Mysterious Signal (22 page)

Only five months before, Libby had come from living in a mansion to a room so small that her stiff skirts touched the bed on one side and the washstand on the other.
But I changed
, Libby thought.
I learned to handle it. Now I even like my room. Is that part of learning to be free?

Deep inside, she still felt the hurt of her Aunt Vi wanting to give up on her. Yet now for the first time Libby knew what to do about it.
I can’t change Auntie, but I can change the way I feel about her. Annika told me where to start
.

Libby wasn’t sure how to say it, but the words finally came out.
Jesus, I forgive Aunt Vi for all the hurtful things she’s said and done
.

When Libby finished praying, she felt relieved. At least she had made a start.

At the upper end of the Des Moines Rapids, the
Christina
stopped long enough to let off the rapids pilot and reload the freight hauled overland. As they put out into the river once more, Libby felt grateful. In spite of low water, they had steamed through the long chain of rocks without any problem. Yet the unloading and loading again had cost precious hours.

“Only two days left,” Libby said, but Pa assured her that if all went well they would still get to Galena on time.

If all goes well
, Libby told herself the next afternoon, one day before Pa’s four o’clock deadline for the money to be paid.

Three miles below the city of Rock Island, Illinois, the
Christina
drew close to another landing. A new set of rapids pilots waited where the Rock River flowed into the Mississippi River.

Pa was delighted to see that his favorite pilot for the Upper Rapids was there. “Philip Suiter was the first licensed rapids pilot in this area,” he told Libby as the
Christina
tied up. “Long ago Philip brought his family to Illinois by building a boat and taking it down the Ohio River. On a bad part of the trip, he lost his seed for planting but not his three children. He lived in Illinois for a while, then moved to LeClaire, Iowa.”

Libby had heard about Captain Suiter, the pioneer who homesteaded a farm on the banks of the Mississippi. Yet Libby had never been on board at a time when she could meet him. Now she asked, “May I watch, Pa? From the pilothouse?”

Libby followed Captain Suiter and her father up the flights of steps. As they entered the pilothouse, the boards on the front side were completely open. Because rain or snow could build up, cutting off the view, no glass was allowed directly in front of where the pilot stood. Instead, four boards—two on the top and two on the bottom—were hinged in such a way that they
could be open or nearly closed, depending on the weather.

On this hot August day, a strong wind caught the door into the pilothouse. Libby hung on, closing it carefully so the glass would not break. Sitting down on the bench next to the door, she watched every move that Captain Suiter made.

The pilot’s face was shaved clean, but a white frizzy beard followed the line of his chin from ear to ear. Standing at one side of the great wheel, he spoke down the tube into the engine room, giving instructions.

With Pa and Fletcher, the trip pilot, Libby looked on as Captain Suiter put out into the river. Soon Libby saw the thirty- or forty-foot cliff at the south end of Rock Island. Deserted wooden buildings stood where the United States fort had once been located. Then, peering ahead, Libby saw the span of a railroad bridge that crossed the Mississippi.

The immense bridge was only a year old but had already provided much disagreement between steamboat men and the railroad. Built at a place where the current was strong, the opening was narrow and a dangerous obstacle for boats.

As Captain Suiter blew a whistle asking that the swing bridge be opened, Libby watched carefully. In spite of her confidence in the pilot, she felt relieved when they passed the huge bridge supports that endangered any boat that came too close.

The rapids were made up of rock outcroppings—a whole series of rock ledges. Between these ledges were narrow channels, or chutes, as the river people called them. The moment a pilot steered through one chute, he had to get his boat into position for the next. As though running an obstacle course, he backed and turned the boat, testing the current.

Slipping through each chute, Captain Suiter watched
for that slight change in the river—that unexpected rock that could tear out the bottom of a wood-hulled boat. Again Libby felt sure that he would take them safely through. Yet she couldn’t help but think of stories she had heard. Stories about steamboats that struck a rock and sank to the bottom within minutes.

More than once the
Christina
met a steamboat coming down. Always the downriver boat had the right-of-way. With an exchange of whistles that signaled what he was doing, Captain Suiter gave way. At the first place where he could move just a bit out of the channel, he steered the
Christina
into slack water.

While they waited in the small pool of quiet water, Libby felt curious. “How did you learn to pilot the rapids?” she asked.

Turning, Captain Suiter offered a warm smile. “Do I have a cub pilot in the making? Come here. I’ll show you.”

With Libby standing next to the wheel, he pointed ahead. “See that large tree? And that high rock? Those are landmarks—places that tell me where I’ll find rock ledges.”

“How did you find your way through the first time?” Libby asked.

“I learned the rapids from two Indian friends,” Captain Suiter told her. “They taught me about crosscurrents and where the chutes are.”

As the
Christina
came alongside Campbell’s Island, the pilot spoke again. “Current running mighty strong for this time of year.”

Partway through the chute, Libby saw another boat coming downstream. With a quick exchange of whistles saying, “I’ll get out of your way,” Captain Suiter started for slack water.

“It’s the
James Mason
,” Pa said. “I hope Captain Jenks isn’t up to his usual tricks.”

Staying back of the wheel, Libby gazed at the other boat. While eating at the captain’s table, she often heard talk about the hardheaded captain of the
James Mason
. Always he refused to pay the eight-dollar fee for a rapids pilot. More times than Libby could count, she had heard his words repeated by the men who knew every captain on the Upper Mississippi.

“I know those Rock Island Rapids as well as any rapids pilot,” Captain Jenks would boast. “I’m not paying any pilot eight dollars just to take my boat through. I’ll pilot it myself. I’ll save the money and show them something to boot.”

Even when the
Christina
slipped into a quiet pool below Duck Creek, Captain Suiter did not relax. Peering up the river, he watched the approach of the
James Mason
. Suddenly Captain Suiter exclaimed, “He’s coming too fast!”

As the other boat started down the chute near Campbell’s Island, Captain Suiter warned the pilot with four quick blasts of the whistle. “The current is too strong. It’ll push him too fast!”

Ignoring the warning, the
James Mason
steamed on. By now the boat was close enough for Libby to see two men in the pilothouse.

“His own pilot is a good one,” Pa said. “But they’re having an argument.”

As the larger of the two men took the wheel, Captain Suiter groaned. “His pilot would do better than Captain Jenks!”

Libby’s father shook his head in disbelief. “I can hear Jenks now—hear him saying, ‘I know those rocks, keep driving her. Give me the wheel. You sit on the bench, and I’ll take her through.’”

As he peered ahead, Captain Suiter’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how he made it this far.”

Again he blew four quick warning blasts. “He’s booming through, hard and fast between the rocks. He’ll make it through the chute. But just below the rocks he’s got to come hard right to get over to the Iowa side.”

Desperate now, Captain Suiter slapped his hand against the wheel. “He’s going too fast—he’ll never get her turned in time—”

A huge crash cut off his words. Like a leaf trembling in the wind, the
James Mason
shuddered along the length of its decks, then ground to a halt.

Libby’s father moaned. “A rock caught them midship! A huge rock pierced the hull!”

CHAPTER 18

A
woman’s scream shattered the air. Babies wailed. Men shouted. Children cried for their parents. Through the broken rails at the end of the main deck, pigs jumped overboard and started swimming to shore. Above it all came the bawling of cows.

His face gray with worry, Pa began to pray. “Lord, have mercy! Have mercy on those people.” Without a sound, Captain Suiter’s lips moved, as if he was praying too.

In the pilothouse of the
James Mason
, Captain Jenks looked like a man wakened from a dream. As though not believing what had happened, he seemed unable to give orders. Far below on the main deck, passengers ran in every direction.

Then from the
James Mason
came the desperate whistle. Four quick blasts—the distress signal. On the
Christina
, Captain Suiter called down the speaking tube, giving orders to the engineer. “We’re going up!”

As though trying to reach out to the other boat, Pa leaned forward. “They’re taking on water,” he said as the
James Mason
listed to one side.

Her terror growing, Libby spoke for the first time. “What if people can’t swim?”

But Pa was too busy to answer. Leaning into the tube, he called to the engineer.

“Pumps! Every pump we have on board. Carpenter! Donnage to port. Prepare to board!”

Donnage?
Then Libby remembered. The extra lumber a boat carried for repairs.
Can two crews stop the water from pouring in?

Moments later the
Christina
steamed out of the slack water into the main channel. At one side of the great wheel, Captain Suiter stood with every muscle ready, every sense alert.

In spite of the emergency, he held the
Christina
at just the right speed. Weaving between the rock ledges, he found the narrow channel and stayed within the chute. Moving up slowly, he took care to not create a wake.

From the pilothouse Libby looked down on the
James Mason
. A large rock rose from the water near the front of the steamboat. The bow of the
James Mason
had just missed it. But farther back a different rock—a huge one—had pierced the hull midship.

People ran about, not knowing what to do. Panic filled their faces. Like a hand closing around her throat, Libby felt their fear.

On the main deck of the
James Mason
, crew members threw off the hatch covers. His box of tools in hand, the ship’s carpenter leaped down into the hold. As though she were there to see, Libby imagined the water pouring past the rock through the open hole.

Moments later a cry rose up from the other boat. “Stuff the hole! Mattresses! Boards!”

Men and women raced into staterooms, pulled mattresses
off the beds, threw them over the railing. On the main deck, crew members grabbed them up and shoved them down the hatches.