Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
cover of The Boy Pilot of the Lakes by Frank V.Webster]
"SAM FELL INTO THE WATER."--Page 110.]
The Boy Pilot of the Lakes
Or
Nat Morton's Perils
BY FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "BOB THE CASTAWAY," "TOM THETELEPHONE BOY," "THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORKCUPPLES & LEON COMPANYPUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR BOYS
By FRANK V. WEBSTER
12mo. Illustrated. Bound in cloth.
ONLY A FARM BOY, Or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life TOM THE TELEPHONE BOY, Or The Mystery of a Message THE BOY FROM THE RANCH, Or Roy Bradner's City Experiences THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER, Or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska BOB THE CASTAWAY, Or The Wreck of the Eagle THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE, Or Herbert Dare's Pluck THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS, Or Who Was Dick Box? THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES, Or Nat Morton's Perils TWO BOY GOLD MINERS, Or Lost in the Mountains JACK THE RUNAWAY, Or On the Road with a Circus
_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_
Copyright, 1909, byCUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I NAT SAVES A BOAT 1 II A CRY FOR HELP 12 III NAT'S BRAVE RESCUE 18 IV GETTING A JOB 26 V NAT IN TROUBLE 35 VI AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY 42 VII NAT HAS AN ACCIDENT 51 VIII IN THE PILOT HOUSE 59 IX A NARROW ESCAPE 67 X SAM SHAW APPEARS 74 XI CAPTAIN MARSHALL IS ANGRY 81 XII THE INVESTIGATION 88 XIII MAKING A CHANGE 95 XIV A BLOW AND A RESCUE 103 XV NAT HEARS SOME NEWS 113 XVI JUST TOO LATE 120 XVII PLANNING A CAPTURE 127 XVIII NAT'S PLUCKY PILOTING 135 XIX THE ACCUSATION 146 XX OFF AGAIN 152 XXI NAT INTERVENES 159 XXII AFTER BUMSTEAD 166 XXIII BUMSTEAD ESCAPES 173 XXIV IN A COLLISION 182 XXV BUMSTEAD'S ARREST--CONCLUSION 192
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Sam fell into the water." frontispiece"He fell to the floor of the hold" 58"The storm enveloped the vessel" 142"Shoot, then!" cried the mate 180
The Boy Pilot of the Lakes
CHAPTER I
NAT SAVES A BOAT
"There's a rowboat adrift!" exclaimed one of a group of men who stoodon the edge of a large pier at Chicago's water front.
"Yes, and the steamer will sure smash it," added another. "She'sheaded right for it! It's a wonder folks wouldn't learn to tie theirboats secure. Whose is it?"
"I don't know. It's a good boat, though. Pity to see it knocked intokindling wood."
"That's right."
The pilot of the big freight steamer, which was approaching her dockafter a voyage down Lake Michigan, also saw the drifting boat now,and, doubtless thinking some one was in it, he pulled the whistle wiresharply. A hoarse blast from the steamer's siren came across thewater. The signal was one of alarm.
At the sound of it a boy, who had been sitting on a box at the edge ofthe wharf, idly swinging his bare feet to and fro, looked up. He was alad about fifteen years old, with brown eyes and a pleasant face.Though clean, his clothes--what few he had on--were very much patched.
"Something's the matter," said the lad. "Something in the path of thesteamer, I guess," for he had been around the lake front so constantlythat he was a regular water-rat, and he knew what every whistle signalmeant.
As the boy glanced out to where the steamer was he saw the rowboat,almost in the path of the big vessel, for the pilot of the freighterhad shifted his wheel to avoid a collision, though changing his coursemeant that he could not make as good a landing as he had expected.
"Why, that rowboat's going to be smashed!" the boy exclaimed,repeating the general opinion of the crowd. "The steamer can't get upto the bulkhead without grinding it to pieces. There! He's reversing!"
As he spoke there came across the narrow expanse of water the sound ofbells from the engine-room--bells that indicated, to the practiced earof the lad, the signal for the engineer to back the freight steamer.
"That boat's worth saving," the boy murmured as he jumped off the boxand went closer to the end of the pier. "I'm going to do it, too.Maybe I'll get a reward."
He lost no time in useless thinking, but, throwing off his coat withone motion and divesting himself of his trousers by another, he poisedhimself for an instant on the stringpiece of the pier, clad in hisundergarments.
"Here! What you going to do?" yelled a special officer who wasdetailed on the pier. "Nobody allowed to commit suicide here!"
"Who's going to commit suicide?" demanded the boy. "I'm going afterthat rowboat."
"The steamer'll run you down!"
"Not much! Didn't you hear the reverse signal?"
The officer had, but he did not know as much about boats and theirsignals as did Nat Morton, which was the name of the lad about to leapinto the lake.
In fact, the big steamer, which had slackened speed on approaching thepier, was now slowly backing away. The action of the wind, however,and the waves created by the propeller, operated to send the rowboatnearer to the large vessel.
With a splash Nat Morton dived into the lake, cleaving the watercleanly. When he shot up to the surface a few seconds later he wasconsiderably nearer the boat, for he had swum under water as far as hecould, as it was easier and he could go faster. Few tricks in theswimming or diving line were unknown to Nat Morton.
"That's a plucky lad," observed one man to another.
"Indeed he is," was the reply. "Who is he?"
"I don't know much about him, except I see him along the lake andriver front every time a steamer comes in. What he doesn't know aboutboats and the docks isn't worth knowing. They say he can tell almostany of the regular steamers just by their whistles, before they can beseen in a fog."
"Well, he's a good diver, anyhow. Guess he'll save that boat, allright. It's a nervy thing to do. He ought to get a reward."
"So he had, but I don't suppose he will. Probably some sailor tied hisboat up while he went ashore, and the knot slipped. He'll never givethe boy anything."
"Look! He's almost at her now."
"So he is. Say, but he's a swift swimmer. I never saw any one whocould beat him."
"Me either. There! He's in the boat and he's rowing her out of theway."
"That's right, and the crowd on the steamer is cheering him. Guessthat pilot's mad enough to chew nails. It'll take him ten minuteslonger to dock now, on account of that rowboat getting in his way."
"Lots of pilots would have run right in, and not cared whether theysmashed the boat or not," said a third man, joining in theconversation.
"So they would, but John Weatherby isn't that kind. He's one of thebest
and most careful pilots on the lake, but he's getting old.Perhaps that's what makes him so careful."
"Maybe; but now the steamer's coming in. The boy has the boat out ofthe way. I've got to get my team. I'm expecting a big load this trip."
"So am I," added the other two men, who were teamsters and freighthandlers. They separated to get ready for the unloading of the cargo,which would soon follow the docking of the steamer, that was nowproceeding again after the delay caused by the drifting boat.
In the meanwhile, Nat Morton had climbed into the small craft, andfinding a pair of oars under the seats, was propelling it toward afloat from which it had drifted. He had paid little attention to thecheers of the crew of the freighter, who in this way showed theirappreciation of what he had done. Nat was anxious to find the owner ofthe boat, for he had in mind a possible reward.
As he reached the float he saw a young man hurrying down the inclinedgangplank that led to the top of the bulkhead. The youth seemedexcited.
"Here! What are you doing in my boat?" he cried. "Get out of it rightaway! I thought some of you dock-rats would try to steal it if I leftit alone an hour or so."
"Oh, you did, eh?" asked Nat as he stepped out on the float. "Well,you're mistaken. Next time you want to learn how to tie a knot thatwon't slip when you leave your boat, if you don't want it knocked intokindling wood by a steamer."
"Tie a knot! Smash the boat! Why--why--you're all wet!" exclaimed theother.
"Shouldn't wonder," observed the boy calmly. "The Chicago River isn'texactly dry at this time of the year."
He finished tying the boat, making a regular sailor's knot, and thenstarted up the gangplank. Clearly he might expect no reward from thisman.
"Hold on a minute," said the owner of the boat.
"I'm in a hurry," replied Nat, "I want to get my clothes. They're upon the pier, and somebody might take a notion to walk off with 'em.Not that they're worth an awful lot, but they're all I have. Guessyou'll have to excuse me."
"Going for your clothes? I don't exactly understand."
"He jumped off the dock and got your boat, which went adrift right inthe course of that steamer," explained a 'longshoreman who hadlistened to the conversation and who had seen what Nat did. "Pluckything it was, too. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have anyboat now."
"Is that so? I didn't understand. I thought he was trying to steal myboat."
"Steal your boat? Say, you don't belong around here, do you?"
"No. My father is the owner of a small steam yacht, and I am taking atrip with him. This is the first time I was ever in Chicago. The yachtis tied out there, beyond some other vessels, and I took this boat andcame ashore a while ago to see the sights. When I came back I saw thatboy in my boat."
"Humph!" murmured the 'longshoreman as he turned away. "You want totake a few lessons in tying ropes. That boy did you a good service."
"I see he did, and I'm sorry I spoke the way I did. I'll give him areward."
By this time Nat was up on the pier from which he had jumped. He foundhis clothes, and put them on over his wet undergarments. The day washot, and he knew the latter would soon dry.
Besides, he was used to being wet half the time, as he and other ladsof his acquaintance frequently dived off the stringpiece and swamaround in the lake. So when the owner of the rescued rowboat lookedfor the boy he could not see him. But he determined to make up for hisunintentional rudeness, and so went after Nat.
He found the boy with a number of others crowded about the entrance tothe freight office.
"May I speak to you a few moments?" asked the young man.
"Guess you'll have to excuse me," replied Nat. "I'm busy."
"What doing?"
"I'm waiting for a job. I may get one helping carry out some lightfreight, and I need the money."
"How much will you get?"
"Oh, if I'm lucky I may make a dollar."
"I'll give you more than that for saving my boat. I want to explainthat I didn't understand what you had done when I spoke so quickly."
"Oh, that's all right," said Nat good-naturedly. "But if you're goingto give me a dollar I guess I can afford to quit here," and he steppedout of the line, the gap immediately closing up, for there were manyin search of odd jobs to do about the dock whenever a steamer came in.
"Here are five dollars," went on the young man, producing a bank bill.
"Five dollars!" exclaimed Nat. "Say, mister, it ain't worth allthat--saving the boat."
"Yes, it is. That craft cost my father quite a sum, and he would haveblamed me if she had been smashed. I'm much obliged to you. I'm sorryI thought you were stealing her, but it looked----"
"Forget it," advised Nat with a smile. "It's all right. I'll saveboats for you regularly at this price."
"Do you work around the docks--er----"
"My name's Nat Morton," said the lad.
"And mine is John Scanlon," added the other, and he explained how hehad come to leave his boat at the float. "I don't know that I willhave any more boats to save, as my father's yacht will soon be leavingfor Lake Superior. Wouldn't you like a place on her better than yourregular job?"
"My regular job? I haven't any. I do whatever I can get to do, andsometimes it's little enough."
"Where do you live?"
"Back there," replied Nat with a wave of his hand toward the tenementdistrict of Chicago.
"What does your father do?"
"I haven't any. He's--he's dead." And Nat's voice broke a little, forhis loss had been a comparatively recent one.
"I'm sorry--I beg your pardon--I didn't know----"
"Oh, that's all right," said Nat, bravely keeping his feelings undercontrol. "Dad's been dead a little over two years now. He and I livedpretty good--before that. My mother died when I was a baby. Dad wasemployed on a lumber barge. He had a good job, and I didn't have towork when he was alive. But after he was lost overboard in a stormone night, that ended all my good times. I've been hustling for myselfever since."
"Didn't he have any life insurance, or anything like that?"
"Not that I know of. I remember he said just before he went on--on hislast trip--he told me if it turned out all right he'd have a nice sumin the bank, but I never heard anything about it. They found his body,but there was no money in the clothes, nor any bank books."
"That's too bad. How do you get along?"
"Oh, I make out pretty well. I live with a Mr. William Miller and hiswife. They're poor, but they're good to me. He's a 'longshoreman, andhe works around the docks. I do, too, whenever there is any work to behad, and I manage to make a living, though it isn't very much of aone."
"No, I presume not. Perhaps if I speak to my father he might give youa position on his boat."
"I'm much obliged to you," replied Nat. "I like boats and the water.I'd like to be a pilot."
"I'm afraid dad couldn't give you that job," answered young Mr.Scanlon. "We have a good pilot."
"And I don't want to leave the Millers," added the boy. "They've beengood to me, and I want to pay them back. But isn't that some onecalling you?"
He pointed to a figure down on the float, where the boat was tied.
"Yes. That's the mate of my father's steam yacht. Probably father senthim for me. Well, I'll have to say good-by. I hope I'll see youagain."
"I hope so, too, especially if you have any more boats you want saved.I'm afraid five dollars is too much."
"Not a bit. Take it and welcome."
"It's more than I could earn in a week," went on Nat as he carefullyfolded the bill and placed it in his pocket. "All the same, I thinkI'll try for a job here now. It looks as if they needed lots of hands,because the boat is late."
Bidding John Scanlon good-by Nat turned back to the freight office, infront of which there was now only a small throng looking foremployment.