“Have we any wheelmen?”
“Yes, one of Craig's old men is in the mill. When do you plan to start?”
“Right away—as soon as we can fire up.”
Mr. Higginson was on the point of suggesting a wait until the next morning, but he withheld this, too. And so Halloran, who had promised to deliver the lumber by the morning of the fourteenth, and who would have, taken the steamer down himself rather than give Bigelow the pleasure of delaying him fifteen minutes, went on with the work of preparation.
At three o'clock that afternoon they were off, with one man in the wheel-house, a quartet of clumsy deckhands in the stoke-hole, a devoutly profane fat man in the engine-room, and one combined lookout and deckhand by the name of Halloran—every man of them facing a solid twelve hours on duty. Never had steamer gone out between the Wauchung piers in such plight before. If the white-clad Swede in the lookout of the life-saving station could have seen through the walls of this good ship Higginson, could have known the facts that lay behind this brave front, he would have wagged his head dubiously and long.
But the stars were kind on the thirteenth of this month. Captain Craig, standing on the wheel-house and guiding her out toward deep water, found himself looking on a flat mirror that blended, miles away, into the blue sky. Streaked with wide reaches of green and purple and corn-colour was Lake Michigan to-day—wearing her gladdest dress over a calm heart. And Halloran and the Captain, both of whom knew her temper, who had met once, indeed, when she was angriest, near Evanston a few years earlier—recognized themselves for very lucky men.
And so the old Higginson No. 1 headed southward, and plowed deliberately down past Point Sable, and heaved out a long line of black smoke just as if she had been a real full-handed steamer with real firemen throwing coal into the greedy furnaces. There was even some enthusiasm aboard; not one even of the stokers but knew dimly that they were fighting. They even felt, the younger ones, like men marching into battle, and when the Higginson was fairly out on the lake and swinging around on her course, one amateur fireman of the watch below ran down the ladder to pass the good news to his less fortunate brethren on duty. And if the heat of the work had been less trying, these grimy fellows, stripped to the drawers and covered with sweat and coal, might even have given three cheers.
They ran down slowly, of course. It was getting on toward daylight when the Higginson steamed into the harbour at Michigan City and tied up at the wharf of the lumber company, and it was a heartily exhausted set of men that rolled into their bunks to snatch a wink before day should come, bringing more work with it.
At eight o'clock Halloran walked over to the Company's office and inquired for the manager.
“I'm Halloran,” he said, “of Higginson & Company. How soon can you begin unloading?”