The Mail Carrier

by Harry Castlemon

“Is there no one below there who has a pistol?” shouted Mr. Scanlan. “If there is, let him shoot them—shoot them down like dogs. Come back here. There’s time enough to save you and all the rest!”

But the firemen did not come back. They pulled straight for the shore, and when they reached it, they sprang out and ran up the bank. The yawl, which they did not attempt to secure, swung around broadside to the shore and floated off with the current.

“Now it is time for us to look out for ourselves,” said Mr. Black, as a gust of wind brought a thin tongue of flame up from below and sent it curling across the deck. “Come on, all of us. Where’s Bob?”

“Why, I saw him here just as those men ran off with the yawl,” replied George. “But he doesn’t seem to be in sight now. What shall I do if he has deserted me? Bob, where are you?”

No answer was returned, and Bob was not to be seen. He was gone, and the pilots could not stop to look for him, for their own situation was becoming dangerous in the extreme. The boat was burned nearly in two, and portions of the hurricane deck were falling in every moment. They would run a great risk by going down among those frightened people on the forecastle, for they could not swim, and if they found anything to serve as a life-preserver, some one would be sure to take it away from them. Their only way of escape was by the derrick at the stern. With one accord they hastened toward it, the deck bending and smoking under their feet, and seizing the guys that supported the derrick, they swung themselves down to the after-guard.

And where was Bob all this while? He was safe, and exerting himself to prevent further loss of life among the passengers and crew. We said he was inexperienced, and needed an example to wake him up and show him what ought to be done. He had two good ones in Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan. He wanted to assist them in some way, but he did not know how to go about it until he saw the cowardly firemen running off with the yawl; then he decided upon his course in an instant. He knew that the men intended to make the best of their way to the shore, and that they would have no further use for the boat after they got there. If he could only secure the yawl after they abandoned it, he might be able to bring it back to the steamer in time to save somebody. He ran to the side and looked over. The river at that moment happened to be clear of people, and Bob jumped off without hesitation. It was a high leap from the hurricane deck to the water, but he took it with perfect confidence, and when he arose to the surface struck out vigorously for the shore. The current carried him down the stream in spite of all his efforts to prevent it, but this proved to be a point in his favor; for by the time he had accomplished half the distance he had to swim, the firemen had reached the bank and deserted the yawl, which was now floating slowly down the river. The current carried it at about the same rate of speed that it carried the swimmer, so that she happened to be at the very point where he touched the shore.

To climb into the boat, discard his dripping coat, which prevented the free use of his arms, catch up the oars, and turn the yawl’s head toward the burning vessel, was the work of but a few seconds. He laid out all his strength, but the current was strong, the boat too heavy to be easily propelled by one person, and she seemed to move through the water at a snail’s pace.

Bob soon became aware that he was seen, and that his approach was awaited with no little anxiety and impatience. Entreaties, commands, and offers of heavy rewards were addressed to him; but he was doing his best already, and the promise of millions of money and the prospect of saving every imperilled life, would not have added to his strength or powers of endurance. He knew that the yawl would not carry all the men and women on the forecastle, and his first thought was of the three pilots. If he could save them, the work of saving the passengers and crew would be comparatively easy, for they would know just how to go about it. He had seen them all on the hurricane deck when he was climbing into the boat, but they were not to be seen there now. The steamer was so nearly in ruins that it did not seem possible that any one could live on her much longer, and Bob, alarmed for the safety of his friends, ceased his efforts at the oars, and stood up in the boat to look for them. To his great joy he saw three heads bobbing up and down in the water near the stern of the steamer, and one of them he was sure he recognised.

“Hold out just a minute longer, George!” he shouted. “I’m coming!”

Bob sprang to his oars with redoubled energy, and pulled to the rescue of the young pilot, unmindful of the cries and entreaties of those on the forecastle, who saw that he was rowing away from them. He reached the steamer in a few minutes, but looked in vain for his friend. He pulled around the stern of the boat several times, and eagerly scanned the river in every direction, but not a living being was to be seen. Convinced, at last, that he had been mistaken, and hoping to find George and the two pilots among those on the forecastle, Bob pulled around the steamer again, and, fully sensible of the danger he was about to encounter, stopped a few feet from the guards, on which were gathered fifty or more frightened people, all pushing and crowding one another, and calling to him to bring the yawl nearer.