THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
a pretty sharp turn, and that our boat, having the inside of the curve, had succeeded in rushing into the narrow pass before the “Ocean Wave” could reach it, thus forcing our rival to drop behind, lest she run into us or aground.
But this victorious maneuver did not altogether relieve us of our anxieties. After a while, our fuel being much reduced, we had to land near a big pile of cordwood to take in a new supply. Our passengers were dismayed. “Never mind,” said the captain. “The ‘Ocean Wave’ will have to take in wood, too.” No sooner had the “Flying Cloud” made fast near the woodpile than a large number of my fellow-travelers jumped ashore to help the “roustabouts” take in the fuel and thus to shorten our delay. Everybody worked with the utmost ardor. While this was going on the “Ocean Wave” steamed majestically by, her people rending the air with their cheers. When we started again we saw her a formidable distance ahead. But our captain was right. Soon we beheld the “Ocean Wave” lying still to take in a fresh supply of firewood, and we expected to run by and leave her far in the rear. But we had reckoned without our host. Before we had reached her stopping place she hastily pulled in her gangplanks and started again. And now came the real tug-of-war. The whistles of both boats blew fierce notes of challenge. For a long stretch the channel seemed to be wide, and the boats ran side by side, neck and neck. The paddle-boxes sometimes almost touched each other. The passengers crowding the two decks were within speaking distance and jeered from one side to the other half good naturedly, half defiantly. Meanwhile the smokestacks heaved, and puffed, and snorted, and the engines thumped and thundered, and the lightly built decks shook and quaked and creaked as if engaged in a desperate struggle for life. The captain now seemed to divide his time between the engine room
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