Now she went into her room and took her pencils and drawing paper from her trunk. Then she found a piece of waterproof fabric made of cloth and rubber. Carefully she wrapped it around the paper.
Then Libby put on her jean skirt and her best walking shoes. In a small bag she put the package of paper, her pencils, a warm sweater, and a change of clothes in case she got wet. With that and the food Gran would give her, she was ready for her trip into northeastern Missouri.
When Libby left her room, she climbed the stairs to one of her favorite spots, the pilothouse. Mr. Fletcher, the pilot, stood at one side of the great wheel he used to steer the boat. Because of the wheel’s size, it went partway down into the floor.
In front of and above the pilot hung an arrangement of ropes and bell pulls used to signal the engine far below. Four foot pedals—two whistle and two brake pedals—were in the floor in front of the wheel. At one side, also close to the floor, was a speaking tube.
Sometimes the pilot used bells to signal the engineer. Other times he called down into the tube that was shaped like the end of a trumpet.
Mr. Fletcher turned toward Libby. “Making good time” was all he said before looking back at the river. In the weeks since she had come on board to live with Pa, Fletcher had grown used to her visits.
Libby felt relieved. If anything held them up, their timing would be wrong for meeting Caleb and Jordan at the Missouri farm.
Now Libby gazed down, beyond the bow of the
Christina
.As always, the excitement she felt in the pilothouse flowed into her. With it came her love for the river.
Ahead of them, the waters of the great Mississippi spread wide. Along the shore, the leaves of trees were still bright with the newness of spring.
Before long the channel narrowed. Soon the
Christina
rounded a bend in the river. Not far ahead, directly in her path, lay one of the huge rafts they had seen coming downstream.
When the raft entered a narrow passageway between an island and the riverbank, Libby watched the Red Shirts standing on the two ends of the raft. Each man held one of the long poles used for steering.
Beyond the raft, farther downriver, was a steamboat coming upstream. Suddenly Mr. Fletcher reached out, yanking two bell pulls. Moments later the great paddle wheels reversed, slowing the boat. Fletcher’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“That steamboat,” he muttered. “The pilot isn’t giving the raft enough room.”
In the next instant Fletcher leaped onto a brake pedal. With his other foot he slammed down a second pedal. Long and loud the warning whistle shrieked.
“If that steamboat comes too close—” Fletcher’s face was grim. Again he sounded a warning. “Suction can pull the raft toward the steamboat. If a chain on the raft breaks—”
Libby didn’t have to be told. From what Caleb had said, a chain stretched between each of the logs on the outermost part of the raft. That chain of logs held all the other logs in place.
Again Fletcher yanked the rope signals. Leaning down, he shouted into the speaking tube. “Raft in trouble dead ahead!”
With his foot Fletcher hit the whistle pedal. But the upboundsteamboat paid no attention. Closer and closer it came. As though determined to have his way, the pilot held his course.
Suddenly the raft pulled to the left. Fletcher gritted his teeth. “The suction got ’em!”
CHAPTER 10
Peddler Paul
A s if the suction was growing stronger, the raft moved faster and faster. Working frantically, the Red Shirts swept the oars. But the long poles did little good.
Suddenly an outside log on the raft broke loose. As the chain of logs broke apart, more logs spun off. One after another they shot out in all directions.
Then an entire section of the raft split away. The man who stood on it jumped across the widening stretch of water to a larger piece of raft. With the Red Shirts no longer able to steer, the raft slipped directly into the path of the
Then Libby put on her jean skirt and her best walking shoes. In a small bag she put the package of paper, her pencils, a warm sweater, and a change of clothes in case she got wet. With that and the food Gran would give her, she was ready for her trip into northeastern Missouri.
When Libby left her room, she climbed the stairs to one of her favorite spots, the pilothouse. Mr. Fletcher, the pilot, stood at one side of the great wheel he used to steer the boat. Because of the wheel’s size, it went partway down into the floor.
In front of and above the pilot hung an arrangement of ropes and bell pulls used to signal the engine far below. Four foot pedals—two whistle and two brake pedals—were in the floor in front of the wheel. At one side, also close to the floor, was a speaking tube.
Sometimes the pilot used bells to signal the engineer. Other times he called down into the tube that was shaped like the end of a trumpet.
Mr. Fletcher turned toward Libby. “Making good time” was all he said before looking back at the river. In the weeks since she had come on board to live with Pa, Fletcher had grown used to her visits.
Libby felt relieved. If anything held them up, their timing would be wrong for meeting Caleb and Jordan at the Missouri farm.
Now Libby gazed down, beyond the bow of the
Christina
.As always, the excitement she felt in the pilothouse flowed into her. With it came her love for the river.
Ahead of them, the waters of the great Mississippi spread wide. Along the shore, the leaves of trees were still bright with the newness of spring.
Before long the channel narrowed. Soon the
Christina
rounded a bend in the river. Not far ahead, directly in her path, lay one of the huge rafts they had seen coming downstream.
When the raft entered a narrow passageway between an island and the riverbank, Libby watched the Red Shirts standing on the two ends of the raft. Each man held one of the long poles used for steering.
Beyond the raft, farther downriver, was a steamboat coming upstream. Suddenly Mr. Fletcher reached out, yanking two bell pulls. Moments later the great paddle wheels reversed, slowing the boat. Fletcher’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“That steamboat,” he muttered. “The pilot isn’t giving the raft enough room.”
In the next instant Fletcher leaped onto a brake pedal. With his other foot he slammed down a second pedal. Long and loud the warning whistle shrieked.
“If that steamboat comes too close—” Fletcher’s face was grim. Again he sounded a warning. “Suction can pull the raft toward the steamboat. If a chain on the raft breaks—”
Libby didn’t have to be told. From what Caleb had said, a chain stretched between each of the logs on the outermost part of the raft. That chain of logs held all the other logs in place.
Again Fletcher yanked the rope signals. Leaning down, he shouted into the speaking tube. “Raft in trouble dead ahead!”
With his foot Fletcher hit the whistle pedal. But the upboundsteamboat paid no attention. Closer and closer it came. As though determined to have his way, the pilot held his course.
Suddenly the raft pulled to the left. Fletcher gritted his teeth. “The suction got ’em!”
CHAPTER 10
Peddler Paul
A s if the suction was growing stronger, the raft moved faster and faster. Working frantically, the Red Shirts swept the oars. But the long poles did little good.
Suddenly an outside log on the raft broke loose. As the chain of logs broke apart, more logs spun off. One after another they shot out in all directions.
Then an entire section of the raft split away. The man who stood on it jumped across the widening stretch of water to a larger piece of raft. With the Red Shirts no longer able to steer, the raft slipped directly into the path of the
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