Part 19 (2/2)
So much depended on the new motor and many other sailing details impossible to think of at the time.
Captain Marianna only claimed to be a navigator, but he displayed considerable knowledge about gasoline motors. He had attended to the many details and was waiting for us with a confidence that was rea.s.suring.
After breakfast aboard, we all took a hand in starting the motor.
”It runs as though made for the job,” exclaimed Hiram, hardly able to contain himself. He had not shaved for several days and with dirty working clothes he looked indeed a longsh.o.r.eman, but was oblivious to the fact.
When the motor had run long enough to get warm I told him to throw in the clutch that started the propeller, which he did without skill and so suddenly that the _Fearsome_ took up the slack of her lines and before I could stop the motor or get to the clutch she snapped them and was free from the wharf.
Hiram realized he had blundered from inexperience and his face flushed.
”Ben, will that hold us up? It was a devil of a thing for me to do,” he said, catching my arm, greatly alarmed.
”Captain, have you plenty of line aboard?” I called.
”Yes, plenty,” he a.s.sured.
”Let's give her a few turns and if she moves all right we'll head for the entrance of the lake.”
”I think we're safe in that,” he replied, and Hiram's look changed to one of confidence at once, evidently concluding his first blunder was not fatal to the enterprise in which his whole soul was wrapped.
The captain took the wheel, while I gave the motor half speed and Hiram stood in wonder, watching as we moved swiftly up the ca.n.a.l, and when clear of it I gave the motor full speed and the captain without more ado squared away towards Mississippi Sound, the gulf to New Orleans on the river.
”She runs like a _greyhound_,” Hiram said, after watching her go at full speed for a short time. ”How fast is she running?” he asked, apparently forgetting his first disappointment, and consumed with a fierce satisfaction that his complete vindication and success was at hand.
”Perhaps eight or ten knots,” I replied evasively. As a matter of fact we were going over twelve and I had to stand over the new motor with oil can and grease bucket, so I paid no more attention to him.
We got out into the sound before noon. It is unwise to run a new motor too far without stopping, so I advised that we make a port and appealed to the captain.
”We can make Gulfport in a short time,” he replied, to which we all a.s.sented and he changed his course. When we got there a most unlooked for incident occurred.
CHAPTER XXIII
WAS the Gold-Beater's luck going to attend his very vigorous and now virile son? There is no such thing as luck; follow the smoke of the so-called ”lucky” and we soon conclude that they earn what they get by sheer force of intense action.
The captain had hardly reached the Gulfport dock before he was approached to take on a cargo for New Orleans. Lumber was piled everywhere, with no bottoms to move it to New Orleans.
The captain referred them to Hiram, Jr., as the owner. He talked with them, then the three of us went below. We were bound for New Orleans; could we take a cargo of lumber?
Hiram's eyes danced and glistened with the possibilities.
”Ben, you know about our power; and you, captain, know how seaworthy she will be.” He wisely interrogated both of us at the same time, looking from one to the other.
”What do you think about the power, Ben?”
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