Read the book: «The Boy Pilot of the Lakes: or, Nat Morton's Perils», page 4

CHAPTER X
SAM SHAW APPEARS

The vessel had not come to a stop, before orders were hurriedly given to let go the anchor. The narrow escape had decided Captain Marshall that it would not be safe to proceed, and, as there was good holding ground not far from the rocks, he determined to lay-to until the fog lifted.

From the pilot-house came the captain, Mr. Weatherby, and Andy Simmon. The pilot was very much excited.

"Those were false lights, or else something is out of order with the machinery," he exclaimed. "The light on the point flashes once every five seconds. The next light, beyond the point, flashes once every fifteen seconds. This light flashed once every fifteen seconds, for Andy and I both kept count."

"That's right," said the assistant.

"And I calculated by that," went on the pilot, "that we were beyond the point, for I couldn't see anything but the light, and I had to go by that. I was on the right course, if that light was the one beyond the point, but naturally on the wrong one if that was the point light."

"And it was the point light," said the captain solemnly.

"It was, Mr. Marshall, and only for the lookout we would now be on the rocks."

"I can't blame you for the narrow escape we had," went on the commander. "Still – "

"Of course you can't blame me!" exclaimed the pilot, as though provoked that any such suspicion should rest on him. "I was steering right, according to the lights. There is something wrong with them. The lights were false. Whether they have been deliberately changed, or whether the machinery is at fault is something that will have to be found out. It isn't safe to proceed until morning."

"And that will delay me several hours," grumbled Mr. Marshall.

"I can't help that. I'll not take the responsibility of piloting the boat in this thick fog, when I can't depend on the lights."

"No, of course not," was the answer. "We'll have to remain here, that's all. Have the fog-horn sounded regularly, Mr. Bumstead," the captain added to the mate; and all through the night, at ten-second intervals, the great siren fog-whistle of the boat blew its melancholy blast. Nat found it impossible to sleep much with that noise over his head, but toward morning the fog lifted somewhat, and he got into a doze, for the whistle stopped.

Mr. Weatherby went ashore in the morning to make inquiries regarding the false lights. He learned that the machinery in the point lighthouse had become deranged, so that the wrong signal was shown. It had been repaired as soon as possible, and was now all right. But as the fog was gone and it was daylight, the ship could proceed safely without depending on lighthouses. Nat was up early, and had a good view of the point and rocks that had so nearly caused the destruction of the Jessie Drew.

Three days later, having made a stop at Cheboygan to take on some freight, the big ship was on Lake Huron. This was farther than Nat had ever been before, and he was much interested in the sight of a new body of water, though at first it did not seem much different from Lake Michigan.

They steamed ahead, making only moderate speed, for the freighter was not a swift boat, and on the evening of the next day they ran into Thunder Bay and docked at Alpena.

"Plenty of work ahead for you and me," said Mr. Dunn to Nat that night.

"How's that?"

"Well, we've got to break out a large part of the cargo and take on almost as much again. We'll be busy checking up lists and making out way-bills. You want to be careful not to make a mistake, as that mate will have his eye on you. It's easy to see he doesn't like you."

"And I don't like him," retorted Nat.

"I don't blame you. Still, do your best when he's around. I know you always do, though. Well, I'm going to get to bed early, as we'll have our hands full in the morning."

Nat also sought his bunk about nine o'clock, and it seemed he had hardly been asleep at all when six bells struck, and he had to get up.

That day was indeed a busy one, and Nat was glad when noon came and he could stop for dinner. He ate a hearty meal, and was taking a rest on deck, for the 'longshoremen and freight handlers would not resume their labors until one o'clock, when he saw coming up the gangplank a boy about his own age. The lad had red hair and rather an unpleasant face, with a bold, hard look about the eyes.

"Hey, kid!" the youth exclaimed on catching sight of Nat, "tell me where Mr. Bumstead hangs out. I want to see him quick. Understand?"

"I understand you well enough," replied Nat, who resented the unpleasant way in which the question was put. "You speak loud enough. I know what you mean. Mr. Bumstead is at dinner, and I don't believe he'd like to be disturbed."

"Oh, that's all right. He'll see me. He expects me. Now you show me where he is, or I'll report you."

"You will, eh?" asked Nat. "Well, I'm not in the habit of showing strangers about the ship. It's against orders. You can't go below until you get permission from the captain, mate or second mate."

"I can't, eh? Guess you don't know who I am," replied the red-haired youth with an ugly leer.

"No, and I don't care," retorted Nat, for his life about the docks had made him rather fearless.

"Well, I'll make you care – you'll see! Now, are you going to show me where I can find Mr. Bumstead? If you don't I'll make trouble for you."

"Look here!" exclaimed Nat, striding over to the stranger. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm not afraid of you, whoever you are. I'll not show you to Mr. Bumstead's cabin, as it is against the rules. You can't go below, either, unless the second mate, who's in charge of the deck now, says you can. He's over there, and you can ask him if you want to. Now, don't you say anything more to me or I'll punch your face!"

Nat was no milksop. He had often fought with the lads on the dock on less provocation than this, and, for the time being, he forgot he was on a ship.

"What's the row?" asked the second mate, who, hearing the sound of high voices, approached to see what the trouble was.

"Oh, here's a fresh fellow who wants to see Mr. Bumstead," replied Nat.

"He can't until after grub hour," said the second mate shortly. "What's your business, young man? Tell it, or go ashore."

"I want to see Mr. Bumstead," replied the red-haired lad more humbly than he had yet spoken, for the second mate was a stalwart man.

"What for?"

"Well, he expects me."

"Who are you?"

"I'm his nephew, Sam Shaw, and I'm going to make the rest of the trip with him. He invited me, and I'm going to be a passenger."

"Oh, so you're his nephew, eh?" asked the second mate.

"That's what I am, and when I tell him how that fellow treated me he'll make it hot for him," boasted Sam Shaw. "Now will you show me where Mr. Bumstead's cabin is?" he asked of Nat insolently.

"No," replied our hero. "You can ask one of the stewards. I'll have nothing to do with you," for Sam's threat to tell his uncle had roused all the spirit that Nat possessed.

"There's your uncle now," said the second mate as Mr. Bumstead came up the companionway.

"Hello, Uncle Joe!" called Sam; and as he went forward to meet his relative Nat went below. In spite of his bold words he was not a little worried lest Sam Shaw had come to supplant him in his position aboard the freighter.

CHAPTER XI
CAPTAIN MARSHALL IS ANGRY

News circulates quickly on a ship, and it was not long ere Nat heard from some of the crew that the mate's nephew had come aboard to finish out the voyage with his uncle. Sam Shaw was installed in a small stateroom near the mate's, and when the Jessie Drew resumed her way that afternoon the red-haired youth stood about with a supercilious air, watching Nat and the others at work.

"Is that all you've got to do?" asked Mr. Dunn, the purser, of Sam, as he saw the youth standing idly at the rail, when every one else was busy.

"Sure," replied Sam, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "I'm a passenger, I am. I'm making this voyage for my health. Maybe after a while I'll be an assistant to you."

"Not if I know it," murmured Mr. Dunn. "I like Nat, and I hope I can keep him. He's doing good work."

He passed on, for he had considerable to do on account of taking on a new cargo, while Nat, too, was kept busy.

"This just suits me," said Sam Shaw to himself as he leaned over the rail and looked down into the blue waters of the lake. "I'm glad Uncle Joe sent for me to join him. He said in his letter there might be a chance for me, after all, to get a place in the purser's office. I thought by that he must mean that Nat Morton was out, but he isn't. However, I'll leave it to Uncle Joe. He generally manages to get his own way. I guess I'll take that fellow Nat down a few pegs before I get through with him."

Sam had received a letter at his home in Chicago from his uncle, the mate, telling him to meet the Jessie Drew at Alpena. Sam had done so, as we have seen, and was now established aboard the vessel. But he was a little puzzled as to his uncle's plans.

Mr. Bumstead had said nothing further about providing a place for his nephew where the lad might earn money, and this was what Sam wanted more than anything else. He wanted an opening where there was not much work, and he thought Nat's position just about filled the bill. He did not know how hard our hero labored.

"Wait until I get in the purser's office," he mused as he puffed at his cigarette. "I'll soon learn all there is to know, and then I'll have my uncle see the captain and have me made purser. I don't like Mr. Dunn. When I get his job I'll take things easy, and have a couple of assistants to do the work. Maybe I'll let Nat be second assistant," he went on. "Won't I make him stand around, though!"

These thoughts were very pleasant to Sam Shaw. At heart he was a mean youth, and he was lazy and inefficient, faults to which his uncle was, unfortunately, blind. Mr. Bumstead thought Sam was a very fine boy.

In one of his trips about the deck, attending to his duties, Nat had to pass close to Sam. He saw the red-haired lad smoking a cigarette, and, knowing it was against the rules of the ship to smoke in that part of it where Sam was, he said:

"You'd better throw that overboard before the captain sees you."

"Throw what overboard?" asked Sam in surly tones.

"That cigarette. It's against the rules to smoke 'em here."

"What do I care?" retorted Sam. "My uncle is the mate."

"That won't make any difference if Captain Marshall sees you."

"I'm not afraid of him. My uncle owns part of the ship. He could be captain if he wanted to. I'll smoke wherever I please. Have one yourself?" he added in a burst of generosity, for since he had had his idea of becoming purser and having Nat for an assistant, Sam felt in a little more tolerant mood toward our hero.

"No, thanks, I don't smoke."

"Afraid of being sick, I s'pose."

"No, it isn't that."

"Afraid the captain will see you and punish you, then?"

"Well, that's part of it. I used to smoke when I was about the docks, but I found it didn't agree with me, so I gave it up. I like a cigarette, but I believe they're bad for one's health. Besides, if I did smoke, I wouldn't do it here. It's against the rules, I tell you, and you'd better stop."

"Well, I'm not going to, and you can go and tell Captain Marshall if you want to."

"I don't do things like that," replied Nat quietly, though he felt like punching Sam for his sneering tone. "But I'm advising you for your own good."

He turned away, and as he did so his coat, with an outside pocket showing conveniently open, was close to Sam's hand. Then a daring and mean scheme came into the mind of the red-haired youth.

"If I get into trouble, I'll make trouble for him, too," he thought, and with a quick motion he dropped into Nat's pocket a partly-filled box of cigarettes. "If he squeals on me I'll have something to tell on him," he continued.

Hardly had he done this than he was startled by an angry voice exclaiming:

"Throw that cigarette overboard! How dare you smoke on this deck? Don't you know it's against the rules? Go below at once and I'll attend to your case!"

Sam started guiltily, and turned to behold Captain Marshall glaring at him and at the lighted cigarette which the youth still held between his fingers. Nat, who had passed on only a few steps, turned likewise. One look at the commander's face told him Captain Marshall was very angry indeed.

"I told you that you'd better stop," Nat whispered to Sam.

"Aw, dry up!" was the ungracious retort. "I guess I can look out for myself."

"Look here," went on the captain, striding up to Sam, "didn't you know it was against the rules to smoke up here? I don't like cigarettes in any part of the ship, least of all up on this deck. Didn't your uncle tell you about it?"

"No – no, sir," replied Sam, who, in spite of his bravado, was startled by the angry manner of the commander.

"And didn't any one tell you that it was forbidden here? Didn't you tell him?" he asked, turning to Nat. "You've been here long enough to know that rule."

"I did know it, sir," replied Nat respectfully, "and I told – "

"He didn't tell me!" burst out Sam quickly. "He didn't say anything about it. In fact, Captain Marshall, he asked me to smoke here. He gave me the cigarette!"

"What!" exclaimed Nat, astonished beyond measure. "I never – "

"Yes, you did!" went on Sam quickly. "You gave me a cigarette out of a box you had in your pocket, I – I thought it was all right to smoke when he gave it to me."

"Is this true?" demanded the captain sternly.

"No, sir!" exclaimed Nat. "I haven't any cigarettes, and if I had I wouldn't give him any. I haven't smoked in over a year."

"He says you have a box in your pocket now," continued Captain Marshall, remembering his suspicions about the fire in the hold.

"He's telling an untruth," replied Nat quietly. "I don't carry cigarettes about with me. You can – "

"Then what's this?" asked the commander suddenly, as he stepped toward Nat, and plunging his hand in the lad's pocket he pulled out the box of cigarettes. The captain had seen a suspicious-looking bulge, and had acted on what he considered his rights as a commander of a vessel in searching one of his crew.

"Why – why – " stammered Nat. "I didn't know – "

"That's the box my cigarette came out of," said Sam, truthfully enough.

"It isn't mine!" exclaimed Nat.

"Then what's it doing in your pocket?" inquired Captain Marshall.

"I don't know, unless Sam put it there," said Nat firmly.

"That's a likely story! I don't believe you."

"I never put it there," declared Sam stoutly. Telling an untruth meant nothing to him.

"Then some one else, who wants to injure me, did it," declared Nat. "I never use cigarettes – I haven't for over a year."

"This will be looked into," said the captain. "One of you lads is telling an untruth, and I propose to find out who. When I do I shall take action. Meanwhile I'll hold these cigarettes as evidence. Don't let me catch either of you smoking again aboard this ship. As for you," he added, turning to Nat, "you've been idle long enough. Get on with your work."

CHAPTER XII
THE INVESTIGATION

Nat hardly knew what to make of the strange turn of events. It had happened so suddenly that he had no time to prepare himself. He was positive Sam had dropped the cigarettes into his pocket, but to prove it was another matter. He knew the mate would take the side of his nephew, while Nat had no one to stand up for him.

"Unless Mr. Weatherby does," he said to himself. "I guess I'll tell him about it."

"You leave it to me," said the pilot, when Nat had related his story. "I think we can easily prove that Sam Shaw is guilty. Don't worry. I'll stand by you."

Nat felt better after this, and went about his duties with a lighter heart. Nevertheless, he could not help being anxious when he received a message telling him to report to Captain Marshall's cabin.

"If you need any witnesses call on me," said the purser, as the boy went aft. "I saw Sam smoking before you joined him, and I'll testify to that effect."

"Thank you," said Nat. "I may need you. He tried to play a mean trick on me."

In the cabin Nat found assembled Mr. Bumstead and Sam Shaw, besides the commander of the ship, who, looking very stern, sat in a big chair behind the table.

"I wonder where Mr. Weatherby is?" thought Nat. "He said he'd stand by me. I hope he comes."

"There's no need to state the reasons why we are here," began the captain. "I'm determined to get at the bottom of this smoking business, and put a stop to it. Does your nephew smoke?" he asked, turning to the mate.

"I – er – I think he used to, but he told me he had given it up, I think he has. Haven't you, Sam?"

"Yes, Uncle Joe; but when Nat offered me one a while ago, I took it before I thought of what I was doing. I forgot I had promised you I wouldn't smoke any more."

"I never gave him a cigarette!" burst out Nat.

"That will do!" exclaimed the captain. "You'll have your chance later."

He placed the box he had taken from Nat's pocket on the table in front of him.

"Did you ever see that box before?" he asked of the mate. "Did you ever see your nephew have it?"

"No, sir."

"Is that your box of cigarettes?" the captain asked Sam.

"No, sir; it belongs to Nat," which was the truth, as far as it went, since Sam had mentally made Nat a present of it.

"So it's yours, then?" turning to Nat.

"No, sir, it is not!"

"Who is telling the truth here?" asked the puzzled captain.

"I am!" declared Sam quickly.

"You are not!" cried Nat. "I never owned that box."

"I found it in your pocket," declared the commander.

"Because he put it there."

"I have already said I don't take any stock in that story. What object would he have in doing that?"

"I don't know, but he did it."

"I'm sure my nephew would not do such a thing," said the mate. "I know Nat smokes, for I have seen him smoking about the dock when we had occasion to tie up there."

"I used to," admitted our hero, "but I gave it up. If you will call Mr. Dunn," went on Nat desperately, "I think he could give some evidence."

"What kind?" asked the captain sneeringly. "Did you make up some for him?"

"No, sir, but he says he saw Sam smoking before I passed him there on the deck, and warned him it was against the rules."

"Hum! Well, I suppose I'll have to send for him," which the captain did.

Mr. Dunn told how he had seen Sam smoking before Nat had occasion to go to that part of the deck where the mate's nephew was.

"Are you sure of this?" asked the mate sternly, before Captain Marshall had a chance to question Mr. Dunn. "Remember you are blackening a boy's character by what you say."

Now, unfortunately for Nat, it so happened that Mr. Dunn had what is termed a very "short" memory. He could recall matters distinctly for only a short time after they occurred, unless he made a note of them. That he had not done in this case. The mate saw his advantage, as the purser hesitated, and he pursued it.

"Wasn't it after you sent Nat to that part of the deck that you saw Sam smoking?" he asked. "Wasn't it after that?"

Mr. Dunn tried to recollect. His faulty memory went back on him, he hesitated and stammered, he became confused, and the outcome was he had to admit that he might have seen Sam smoking after Nat had met him. The result was he did Nat's cause more harm than good.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied with your witness," remarked the captain dryly. "I don't see that you've proved anything, whereas the box of cigarettes is very damaging evidence against you."

Nat questioned Mr. Dunn, seeking to have him recall exactly what had taken place, but the purser, much as he wanted to help his assistant, failed dismally.

"I am compelled to say I believe you gave Sam the cigarette," went on Captain Marshall, "and, much as I regret it, for I think you are a hard-working lad, I shall have to discharge you. You broke a very strict rule of the ship, one on account of which we might, in case of fire, lose all our insurance. It is too flagrant to pass over."

"Then you believe him instead of me?" asked Nat faintly.

"I must say that I do."

"But I never had those cigarettes."

"The evidence is against you. What object would Sam have in putting them into your pocket? That is a question you cannot answer satisfactorily."

"I believe he wanted to injure me because I got this place that his uncle wanted for him."

"Nonsense! I have a better place in view for my nephew," said the mate. "He will take it as soon as this voyage for his health is ended."

"As for traveling for his health, I wouldn't advise him to smoke any more cigarettes," remarked the captain dryly, "no matter who gives them to him."

"I'll not," promised Sam eagerly, congratulating himself on the success of his plot.

"No, I'll see that he does not," added his uncle.

Poor Nat did not know what to do or say. Mr. Dunn had slipped out of the cabin. The purser was sorry for what had happened, and most of all he regretted his inability to help Nat, for though he could not testify to it in a way to carry conviction, he was sure in his own mind of what had happened.

"Why doesn't Mr. Weatherby come?" thought Nat.

"You will be relieved of your duties in the purser's office," went on Captain Marshall. "Mr. Bumstead, will you, as a favor to me, allow your nephew to help Mr. Dunn for the remainder of the voyage?"

"Yes, sir. I think he will be glad to do it. Will you not, Sam?"

"Certainly," was the answer, and the red-haired youth did not try to conceal the satisfaction he felt.

"Then you may consider yourself discharged," said the commander to Nat. "I will put you ashore at the next port."

"What's that?" exclaimed a voice, and those in the cabin looked up to see Mr. Weatherby standing in the doorway. "Nat discharged! What's it all about? I tried to get here sooner, but I had to make up some records, and they took longer than I calculated. Is the investigation all over, captain?"

"It is, and I am sorry to say I had to decide against Nat. I believe he had the cigarettes and gave Sam some to smoke in that part of the ship where they are forbidden. I don't know that he smoked himself, but he might as well have done so as to induce another."

"I don't believe Nat did anything of the kind," said the pilot.

"I'm sorry I can't agree with you," responded the commander. "I have relieved him from his duties and put Sam temporarily in his place. He leaves the ship at the next port."

"He does, eh?" said Mr. Weatherby. "Then all I've got to say is that if he goes, I go too!"