when the admiral had passed out of the breakwater into the lake, captain perkins called the first mate, gave him some instructions, and then descended from the bridge.
“i’ll show you your staterooms,” he said, as he joined the boys. “hey, some of you deck hands, fetch that dunnage this way!”
the members of the crew who had inspected ted and phil interestedly, because they had been brought to the boat by one of the owners, were even more impressed at the skipper’s words, for seldom does a captain escort passengers to their cabins, usually delegating the task to one of his mates, and several sprang to get the bags and packages.
the boys, however, were before them, and as they picked them up, phil said:
“we don’t wish to cause any bother, captain perkins.”
“you just bet we don’t. why, we even want you to let us work with the crew,” added ted, to whom so doing seemed more like a lark than real labour.
“we’ll see about that later,” smiled the skipper. “you deck hands, get busy sweeping the decks! on the jump now!” and when the sailors obeyed, he led the way to the staterooms in the bow.
“isn’t this ‘scrumptious’!” cried ted, as they entered a spacious cabin, finished in flemish oak, with silk-curtained windows, heavy carpet, two brass beds in lieu of the traditional bunks, tables, electric lights and fans, and comfortable lounging chairs. “i never imagined they had such cabins on anything but private yachts or ocean steamers.”
“every ore carrier has them nowadays for owners and their guests,” smiled the captain, adding with a tinge of bitterness which all lake skippers and sailors feel: “some day people will realize that lake boats are as important and require even more skill to handle than salt-water vessels. wait until we go up the detroit and st. mary’s rivers, then you will understand what i mean. why, a salt-water skipper would think he must have a fleet of tugs to do what is but a matter of daily routine with us. and a six-hundred-foot boat is no toy to handle in the storms, fogs, and ice we have, either. but maybe you’ll have the chance to see for yourselves. i’m going down to the engine room,—would you like to come?”
eagerly the boys accepted the invitation, glad to see all the working of the ship they could, but they did not know that the chief danger to the boat lay in the engine and boiler rooms from ignorance of the crew in regard to the machinery or from faulty firing, burning out the flues of the boilers, or dynamite in the coal.
as they descended the ladder into the engine room, they gasped at the heat, while the smell of oil almost sickened them and the clang of the engines made their heads throb.
in and out among the fast-moving machinery men, shirtless, their faces glistening with perspiration, crawled, long-nosed oil-cans in hand, from which they deftly poured the lubricant upon this or that joint or bearing or wiped a rod with waste.
“i don’t see what keeps them from being ground to pieces,” exclaimed phil, when they had stood for several minutes, fascinated by the sight.
“experience,” replied the captain, “but you can get an idea how necessary it is to have oilers who know their business.”
“how often do they crawl around that way?” inquired ted.
“all the time, practically. some bearings use more oil than others, and if one gets dry, it will weld and cause trouble.”
“but don’t they ever sleep?”
“oh, yes. we have two shifts, you know. each one works six hours and then rests six hours.
“ah, here comes mr. morris, the chief engineer.” and after introducing the boys, the captain asked: “men working all right?”
“all but one, swanson. i’ve had to follow him round.”
from the expression that settled on the skipper’s face, phil and ted realized the information was serious.
“green at the job?” inquired the captain.
“no, ugly.”
“send him to me in half an hour if he doesn’t get onto his job. anything else? how are the firemen doing?”
“all right, i reckon. i haven’t had time to go down on account of swanson.”
“why didn’t you send your assistant down?”
“he’s there, sir.” then turning to the boys, he said: “how do you think you would like to work down here?”
“i love machinery. i was building an airship at home. i know i should like it if it weren’t for the heat,” replied ted.
“if you think this is hot, just go down into the stoke hole,” smiled the chief. then, as there sounded a discordant note in the hum of the machinery, he darted away to learn its cause, while the captain led the way across the iron grating, which served as floor, to another ladder leading down to the boiler room.
as phil put his hand on one of the iron rungs, he drew it back hastily.
“phe-ew, but that’s hot!” he exclaimed, and, taking out his handkerchief, he used it to protect his hand as he descended—a precaution which his brother also adopted.
when at last the boys stood on the floor, they could scarcely breathe, so terrific was the heat from the furnaces, as men, stripped to the buff, jerked open the iron doors beneath the huge boilers and shovelled coal into the roaring flames or levelled the fires with long pokers.
while the captain was talking with a man whom the young passengers decided was the assistant engineer, they followed a line of men with great iron wheelbarrows through a door and found themselves in the coal bunkers.
the men returning with the empty barrows seized shovels and began to load, every now and then pausing to pick up a sledge-hammer and break up a huge chunk of the soft coal. and as fast as one was loaded, he pushed his barrow, staggering and swaying to meet the pitching of the boat, into the fire room.
“i don’t see how you can keep your feet,” exclaimed phil to one of the men.
“oh, this is nothing. you ought to see us when there is a storm and she’s pitching and rolling. then it is some trick to keep on your ‘pins.’ why, i’ve seen the time when i had my barrow dump four times in succession before i could get out of the bunkers, and the firemen yelling like indians for more coal. yah, this is nothing—after you get used to it.”
too fierce for the boys to linger long was the combination of heat and coal dust, and, choking and coughing, they returned to the boiler room.
“think you’d rather be a ‘coal passer’ than an oiler?” smiled the captain, but before either of his passengers could reply, he caught sight of a passer sneaking into the bunkers with a pail from which protruded a piece of ice. “hey, you, bring that pail here!” he shouted.
surlily the passer obeyed.
“don’t you know better than to take clear ice water in there?” demanded the skipper, sternly.
“we got to have something cold to drink,” growled the man.
“surely; i know that. but if you drink clear ice water in this heat, every passer in your watch will be yelling with cramps inside of half an hour.”
“oh, i’ll risk ’em,” retorted the fellow.
“well, i won’t. you just set that pail down here, jump up that ladder, go to the steward, and say i told him to give you three pounds of oatmeal.”
the captain’s manner was not one to brook delay or disobedience, and, muttering to himself, the passer went above, returning in due course with the oatmeal, which he gave to the skipper.
“now you can drink,” said the latter, emptying the oatmeal into the pail, where it quickly formed a thin, milky gruel, “without getting cramps. mr. peters,” and he turned to the assistant, “keep your eyes open to see that no clear ice water comes down here. pass the word that any man drinking clear ice water will be put in irons. i won’t have my passers knocked out on the very first day.”
the assistant started to deliver the order in the bunkers, when he was stopped by a frantic whistling at the speaking tube leading down from the engine room.
with a bound he reached it, the captain and the boys joining him.
“what is it?” he called.
while he listened for an answer, the chief fairly slid down the ladder.
“quick! draw the fire under number three! she’s almost out of water!” he yelled.
no need was there to tell the firemen that a boiler out of water, with a roaring fire underneath, would soon explode, probably foundering the ship, and while one leaped and threw open the door to the fire box, the assistant and the others seized long-handled iron rakes and pokers and pulled the seething mass of burning coal out onto the iron floor.
terrific before, as the boiler room was transformed into a glowing inferno, the heat became unbearable, and first one and then another of the firemen staggered back, gasping.
“get back on the job! the fire isn’t half out!” bellowed mr. morris, snatching a rake and springing to the task.
inspired by their chiefs example, the men obeyed, only to fall back again.
“above, there!” yelled the captain, going to the foot of the ladder, and as a face appeared at the hatch, he continued: “call the off watch. tell the second mate to form a bucket line and pass water down here. on the jump—if you don’t want to be blown to glory!”
gathering about the door of the bunkers, the coal passers stood, talking in whispers, then suddenly they rushed for the ladder.
captain perkins heard the patter of their feet and, divining their purpose, grabbed a bar, beat them to the ladder, faced them and swung the bar, shouting:
“back into your bunkers and load your barrows!”
the men, with sullen snarls, refused to obey, however, and several of them were sneaking to the back of the ladder, when from above a pail of water was dashed onto their heads.
surprised, they stopped, and before they recovered from the shock, the second mate was among them, kicking and cuffing them back to the bunkers.
“some one take these pails,” called a voice from the hatch above.
glad of the opportunity to be of some use, the boys sprang up the ladder and took positions from which phil could hand the pails to ted, who, in turn, passed them to the captain, and he threw their contents onto the heads, backs, and breasts of the chief and firemen who were working so desperately to rake out the fire.
the water, falling on the live coals, formed clouds of steam, but it revived the men and soon came the voice of the chief:
“belay the water! she’s raked out.”
