice had assumed a tone of command. The men, recognizing that he was not alarmed, bent themselves to their oars and pulled quickly from their present dangerous position.

"Have we anything in the boat with which to bail it out?"

"No."

"Then we will sit in the water. I guess we can't be much wetter than we are."

The men grumbled.

"Lay to, till I find out how badly we are injured."

A brief examination of the side of the boat that had come in contact with the ship, showed that the gunwale had been smashed in, but the gash did not extend far enough down to place the little boat in great danger unless perhaps the sea rose high enough to wash over the side. As yet the lake was rolling lazily as is usually the case in a fog, for a breeze would quickly dispel the heaviest bank of fog and drive it away.

"We're all right," decided the young coxswain. "Pull around slowly."

Standing up in the stern of the life-boat with the tiller between his legs, Steve hailed the disabled ship.

"Ahoy, there!" he called.

"Ahoy! Who are you?"

"Life-boat from the 'Wanderer.' If you want any help, sing out."

"We'll need it all right."

"Are you sinking?"

"We don't know. We're settling some."

"Got much water aboard?"

"More'n we need to drink. Come in closer, so we can get you if we need to."

"How about your own boats?"

"Life boat smashed in the collision. Ship's raft is safe. That'll carry most of us, perhaps all of us, if necessary."

"Better get it ready, then, in case anything happens," advised the lad, who was rapidly becoming a seasoned sailor. "Pull in a little closer, boys, but look sharp because we may have to get out in a hurry, in case anything happens over there."

The boat drifted slowly in toward the injured ship. This time the little craft had worked around abeam of the coaler, the latter's lights showing dimly in the thick fog.

"Keep your siren going to warn off other ships, why don't you?" shouted Rush.

The suggestion was a good one. It was instantly acted upon by the master of the "Macomber." Then the "Wanderer" started her siren going, the hoarse voices of the whistles sounding dull and unreal through the fog.

Steve grinned appreciatively.

"At least I have made one good suggestion," he muttered. "There will be no excuse for any other ship hereabouts running into us. That would be a nice mess."

Suddenly there arose a commotion on board the damaged coaler. The shouts grew louder. The crash of a steel hatch falling into place could be heard here and there. A loud splash sounded between the life-boat and the ship.

"Somebody's overboard!" cried Steve. "Pull in!"

"Life-boat there!"

"Aye, aye!"

"We're sinking by the stern!"

"Pull in quick, lads!" commanded Steve Rush.