worth winning. How the fires roared till the sparks formed a thick continuous shower in broad daylight, as they piled on the gnarled pine knots. How quickly the steam sighed away its strength as the two boats neared; and, amid the roar of fires, the sighing of the steam, and the tinkling of the bells of the engine-room, there was one sound clearly distinguishable—the slow, steady blows of the hammer on those three coffins. How the fair girl in the white dress played the piano to drown a little of that sound—how loudly the men talked—and spite of it all, it came in as a refrain to everything: the music and the bet, the jest of the light and the talk of the serious, had the same chorus. And so it is in the world. Some of us hear that sound through a long life, and know what it means as well as they did there.
Towards evening they had passed the Belle Isle, and a long screech of the whistle indicated the triumph.
“We shall have to wood before night,” said the clerk to Captain Burke: “can’t get another ten miles out of her with what we’ve got.”
“I should like to get round this bend while we’re all hot. See what there is, twenty miles will do.”
The clerk returned, and reported that twenty might be done.
“That will do.”
And the twenty were done. About ten o’clock the oft-repeated cry was heard, “Wood pile there—wood pile there—all hands rouse out.” Slowly the tired firemen and crew moved to the forepart of the vessel, which was steering to a small speck of light on the bank, that gradually, as she neared, became brighter.
“Now then, lads, put that plank out,” said the mate, as the vessel was within a few yards of the shore. The long plank was put over the side, and, while five or six men stood on the one end, a man with a line ran lightly over it, and jumped ashore.
“Light up on that hawser, boys;—make fast now that bridge!” And thirty strong arms thrust ashore a wide plank.
The furnace-doors were opened, and the red glare was almost lost in the moonlight.
“Watchman! where are those lights?”
“Here, sir.” And in a moment a basket of blazing pine knots shed its light on the scene.
“Pick it up, boys,—pick it up—pick up that wood!” was the cry of the mate, as one by one the men ran across the narrow plank from the vessel to the shore and returned with their load of logs across the wide plank from the shore to the vessel.
“Got much more?” said the captain.
“Only a few cord.”
“Make some of those Dutchmen pick up those cases and take them ashore.”
“Captain Burke,” whispered the pilot, “she’s just shot past the bend. She is going, and no mistake.”
There could be none; the funnels of the defeated Belle Isle were pouring forth their fierce volumes of flame, while the sharp quick snort of the engines told that those on board did not yet believe themselves beaten.
“Now, steward, if you want any tomfooleries over those cases, look sharp, there’s only ten minutes for you.”
“All right, Massa Burke,” said the steward, “I’m gwine d’reckly,” and he bustled down amongst the crowd of Germans on the forward part of the vessel to marshal them in proper order, his shining black hat decorated for the solemn occasion with a streamer,—the shawl of the stewardess.
“Now, you four; you take dat ere big case,—dat’s him; you four take dat middlin’ case,—dat’s her. Now, you two boys, you come here; take dat little case,—dat’s it; picanniny—poor picaninny. Now ready?”
What a strange scene it was as the long procession, led by the tall black steward, wended its way along the plank under which the water flowed fast, like a stream of molten metal. The three deal cases, too, might have been treasure-cases of costly red velvet, they looked so rich in the ruddy light of the pine-torches (perhaps they were treasure-cases); and then the long train of mourning countrymen who, in all varieties of costume, followed behind in a confused crowd; and over all the pale moon shedding a softening light that made the whole look unreal—a dream, not a sad reality.
“Oh! Captain Burke! Do have a fire put on the branch of that tree, it will light it up so beautifully.”
“Well, Miss, I’ll do it; but pine-knots just now is worth something. Watchman, put”
“Oh, never mind, they’ve lighted a torch to read by.”
And so they had. There, standing round three shallow graves—shallow and separate, for the Brown Bear must reach St. Louis before the Belle Isle—stood the crowd. The steward, with a face black as sable, reading part of the burial service amid the sobs of women and the hushed grief of the men, and above them from the branches of the trees, hung the long festoons of Spanish moss, looking black in the mingled lights as if Death held a festival, and decked the woods with his garlands. “Dust to dust,” and a few shovelfuls of earth were put on each.
“Now, steward, get your gang aboard, will you? or by God I’ll leave some of you behind.”
“Ay, you’ll have to, she’s not half-a-mile astern now, and our fires won’t draw up for some ten minutes or so.”
“Now, all hands aboard, and fire up there!” and once more the sparks rushed in clouds along the air.
“Will you come aboard, steward, or shall I leave you?”
“Comin’, Massa Burke, comin’,” and he hurried the crowd before him. On they came like so many frightened sheep, and in a few seconds but one man was left on the shore.”
“All aboard?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Go ahead a little to take the strain off that hawser!” roared the mate. “That’ll do; haul aboard, lads!”
The man let go the rope, jumped on the projecting plank, and all were aboard. The pilot let the stream carry her a little way down to the deep water, and then once more the race began—to end, who cares how?
The two boys were taken care of by their