Up the River; or, Yachting on the MississippiOptic, Oliver
General
Up the River; or, Yachting on the Mississippi
Optic, Oliver
Mississippi River -- Juvenile fiction; Yachts -- Juvenile fiction
"That is quite true, Mrs. Shepard; and for that reason I shall not
approach them any nearer than we are now. As long as we have plenty of
sea room, I do not apprehend any particular danger."
The rain began to fall about six, and the weather was so thick we could
no longer see the Islander. The last time we had seen her she must have
been some miles farther to the northward than the Sylvania, and I was
satisfied that Captain Blastblow had not gained anything by going
inside of the reefs. As I made it out from the chart, he had twice been
obliged to go to the eastward over two miles, in order to keep in the
deepest water. I suspected that he had been aground, and had to wait
for the tide; for at dark, when we saw the steamer for the last time,
we were at least five miles farther south.
"We will keep her going as briskly as the heavy sea will permit, until
about midnight; and then we will ease off till daylight. Then I think
we shall get another sight of the Islander," I said to the mate, as he
was about to turn in at eight.
"I don't think there is any danger of her getting ahead faster than we
do," replied the mate, with a yawn. "I believe I shall sleep well, if I
don't get pitched out of my berth."
He was leaving the pilot-house, when the distant report of a gun came
to our ears. I concluded at once that the Islander was in trouble.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CALAMITY ON FRENCH REEF.
I jumped to the conclusion that the Islander had struck on one of the
shoals I had noticed on the chart, and the heavy sea was pounding her
on the bottom. It could be only a question of time when she would knock
a hole in her bottom and go to pieces. Washburn was wide awake as soon
as he heard the gun, and giving him the wheel, I proceeded to examine
the chart.
According to the dead-reckoning we ought to be a little to the
southward of French Shoal. While I was satisfying myself in regard to
our position, another gun sounded over the troubled sea.
"That can't be the Islander's gun," said Washburn. "She has nothing on
board but a little yacht gun, and the piece we heard is a six, if not a
twelve pounder."
"I think you are right, Bob. The sound came from the leeward. I have no
doubt it is some vessel in distress; and we must do something for her.
Call all hands," I continued, as I took the wheel, and headed the
Sylvania due west by the compass.
Though it was not foggy, the air was thick, and I could see nothing
ahead. We had a very strong wind on our port quarter, and it was
extremely dangerous to approach the reefs from the windward. In a
moment all hands were on deck, except Moses Brickland, who was required
to take the engine whenever all hands were called on an emergency. I
directed Hop Tossford to take the wheel, and keep her due west. I asked
the mate to fire our little yacht gun, in answer to the signals we had
heard. The moment the report sounded through the vessel I heard Mrs.
Shepard scream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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