  When Helen left the close confines of the telephone booth after completing her call to the Associated Press she suddenly felt very weak and tired. “What’s the matter?” Tom asked. “I feel just a little faint,” confessed Helen. “Guess the excitement of getting the story and sending it in was a little too much.” “Take my arm,” her brother commanded. “We’ll go back to the restaurant and get a glass of milk and a sandwich and you’ll feel all right in a few minutes.” The food restored Helen’s strength and in less than half an hour she was her old self, ready to enjoy the Fourth of July celebration. Every boat from Rolfe increased the size of the crowd at Sandy Point. The speedboats dashed down the lake carrying their capacity of passengers, turned and sped back to the town for another load. The Queen sedately churned its way through the lake, its double decks jammed with humanity. As they stood on the beach Helen wondered if the old lake boat would come through the day without a mishap. Almost any small accident could throw the passengers into a panic and the capsizing of the Queen might follow if they rushed to one side of the flat-bottomed old craft. The Queen sidled up to the big pier at Sandy Beach and Capt. Billy Tucker stuck his white head out of a window in the pilot house and watched his passengers rush for the beach. “He’s in his glory on a day like this,” Tom said, “but it’s probably the last year for the Queen. The boat inspectors won’t dare pass the old tub next year no matter how much they like Captain Billy.” “What will he do if they don’t license the Queen?” asked Margaret. “Oh, he’ll get along all right,” said Tom. “Captain Billy has plenty salted away. It’s just that he loves the lake and the Queen.” The planes of the air circus were wheeling overhead and they left the beach and started for the air field. The attractions along the midway were gathering their share of the crowd and the mechanical band on the merry-go-round blared with great gusto. The ferris wheel was swinging cars loaded with celebrators into the tree-tops and the whip and other thrill rides were crowded. Beyond the midway was the large pasture which had been turned into a landing field. A sturdy wire fence had been thrown across the side toward the summer resort and it was necessary to have a pass or ticket to get through the gate. Two small stunt planes were taking off when the members of the Herald staff arrived and the three large cabin planes were being filled with passengers. Two of the planes carried eight passengers apiece while the largest, a tri-motor, could accommodate 12. They were sturdy, comfortable looking craft and Helen noticed that they appeared to be in the best possible condition. They presented their passes at the gate and were admitted to the field. “Speed” Rand, hurrying along toward the largest plane, caught sight of them. “Want to ride?” he called. The answer was unanimous and affirmative. A minute later they were seated in the 12-passenger plane in comfortable wicker chairs. The door was closed, the motors roared, they bumped over the pasture and then floated away on magic wings. The ground dropped away from them; the resort and the lake were miniatures bordered by the rich, green lands of the valley and at the far end of the lake, Rolfe, a handful of houses, basked. It was glorious, thrilling, and Helen enjoyed every minute. They swung over the lake where the speedboats were cutting white swaths through the water. They did not cross to the east side and Helen guessed that the pilots were afraid some passenger with unusually keen eyes might detect the remains of the plane Rand had damaged that morning. Then the trip was over. They drifted down to the field, the motor idling as they lost altitude. Helen sat absolutely rigid for a few seconds, wondering if the plane would land all right. The motors roared again, the nose came up and they settled to earth with little more than a bump. Rand greeted them when they stepped out of the plane. “Like it?” he inquired. “You bet,” said Tom enthusiastically. “Biggest thrill I ever had.” “How about you?” Rand asked Helen. “I loved every minute until we started to come down,” she smiled. “Then I wondered where we were going to stop and how, but everything came out all right and I really did enjoy it.” “Get your story in to the A.P.?” asked the flyer. “Just as soon as I could reach a telephone,” Helen replied. “The bureau chief appeared pleased.” “He should be,” chuckled Rand. “It seems like every place I’ve gone for the last month there’s been a reporter waiting to ask me questions about my world flight. Honestly, it got so I used to look under the bed at night for fear I might talk in my sleep and wake up in the morning to find a reporter had been hidden in my room.” Another flyer called Rand and the famous aviator slipped away through the crowd. It was the last they were to see of him and they turned and went back to the attractions of the midway. They tried every ride, the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel, roller skated, went bathing, listened to the band concert, munched hot dogs at irregular intervals and wound up the afternoon almost exhausted and ready to start for home. So were some other hundreds of people and they found it impossible to get a place in one of the speedboats. The Queen puffed majestically at her pier and Capt. Billy Tucker pulled twice on the whistle cord. Two long, mellow blasts echoed over the lake. The Queen would leave for Rolfe in five minutes. “Looks like we’ll have to take the Queen if we want to get home in any reasonable time,” said Margaret. Tom looked at the throngs waiting for the boats. “You’re right,” he agreed. “We won’t be able to get on one of the fast boats for at least two hours and I’m getting hungry. I saw mother putting some pie away in the ice box last night and there’ll be plenty of cold milk at home.” “Don’t,” protested Helen, “I’m so hungry now I’m hollow.” “Then let’s take the Queen,” urged Margaret. They bought their tickets and hurried onto the main deck of the old lake boat. “It will be cooler on top,” said Helen and they went up the broad stairs to the upper deck. Perched on this deck was the pilot house where Captain Billy ruled. He saw them and motioned them to join him. “Have a big celebration?” he asked when they entered the pilot house. “Finest ever,” said Margaret, “but we’re ready to call it a day and start home.” “Better set down on those benches,” said Captain Billy, motioning toward the leather-cushioned lockers which lined the walls of the pilot house. The veteran lake skipper leaned out of the pilot house, watching the crowd on the beach. The electric lights flashed on as twilight draped its purple mantle over the lake and the whole scene was subdued. The cries from the bathers were not as sharp, the music from the midway seemed to have lost some of its sharpness and the whole crowd of holiday celebrators relaxed with the coming of night. Captain Billy glanced at his watch. “Two minutes,” he said, half to himself as he reached for the whistle cord. Again the mellow whistle of the Queen rang out and belated excursionists hastened aboard. The ticket seller at the pier head sounded his final warning bell, and there was the last minute rush across the stubby gang plank. Captain Billy signalled the engine room, bells rang in the depths of the boat and the easy chouf-chouf of the twin stacks deepened as the engines took up their work and the Queen backed slowly away from the pier. Two men who had tarried at the midway too long ran down the pier and yelled at Captain Billy. The skipper picked up his megaphone. “Sorry, too late,” he shouted. “We’ll be back in two hours.” “Gosh-dinged idiots,” he grumbled to himself. “Here I wait as long as I can and then they expect me to put back in shore. Not me, by Joe, when I’ve got to make connections with one of them excursion trains.” “Have lots of business today?” asked Tom. “Biggest day in the twenty odd years I’ve had the Queen on the lake,” he chuckled. “The old girl is about on her last legs but this season looks like the best of all. If the paved road goes through they’ll all come in cars and the railroad and the Queen will be out of luck.” “But you’re not objecting to the paved road, are you?” asked Helen. “Course not,” he replied. “It’s progress and you can’t stop it.” The Queen, ablaze with lights, churned steadily up the lake and the electrics along the beach at Sandy Point faded into a string of dots. Speed boats, showing their red and green riding lights, raced past in smothers of foam but the Queen rocked only slightly as they passed and continued steadily on her way. The band on the after part of the top deck played slower, softer melodies and the whole scene was one of calm and quiet, a fitting end for a great celebration. Of all the people on the Queen, only Captain Billy in the pilot house and the crew in the black depths of the engine room were alive to the dangers of the night. They knew how anything unusual and startling might cause a panic which would capsize the Queen or how careless navigation on the part of Captain Billy might shove the Queen onto one of the jagged ledges of rock which were hazards to navigation in certain parts of the lake. But the Queen passed safely through the rock-strewn sections of the lake and Captain Billy relaxed as the lights of Rolfe came into view. The Queen was less than half a mile from her pier when the unexpected happened. A speed boat, without lights, loomed out of the night. Screams echoed from the lower deck. Before Captain Billy could twirl his wheel and shift the blunt nose of the Queen, the speed boat knifed into the bow of the old steamer. There was the crash of splintering wood, and muffled cries from the men and women in the smaller boat. Captain Billy knew the danger even before the boats met. The crash of the collision was still in their ears when he called to Tom. “Take the wheel,” he cried, “and keep the Queen headed for the beach. Don’t change the course.” Then he leaned over the speaking tube to the engine room. “Captain Billy speaking,” he shouted. “A speed boat just hit us. Full speed ahead until we ground on the sandy beach.” They could feel the Queen trembling as the crowd on the lower deck rushed forward toward the scene of the accident. “The fools, the fools,” muttered Captain Billy as he ran from the pilot house. The leader of the band ran forward. “Get back and play,” ordered the captain. “Play anything loud.” A deck hand, racing up from below, met Captain Billy at the head of the stairs. “They knocked a hole clear through us,” he gasped. “We’re taking water fast.” “Shut up,” snapped the captain. “Stay here and don’t let anyone off the upper deck.” The young people in the pilot house saw Captain Billy rush down the stairs and they looked at one another in open amazement. “He’s every inch a skipper,” said Tom as he clung to the wheel of the Queen. “I hope he pulls us through,” said Margaret, staring at the lights of Rolfe. A minute ago they had seemed so close; now they were so far away, the longest half mile any of them would ever know. “He’ll get us there if it is humanly possible,” Helen said hopefully. The crowd on the upper deck milled excitedly but the deck hand forced them back from the stairway and the steady playing of the band and continued forward movement of the Queen seemed to allay their worst fears. Sparks rolled from the twin funnels as the engines labored to the utmost but Tom, his hands on the sensitive wheel, knew that the speed was decreasing. The Queen was harder to handle, the bow was settling lower in the water but less than a quarter of a mile remained. He reached up and pulled the whistle cord. Three short, sharp blasts shattered the night. Three more and then three more. It was the signal for help but he wondered how many would be in Rolfe to answer the call. “How deep is the water from here in?” asked Helen. “About twenty feet,” replied her brother. “Better slip on those life preservers and get ready to jump. We’re taking water fast.” “There are several hundred in the lockers here,” said Helen. “I’m going to pass them out to the people on deck.” “It will only alarm them,” said Tom. “But they’ve got to have a chance if we go under,” replied Helen and with Margaret to help her, she hurled scores of life preservers out of the pilot house onto the deck. The passengers had lost their first panic. They knew the Queen was making a valiant fight to reach shore but the tenseness, the grimness of the crew told them it was going to be close. In the emergency they used their heads and put on the life preservers as fast as Helen and Margaret could pull them from the lockers. The lights of Rolfe were agonizingly close. Less than six hundred feet separated them from the safety of the sandy shore. On the upper deck the passengers were quiet, ready for the crisis. Tom leaned close to the speaking tube. The chief engineer was talking. “What’s he saying?” Helen demanded. “Water’s in the engine room,” replied her brother. “The fires under the boiler will be out in another minute or two. Then blewy!” “Isn’t there enough steam to make shore?” asked Margaret desperately, for after her experience on the lake earlier in the summer she had a very real fear of Dubar at night. “All we can do is hope,” replied Tom. “They’ll keep the engines turning over as long as there is any steam left.” The warning from the whistle was bringing people from town and they were gathering under the electrics along the beach. Helen wondered if they knew that death was riding on the bow of the Queen, that tragedy was waiting to swoop down on the old boat and its load of excursionists. The Queen staggered, wabbled dangerously, and the wheel jerked out of Tom’s hands. He grabbed the spokes and held the bow steady as the Queen stumbled ahead. They could see the faces of the people on the beach now, saw the look of horror that spread over them as they saw the stove-in bow of the Queen. There were only two hundred feet to go but they were still in deep water. The voice from the speaking tube rolled into the pilot house. “Steam’s gone!” On the echo of the words the steady beat of the engines slowed and it was only by clinging to the wheel with all of his strength that Tom held the Queen in to shore. The bow was almost even with the water now. They seemed to be plowing their way into the depths of the lake. Then the bow lifted and grated on the sand. The momentum carried the Queen forward, shivering and protesting at every foot it was driven into the beach. There was a wild scramble on the main deck, cries of relief and happiness as passengers by the score jumped into the knee deep water and ran for shore. The men, women and children on the upper deck hurried down the stairs while through it all the band kept up its steady blare, the crash of brass on brass and the constant thump, thump of the bass drum. The danger past, Tom stepped back from the wheel. His arms felt as though they had been almost pulled from their sockets, so great had been the strain of holding the Queen on its course. Helen and Margaret stripped off their life preservers and went down to the main deck with Tom. There they found Captain Billy and the crew of the Queen gathered at the bow of the boat. A great hole had been torn in the old steamer’s hull by the speed boat and Tom marveled that they had been able to make shore. “Why didn’t we sink out in the lake?” he asked Captain Billy. “Guess we might have,” smiled the captain, “but we managed to hold the speed boat in the hole it had made until we were most to shore. Otherwise we’d have filled and gone down inside a couple of minutes after they hit us.” A decidedly sheepish young man broke through the group and faced Captain Billy. “I’m the owner of the boat that hit you,” he explained. “We were going to see how close we could come and one of the girls in the boat tickled me and I swung the wheel the wrong way.” “You almost swung about four hundred people into the lake,” Captain Billy reminded him tartly. “I’m terribly sorry,” replied the owner of the speed boat, “and I’m decidedly grateful to you for fishing us out of it after we hit you. I’m Maxfield Hooker of Cranston and I’ll be glad to pay for all of the damage to your boat.” “We’ll talk about that later,” said Captain Billy. “I’ve got to see that those excursionists all make their trains.” “Did you get that?” said Tom as he nudged Helen. “Maxfield Hooker of Cranston, son of the multi-millionaire soap manufacturer. Captain Billy can have a new Queen if he wants one.” “My guess is that he won’t want one,” said Helen. “After all, the Queen has had a long and useful career and she certainly proved herself in the emergency tonight.” Captain Billy made sure that all of the excursionists were safely off the boat and that done, he came back to where Tom, Helen and Margaret were standing. “I’ve a great deal to be thankful for,” he told them. “It was only through the nerve and calmness of the crew and such as you three that the Queen pulled through. Tom, I’m eternally grateful to you for sticking in the pilot house and to you girls for having the presence of mind to pass out the life preservers.” Before they could reply Captain Billy turned and hastened up to the pilot house. Tom started to follow but Helen stopped him. “Don’t go,” she said. “He wants to say good-bye to the Queen.” |
|
