CHAPTER 12

Sounding

WHEN the river is very low, and one's steamboat is 'drawing all the

water' there is in the channel,--or a few inches more, as was often

the case in the old times,--one must be painfully circumspect in his

piloting. We used to have to 'sound' a number of particularly bad places

almost every trip when the river was at a very low stage.

Sounding is done in this way. The boat ties up at the shore, just above

the shoal crossing; the pilot not on watch takes his 'cub' or steersman

and a picked crew of men (sometimes an officer also), and goes out in

the yawl--provided the boat has not that rare and sumptuous luxury, a

regularly-devised 'sounding-boat'--and proceeds to hunt for the best

water, the pilot on duty watching his movements through a spy-glass,

meantime, and in some instances assisting by signals of the boat's

whistle, signifying 'try higher up' or 'try lower down;' for the surface

of the water, like an oil-painting, is more expressive and intelligible

when inspected from a little distance than very close at hand. The

whistle signals are seldom necessary, however; never, perhaps, except

when the wind confuses the significant ripples upon the water's surface.

When the yawl has reached the shoal place, the speed is slackened, the

pilot begins to sound the depth with a pole ten or twelve feet long,

and the steersman at the tiller obeys the order to 'hold her up to

starboard;' or, 'let her fall off to larboard;'{footnote [The term

'larboard' is never used at sea now, to signify the left hand; but was

always used on the river in my time]} or 'steady--steady as you go.'

When the measurements indicate that the yawl is approaching the shoalest

part of the reef, the command is given to 'ease all!' Then the men stop

rowing and the yawl drifts with the current. The next order is, 'Stand

by with the buoy!' The moment the shallowest point is reached, the pilot

delivers the order, 'Let go the buoy!' and over she goes. If the pilot

is not satisfied, he sounds the place again; if he finds better water

higher up or lower down, he removes the buoy to that place. Being

finally satisfied, he gives the order, and all the men stand their

oars straight up in the air, in line; a blast from the boat's whistle

indicates that the signal has been seen; then the men 'give way' on

their oars and lay the yawl alongside the buoy; the steamer comes

creeping carefully down, is pointed straight at the buoy, husbands her

power for the coming struggle, and presently, at the critical moment,

turns on all her steam and goes grinding and wallowing over the buoy and

the sand, and gains the deep water beyond. Or maybe she doesn't; maybe

she 'strikes and swings.' Then she has to while away several hours (or

days) sparring herself off.

Sometimes a buoy is not laid at all, but the yawl goes ahead, hunting

the best water, and the steamer follows along in its wake. Often there

is a deal of fun and excitement about sounding, especially if it is a

glorious summer day, or a blustering night. But in winter the cold and

the peril take most of the fun out of it.

A buoy is nothing but a board four or five feet long, with one end

turned up; it is a reversed school-house bench, with one of the supports

left and the other removed. It is anchored on the shoalest part of the

reef by a rope with a heavy stone made fast to the end of it. But for

the resistance of the turned-up end of the reversed bench, the current

would pull the buoy under water. At night, a paper lantern with a candle

in it is fastened on top of the buoy, and this can be seen a mile or

more, a little glimmering spark in the waste of blackness.

Nothing delights a cub so much as an opportunity to go out sounding.

There is such an air of adventure about it; often there is danger; it is

so gaudy and man-of-war-like to sit up in the stern-sheets and steer

a swift yawl; there is something fine about the exultant spring of the

boat when an experienced old sailor crew throw their souls into the

oars; it is lovely to see the white foam stream away from the bows;

there is music in the rush of the water; it is deliciously exhilarating,

in summer, to go speeding over the breezy expanses of the river when the

world of wavelets is dancing in the sun. It is such grandeur, too, to

the cub, to get a chance to give an order; for often the pilot will

simply say, 'Let her go about!' and leave the rest to the cub, who

instantly cries, in his sternest tone of command, 'Ease starboard!

Strong on the larboard! Starboard give way! With a will, men!' The cub

enjoys sounding for the further reason that the eyes of the passengers

are watching all the yawl's movements with absorbing interest if the

time be daylight; and if it be night he knows that those same wondering

eyes are fastened upon the yawl's lantern as it glides out into the

gloom and dims away in the remote distance.

One trip a pretty girl of sixteen spent her time in our pilot-house with

her uncle and aunt, every day and all day long. I fell in love with her.

So did Mr. Thornburg's cub, Tom G----. Tom and I had been bosom friends

until this time; but now a coolness began to arise. I told the girl a

good many of my river adventures, and made myself out a good deal of a

hero; Tom tried to make himself appear to be a hero, too, and succeeded

to some extent, but then he always had a way of embroidering. However,

virtue is its own reward, so I was a barely perceptible trifle ahead

in the contest. About this time something happened which promised

handsomely for me: the pilots decided to sound the crossing at the head

of 21. This would occur about nine or ten o'clock at night, when

the passengers would be still up; it would be Mr. Thornburg's watch,

therefore my chief would have to do the sounding. We had a perfect love

of a sounding-boat--long, trim, graceful, and as fleet as a greyhound;

her thwarts were cushioned; she carried twelve oarsmen; one of the mates

was always sent in her to transmit orders to her crew, for ours was a

steamer where no end of 'style' was put on.

We tied up at the shore above 21, and got ready. It was a foul night,

and the river was so wide, there, that a landsman's uneducated eyes

could discern no opposite shore through such a gloom. The passengers

were alert and interested; everything was satisfactory. As I hurried

through the engine-room, picturesquely gotten up in storm toggery, I met

Tom, and could not forbear delivering myself of a mean speech--

'Ain't you glad _you _don't have to go out sounding?'

Tom was passing on, but he quickly turned, and said--

'Now just for that, you can go and get the sounding-pole yourself. I was

going after it, but I'd see you in Halifax, now, before I'd do it.'

'Who wants you to get it? I don't. It's in the sounding-boat.'

'It ain't, either. It's been new-painted; and it's been up on the

ladies' cabin guards two days, drying.'

I flew back, and shortly arrived among the crowd of watching and

wondering ladies just in time to hear the command:

'Give way, men!'

I looked over, and there was the gallant sounding-boat booming away, the

unprincipled Tom presiding at the tiller, and my chief sitting by him

with the sounding-pole which I had been sent on a fool's errand to

fetch. Then that young girl said to me--

'Oh, how awful to have to go out in that little boat on such a night! Do

you think there is any danger?'

I would rather have been stabbed. I went off, full of venom, to help in

the pilot-house. By and by the boat's lantern disappeared, and after an

interval a wee spark glimmered upon the face of the water a mile away.

Mr. Thornburg blew the whistle, in acknowledgment, backed the steamer

out, and made for it. We flew along for a while, then slackened steam

and went cautiously gliding toward the spark. Presently Mr. Thornburg

exclaimed--

'Hello, the buoy-lantern's out!'

He stopped the engines. A moment or two later he said--

'Why, there it is again!'

So he came ahead on the engines once more, and rang for the leads.

Gradually the water shoaled up, and then began to deepen again! Mr.

Thornburg muttered--

'Well, I don't understand this. I believe that buoy has drifted off the

reef. Seems to be a little too far to the left. No matter, it is safest

to run over it anyhow.'

So, in that solid world of darkness we went creeping down on the light.

Just as our bows were in the act of plowing over it, Mr. Thornburg

seized the bell-ropes, rang a startling peal, and exclaimed--

'My soul, it's the sounding-boat!'

A sudden chorus of wild alarms burst out far below--a pause--and then

the sound of grinding and crashing followed. Mr. Thornburg exclaimed--

'There! the paddle-wheel has ground the sounding-boat to lucifer

matches! Run! See who is killed!'

I was on the main deck in the twinkling of an eye. My chief and the

third mate and nearly all the men were safe. They had discovered their

danger when it was too late to pull out of the way; then, when the great

guards overshadowed them a moment later, they were prepared and knew

what to do; at my chiefs order they sprang at the right instant, seized

the guard, and were hauled aboard. The next moment the sounding-yawl

swept aft to the wheel and was struck and splintered to atoms. Two of

the men and the cub Tom, were missing--a fact which spread like wildfire

over the boat. The passengers came flocking to the forward gangway,

ladies and all, anxious-eyed, white-faced, and talked in awed voices of

the dreadful thing. And often and again I heard them say, 'Poor fellows!

poor boy, poor boy!'

By this time the boat's yawl was manned and away, to search for the

missing. Now a faint call was heard, off to the left. The yawl had

disappeared in the other direction. Half the people rushed to one side

to encourage the swimmer with their shouts; the other half rushed the

other way to shriek to the yawl to turn about. By the callings,

the swimmer was approaching, but some said the sound showed failing

strength. The crowd massed themselves against the boiler-deck railings,

leaning over and staring into the gloom; and every faint and fainter cry

wrung from them such words as, 'Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow! is there

no way to save him?'

But still the cries held out, and drew nearer, and presently the voice

said pluckily--

'I can make it! Stand by with a rope!'

What a rousing cheer they gave him! The chief mate took his stand in the

glare of a torch-basket, a coil of rope in his hand, and his men grouped

about him. The next moment the swimmer's face appeared in the circle of

light, and in another one the owner of it was hauled aboard, limp and

drenched, while cheer on cheer went up. It was that devil Tom.

The yawl crew searched everywhere, but found no sign of the two men.

They probably failed to catch the guard, tumbled back, and were struck

by the wheel and killed. Tom had never jumped for the guard at all, but

had plunged head-first into the river and dived under the wheel. It was

nothing; I could have done it easy enough, and I said so; but everybody

went on just the same, making a wonderful to do over that ass, as if he

had done something great. That girl couldn't seem to have enough of that

pitiful 'hero' the rest of the trip; but little I cared; I loathed her,

any way.

The way we came to mistake the sounding-boat's lantern for the

buoy-light was this. My chief said that after laying the buoy he fell

away and watched it till it seemed to be secure; then he took up a

position a hundred yards below it and a little to one side of the

steamer's course, headed the sounding-boat up-stream, and waited. Having

to wait some time, he and the officer got to talking; he looked up when

he judged that the steamer was about on the reef; saw that the buoy was

gone, but supposed that the steamer had already run over it; he went

on with his talk; he noticed that the steamer was getting very close on

him, but that was the correct thing; it was her business to shave him

closely, for convenience in taking him aboard; he was expecting her to

sheer off, until the last moment; then it flashed upon him that she was

trying to run him down, mistaking his lantern for the buoy-light; so he

sang out, 'Stand by to spring for the guard, men!' and the next instant

the jump was made.