Throughout the luncheon that followed aboard the yacht the major was the life of the party. He had offered no apology either to Sanford or to any member of the committee for his hasty conclusions regarding the “damnable oligarchy.” He considered that he had wiped away all bitterness, when, rising to his feet and rapping with the handle of his knife for order, he said with great dignity and suavity of manner:—

“On behalf of this queen among women,” turning to Mrs. Leroy, “our lovely hostess, as well as these fair young buds”—a graceful wave of his hand—(some of these buds had grandchildren) “who adorn her table, I rise to thank you, suh,”—semi-military salute to General Barton,—“for the opportunity you have given them of doing honor to a gentleman and a soldier,”—a double-barreled compliment that brought a smile to that gentleman’s face, and a suppressed ripple of laughter from the other members of the committee.

In the same generous way he filled his own and everybody else’s bumper for Sanford out of the bowl that Sam had rendered innocuous, addressing his friend as that “young giant, who has lighted up the pathway of the vasty deep.” To which bit of grandiloquence Sanford replied that the major was premature, but that he hoped to accomplish it the following year.

In addition to conducting all these functions, the Pocomokian neglected no minor detail of the feast. He insisted upon making the coffee after an especial formula of his own, and cooled in a new way and with his own hands the several cordials banked up on Sam’s silver tray. He opened parasols for the ladies and champagne for the men with equal grace and dexterity; was host, waiter, valet, and host again; and throughout the livelong day one unfailing source of enthusiasm, courtesy, and helpfulness. With all this be it said to his credit, he had never overstepped the limits of his position, as High Rubber-in-Chief,—his main purpose having been to get all the fun possible out of the situation, both for himself and for those about him. These praiseworthy efforts were not appreciated by all of the guests. The general and the committee had several times, in their own minds, put him down for a charlatan and a mountebank, especially when they deliberated upon the fit of his clothes, and his bombastic and sometimes fulsome speeches.

All these several vagaries, however, of the distinguished Pocomokian only endeared him the more to Sanford and his many friends. They saw a little deeper under the veneer, and knew that if the major did smoke his hostess’s cigars and drink her cognac, it was always as her guest and in her presence. They knew, too, that, poor and often thirsty as he was, he would as soon have thought of stuffing his carpet-bag with the sheets that covered his temporary bed as of filling his private flask with the contents of the decanter that Buckles brought nightly to his room. It was just this delicate sense of honor that saved him from pure vagabondage.

When coffee and cigars had been served, the general and his party again crossed the gangplank to the tender, the mooring-lines were thrown off, and the two boats, with many wavings of hands from yacht and Ledge, kept on their respective courses. The tender was to keep on to Keyport, where the committee were to board the train for New York, and the yacht was to idle along until sundown, and so on into Medford harbor. Captain Joe and Caleb were to follow later in the tug that had towed out the Screamer, they being needed in Keyport to load some supplies.

As the tender steamed away the men on the Ledge looked eagerly for Carleton, that they might give him some little leave-taking of their own,—it would have been a characteristic one,—but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Buried up in the coal bunkers, jes’ ’s I said,” laughed Lonny Bowles.

With the final wave to the fast disappearing tender of a red handkerchief, the property of the major, returned by the general standing in the stern of his own boat, Mrs. Leroy’s party settled themselves on the forward deck of the yacht to enjoy the afternoon run back to Medford.

The ladies sat under the awnings, where they were made comfortable with cushions from the saloon below, while some of the men threw themselves flat on the deck cushions, or sat Turkish fashion in those several sprawling positions only possible under like conditions, and most difficult for some men to learn to assume properly. Jack Hardy knew to a nicety how to stow his legs away, and so did Sanford. Theirs were always invisible. Smearly never tried the difficult art. He thought it beneath his dignity; and then again there was too much of him in the wrong place. The major wanted to try it, and no doubt would have done so with decorum and grace but for his clothes. It was a straight and narrow way that the major had been walking all day, and he could run no risks.

Everything aboard the yacht had been going as merry as a marriage or any other happy bell of good cheer,—the major at his best, Smearly equally delightful, Helen and Jack happy as two song-birds, and Mrs. Leroy with a joyous word for every one between her confidences to Sanford, when just as the gayety was at its height a quick sharp ring was heard in the engine-room below. Almost at the same instant one of the crew touched Sanford on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

Sanford sprang to his feet and looked eagerly toward the shore.

The yacht at the moment was entering the narrow channel of Medford harbor, and the railroad trestle and draw could be plainly seen from its deck. Sanford’s quick eye had instantly detected a break in the sky-line. The end of the railroad track placed on the trestle, and crossing within a few hundred feet of Mrs. Leroy’s cottage, was evidently twisted out of shape, while across the channel, on its opposite end rested an engine and two cars, the outer one derailed and toppled over. On the water below were crowded every conceivable kind of small boat hurrying to the scene, while the surrounding banks were black with people watching intently a group of men on board a scow, who were apparently trying to keep above water a large object which looked like a floating house.

Something serious had evidently happened.

A panic of apprehension instantly seized the guests on the yacht. Faces which but a few moments before had been rosy with smiles became suddenly anxious and frightened. Some of the ladies spoke in whispers; could it be possible, every one asked, that the train with General Barton and the committee on board had met with an accident?

Sanford, followed by Mrs. Leroy, hurried into the pilot-house to search the horizon from that elevation and see the better. One moment’s survey removed all doubt from his mind. A train had gone through the draw; whether passenger or freight he could not tell. One thing was certain: some lives must be in danger, or the crowd would not watch so intently the group who were working with such energy aboard the rescuing scow. At Sanford’s request three quick, short bells sounded in the engine-room below, and the yacht quivered along her entire length as she doubled her speed. When she came within hailing distance of the shore a lobster fisherman pulled out and crossed the yacht’s bow.

“What’s happened?” shouted Sanford, waving his hat to attract attention.

The fisherman stopped rowing, and the yacht slowed down.

“Train through the draw,” came the answer.

“Passenger or freight?”

“’T ain’t neither one. It’s a repair train from Stonin’ton, with a lot o’ dagos an’ men. Caboose went clean under, an’ two cars piled on top.”

Sanford breathed freer; the Board were safe, anyhow.

“Anybody killed?”

“Yes. Some says six; some says more. None in the caboose got out. The dagos was on the dirt-car an’ jumped.”

The yacht sped on. As she neared the railroad draw Jack took Helen’s hand and led her down into the cabin. He did not want her to see any sight that would shock her. Mrs. Leroy stood by Sanford; the yacht was her house, so to speak; some one might need its hospitality and shelter, and she wanted to be the first to offer it. The same idea had crossed Sanford’s mind.

“Major,” said Sanford, “please tell Sam to get some brandy ready and bring some of the mattresses from the crew’s bunks up on deck; they may be useful.”

A voice now hailed Sanford. It came from the end of the scow nearest the sunken house, now seen to be one end of a caboose car. “Is there a doctor aboard your yacht?”

“Yes, half a one. Who wants him?” called Smearly, leaning over the rail in the direction of the sound.

“We’ve got a man here we can’t bring to. He’s alive, but that’s all.”

The yacht backed water and moved close to the scow. Sanford jumped down, followed by Smearly carrying the brandy and the major with a mattress, and ran along her deck to where the man lay. The yacht kept on. It was to land the ladies a hundred yards away, and then return.

“Hand me that brandy, quick, major!” exclaimed Smearly, as he dropped on one knee and bent over the sufferer, parting the lips with his fingers and pouring a spoonful between the closed teeth. “Now pull that mattress closer, and some of you fellows make a pillow of your coats, and find something to throw over him when he comes to; it’s the cold that’s killing him. He’ll pull through, I think.”

Smearly’s early training in the hospital service while making sketches during the war had more than once stood him in good stead.

The major was the first man in his shirt-sleeves; Leroy’s commodore coat was beginning to be of some real service. Two of the scow’s crew added their own coats, and then ran for an army blanket in the cabin of the scow. The sufferer was lifted up on the mattress and made more comfortable, the coats placed under his head, the army blanket tucked about him.

The injured man gave a convulsive gasp and partly opened his eyes. The brandy was doing its work. Sanford leaned over him to see if he could recognize him, but the ooze and slime clung so thickly to the mustache and closely trimmed beard that he could not make out his features. He seemed to be under thirty years of age, strong and well built. He was dressed in a blue shirt and overalls, and looked like a mechanic.

“How many others?” asked Sanford, looking toward the wreck.

“He’s the only one alive,” answered the captain of the scow. “We hauled him through the winder of the caboose just as she was a-turnin’ over; he’s broke something, some’ers, I guess, or he’d ’a’ come to quicker. There’s two dead men under there,” pointing to the sunken caboose, “so the brakeman says. If we had a diver we could git ’em up. The railroad superintendent’s been here, an’ says he’ll send for one; but you know what that means,—he’ll send for a diver after they git this caboose up; by that time they’d be smashed into pulp.”

The yacht had now steamed back to the wreck with word from Mrs. Leroy to send for whatever would be needed to make the injured man comfortable. Sam delivered the message, standing in the bow of the yacht. He had not liked the idea of leaving Sanford, when the yacht moved off from the scow, and had so expressed himself to the sailing-master. He was Sanford’s servant, not Mrs. Leroy’s, he had said, and when people were getting blown up and his master had to stay and attend to them, his place was beside him, not “waitin’ on de ladies.”

With the approach of the yacht Sanford looked at his watch thoughtfully, and raising his voice to the sailing-master, who was standing in the pilot-house, his hand on the wheel, said: “Captain, I want you to tow this scow to Mrs. Leroy’s dock, so a doctor can get at this wounded man. He needs hot blankets at once. Then crowd on everything you’ve got and run to Keyport. Find Captain Joe Bell, and tell him to put my big air-pump aboard and bring Caleb West and his diving-dress. There are two dead men down here who must be got at before the wrecking train begins on the caboose. My colored boy, Sam, will go with you and help you find the captain’s house,—he knows where he lives. If you are quick you can make Keyport and back in an hour.”