THE EMERGENCY DAM
THE EMERGENCY DAM
The crashing and splintering of wood, the grinding of one vessel against the other at the concrete pier, the shrill tooting of the whistles, and the confused shouts of the respective captains of the craft made a din out of which it seemed order would never come.
"If I could only get this on a film!" said Joe to himself during a calm moment. But the cameras were below in the cabin, and the tug was now careened at such an angle that it was risky to cross the decks. Besides Joe must think of saving himself, for it looked as though the tug would be crushed and sunk.
"Pull us out of here!" yelled Captain Watson to the man on the lock wall in charge of the electrical towing locomotives. "Pull us out!"
That seemed one way out of the trouble, for theNamawas being crushed between the Brazilian steamer and the wall. But the order had come too late, for now the tug was wedged in, and no power could move her without tearing her to pieces, until the pressure of the big steamer was removed.
So, wisely, the men in charge of the towing machines did not follow Captain Watson's orders.
"Over this way!" cried Blake to his chum, and to Mr. Alcando, who were standing amid-ships. Joe was at the bow, and because that was narrower than the main portion of the tug, it had not yet been subjected to the awful pressure.
But there was no need of Joe or the others, including Captain Watson, changing their positions. The Brazilian ship now began drawing away, aided by her own engines, and by the tow ropes extending from the other side of the lock wall. TheNama, which had been partly lifted up in the air, as a vessel in the Arctic Ocean is lifted when two ice floes begin to squeeze her, now dropped down again, and began settling slowly in the water.
"She's sinking!" cried Blake. "Our cameras—our films, Joe!"
"Yes, we must save them!" his chum shouted.
"I'll help!" offered the Spaniard. "Are we really sinking?"
"Of course!" shouted Captain Watson. "How could anything else happen after being squeezed in that kind of a cider press? We'll go to the bottom sure!"
"Leave the boat!" yelled one of the men on top of the lock wall. "We're going to tow you out of the way, so when you sink you won't block the lock!"
"Let's get out our stuff!" Blake cried again, and realizing, but hardly understanding, what was happening, the boys rushed below to save what they could.
Fortunately it was the opening of many seams, caused by the crushing process, rather than any great hole stove in her, that had brought about the end of theNama. She began to sink slowly at the pier, and there was time for the removal of most of the articles of value belonging to the boys and Mr. Alcando.
Hastily the cameras, the boxes of exposed and unexposed film, were hoisted out, and then when all had been saved that could be quickly put ashore, the tug was slowly towed out of the way, where it could sink and not be a menace to navigation, and without blocking the locks.
"PoorNama" murmured Captain Watson. "To go down like that, and not your own fault, either," and he looked over with no very friendly eyes toward the Brazilian steamer, which had suffered no damage more than to her paint.
"You can raise her again," suggested one of the lock men.
"Yes, but she'll never be the same," sorrowfully complained her commander. "Never the same!"
"How did it happen?" asked Blake. "Was there a misunderstanding in signals?"
"Must have been something like that," Captain Watson answered. "That vessel ought to have stayed tied up on her own side of the lock. Instead she came over here under her own steam and crashed into me. I'm going to demand an investigation. Do you know anyone on board her?" he asked quickly of the Spaniard. "I saw you waving to someone."
"Why, yes, the captain is a distant relative of mine," was the somewhat unexpected answer. "I did not know he was going to take his vessel through the Canal, though. I was surprised to see him. But I am sure you will find that Captain Martail will give you every explanation."
"I don't want explanations—I want satisfaction!" growled the tug captain.
"There goes theNama," called Blake, pointing to the tug.
As he spoke she began to settle more rapidly in the water, but she did not sink altogether from sight, as she was towed toward the shore, and went down in rather shallow water, where she could be more easily reached for repairs.
"It was a narrow escape," Joe said. "What are we to do now, Blake? Too bad we didn't get some moving pictures of that accident."
"Well, maybe it's a good thing we didn't," returned his chum. "The Canal is supposed to be so safe, and free from the chance of accidents, that it might injure its reputation if a picture of a collision like that were shown. Maybe it's just as well."
"Better," agreed Captain Watson. "As you say, the Canal is supposed to be free from accidents. And, when everything gets working smoothly, there will be none to speak of. Some of the electrical controlling devices are not yet in place. If they had been that vessel never could have collided with us."
"I should think her captain would know better than to signal for her to proceed under her own power in the Canal lock," spoke Joe.
"Possibly there was some error in transmitting signals on board," suggested Mr. Alcando. And later they learned that this was, indeed, the case; or at least that was the reason assigned by the Brazilian commander for the accident. His vessel got beyond control.
"Well, it's lucky she didn't ram the gates, and let out a flood of water," said Joe to Blake a little after the occurrence.
"Yes, if that had happened we'd have had to make pictures whether we wanted to or not. But I wonder what we are going to do for a boat now?"
However, that question was easily settled, for there were other Government vessels to be had, and Blake, Joe and Mr. Alcando, with their cameras, films and other possessions, were soon transferred, to continue their trip, in theBohio, which was the name of the new vessel. TheNamawas left for the wrecking crew.
"Well, this isn't exactly the quiet life we looked for in the canal zone; is it, Blake?" asked Joe that night as he and his chum were putting their new stateroom to rights.
"Hardly. Things have begun to happen, and I've noticed, Joe, that, once they begin, they keep up. I think we are in for something."
"Do you mean a big slide in Culebra Cut?"
"Well, that may be only part of it. I have a feeling in my bones, somehow or other, that we're on the eve of something big."
"Say, for instance—"
"I can't," answered Blake, as Joe paused. "But I'm sure something is going to happen."
"No more collisions, I hope," his chum ventured. "Do you know, Blake, I've wondered several times whether that one to-day was not done on purpose."
Blake stared at his chum, and then, to Joe's surprise replied:
"And I've been thinking the same thing."
"You have?" Joe exclaimed. "Now I say—"
"Hush!" cautioned Blake quickly, "he's coming!"
The door of their stateroom opened, and Mr. Alcando entered. He had a room across the corridor.
"Am I intruding?" he asked. "If I am—"
"Not at all. Come in," answered Blake, with a meaning look at his chum.
"I wanted to ask you something about making double exposures on the same film," the Spaniard went on. "You know what I mean; when a picture is shown of a person sitting by a fireside, say, and above him or her appears a vision of other days."
"Oh, yes, we can tell you how that is done," Joe said, and the rest of the evening was spent in technical talk.
"Well, what were you going to say about that collision?" asked Joe of Blake when Mr. Alcando had left them, at nearly midnight.
"I don't think it's exactly safe to say what I think," was Blake's response. "I think he is—suspicious of us," he finished in a whisper. "Let's watch and await developments."
"But what object could he—"
"Never mind—now," rejoined Blake, with a gesture of caution.
Several busy days followed the sinking of theNama. The moving picture boys went through the Miraflores locks, making some fine films, and then proceeded on to the Pacific Ocean breakwater, thus making a complete trip through the Canal, obtaining a series of pictures showing scenes all along the way. They also took several views in the city of Panama itself.
Of course theirs was not the first vessel to make the complete trip, so that feature lost something of its novelty. But the boys were well satisfied with their labors.
"We're not through, though, by any means," said Blake. "We have to get some pictures of Gatun Dam from the lower side. I think a few more jungle scenes, and some along the Panama Railroad, wouldn't go bad."
"That's right," agreed Joe.
So they prepared to make the trip back again to Colon.
Once more they were headed for the locks, this time to be lifted up at Miraflores, instead of being let down. They approached the central pier, were taken in charge by the electrical locomotives, and the big chain was lowered so they could proceed.
Just as the lower gate was being swung open to admit them to the lock, there was a cry of warning from above.
"What's that?" cried Joe.
"I don't know," Blake answered, "but it sounds as though something were going to happen. I didn't have all those feelings for nothing!"
Then came a cry:
"The upper gate! The upper gate is open! The water is coming down! Put the emergency dam in place! Quick!"
Joe and Blake looked ahead to see the upper gates, which were supposed to remain closed until the boat had risen to the upper level, swing open, and an immense quantity of foamy water rush out. It seemed about to overwhelm them.
THE BIG SLIDE
THE BIG SLIDE
For a short space there was a calm that seemed more thrilling than the wildest confusion. It took a few seconds for the rush of water to reach theBohio, and when it did the tug began to sway and tug at the mooring cables, for they had not yet been cast off to enable it to be towed.
Blake rushed toward the lower cabin.
"Where are you going?" cried Joe.
"To get the cameras," replied his chum, not pausing. "This is a chance we mustn't miss."
"But we must escape! We must look to ourselves!" shouted Mr. Alcando. "This is not time for making moving pictures."
"We've got to make it this time!" Joe said, falling in with Blake. "You'll find you've got to make moving pictures when youcan, not when youwantto!"
To do justice to Mr. Alcando he was not a coward, but this was very unusual for him, to make pictures in the face of a great danger—to stand calmly with a camera, turning the crank and getting view after view on the strip of celluloid film, while a flood of water rushed down on you. It was something he never dreamed of.
But he was not a "quitter," which word, though objectionable as slang, is most satisfactorily descriptive.
"I'll help!" the young Spaniard cried, as he followed Blake and Joe down to where the cameras and films were kept.
On came the rush of water, released by the accidental opening of the upper lock gates before the lower ones were closed. The waters of Gatun Lake were rushing to regain the freedom denied them by the building of the locks.
But they were not to have their own way for long. Even this emergency, great as it was, unlikely as it was to happen, had been foreseen by those who built the Canal.
"The dam! Swing over the emergency dam!" came the cry.
TheBohiowas now straining and pulling at her cables. Fortunately they were long enough to enable her to rise on the flood of the rushing water, or she might have been held down, and so overwhelmed. But she rose like a cork, though she plunged and swayed under the influence of the terrible current, which was like a mill race.
"Use both cameras!" cried Blake, as he and Joe each came on deck bearing one, while Mr. Alcando followed with spare reels of film. "We'll both take pictures," Blake went on. "One set may be spoiled!"
Then he and his chum, setting up their cameras on the tripods, aimed the lenses at the advancing flood, at the swung-back gates and at the men on top of the concrete walls, endeavoring to bring into place the emergency dam.
It was a risky thing to do, but then Blake and Joe were used to doing risky things, and this was no more dangerous than the chances they had taken in the jungle, or in earthquake land.
On rushed the water. The tug rose and fell on the bosom of the flood, unconfined as it was by the restraining gates. And as the sturdy vessel swayed this way and that, rolling at her moorings and threatening every moment to break and rush down the Canal, Blake and Joe stood at their posts, turning the cranks. And beside them stood Mr. Alcando, if not as calm as the boys, at least as indifferent to impending fate.
Captain Wiltsey of theBohiohad given orders to run the engine at full speed, hoping by the use of the propeller to offset somewhat the powerful current. But the rush of water was too great to allow of much relief.
"There goes the emergency dam!" suddenly cried Blake.
"Gone out, you mean?" yelled Joe above the roar of waters.
"No, it's being swung into place. It'll be all over in a few minutes. Good thing we got the pictures when we did."
Across the lock, about two hundred feet above the upper gate, was being swung into place the steel emergency dam, designed to meet and overcome just such an accident as had occurred.
These dams were worked by electricity, and could be put in place in two minutes; or, if the machinery failed, they could be worked by hand, though taking nearly half an hour, during which time much damage might be done. But in this case the electrical machinery worked perfectly, and the dam, which when not in use rested against the side of the lock wall, and parallel with it, was swung across.
Almost at once the rush of water stopped, gradually subsiding until the tug swung easily at her mooring cables.
"Whew!" whistled Blake in relief, as he ceased grinding at the crank of his moving picture camera. "That was going some!"
"That's what!" agreed Joe. "But I guess we got some good films."
"You certainly deserved to!" exclaimed Mr. Alcando, with shining eyes. "You are very brave!"
"Oh, it's all in the day's work," spoke Blake. "Now I wonder how that happened?"
"That's what I'd like to know," said Captain Wiltsey. "I must look into this."
An inquiry developed the fact that a misplaced switch in some newly installed electrical machinery that controlled the upper lock gate was to blame. The lock machinery was designed to be automatic, and as nearly "error proof" as anything controlled by human beings can be. That is to say it was planned that no vessel could proceed into a lock until the fender chain was lowered, and that an upper gate could not be opened until a lower one was closed. But in this case something went wrong, and the two gates were opened at once, letting out the flood.
This, however, had been foreseen, and the emergency dam provided, and it was this solid steel wall that had saved the lock from serious damage, and theBohiofrom being overwhelmed.
As it was no harm had been done and, when the excitement had calmed down, and an inspection made to ascertain that the gates would now work perfectly, the tug was allowed to proceed.
"Well, what are your plans now, boys?" asked Mr. Alcando on the day after the lock accident.
"Back to Culebra Cut," answered Blake. "We have orders to get a picture of a big slide there, and we're going to do it."
"Even if you have to make the slide yourself?" asked the Spaniard with a short laugh.
"Not much!" exclaimed Blake. "I'd do a good deal to get the kind of moving pictures they want, but nothing like that. There have been some rains of late, however, and if things happen as they often have before in the Cut there may be a slide."
"Yes, they do follow rains, so I am told," went on the Spaniard. "Well, I do not wish your Canal any bad luck, but if a slide does occur I hope it will come when you can get views of it."
"In the daytime, and not at night," suggested Joe.
For several days nothing of interest occurred. Blake and Joe sent back to New York the films of the mad rush of waters through the lock, and also dispatched other views they had taken. They had gone to Culebra Cut and there tied up, waiting for a slide that might come at any time, and yet which might never occur. Naturally if the canal engineers could have had their way they would have preferred never to see another avalanche of earth descend.
Mr. Alcando had by this time proved that he could take moving pictures almost as well as could the boys. Of course this filming of nature was not all there was to the business. It was quite another matter to make views of theatrical scenes, or to film the scene of an indoor and outdoor drama.
"But I do not need any of that for my purpose," explained Mr. Alcando. "I just want to know how to get pictures that will help develope our railroad business."
"You know that pretty well now," said Blake. "I suppose you will soon be leaving the Canal—and us."
"Not until I see you film the big slide," he replied. "I wish you all success."
"To say nothing of the Canal," put in Joe.
"To say nothing of the Canal," repeated the Spaniard, and he looked at the boys in what Blake said afterward he thought was a strange manner.
"Then you haven't altogether gotten over your suspicions of him?" asked Joe.
"No, and yet I don't know why either of us should hold any against him," went on Joe's chum. "Certainly he has been a good friend and companion to us, and he has learned quickly."
"Oh, yes, he's smart enough. Well, we haven't much more to do here. A slide, if we can get one, and some pictures below Gatun Dam, and we can go back North."
"Yes," agreed Blake.
"Seen anything of Alcando's alarm clock model lately?" asked Joe, after a pause.
"Not a thing, and I haven't heard it tick. Either he has given up working on it, or he's so interested in the pictures that he has forgotten it."
Several more days passed, gloomy, unpleasant days, for it rained nearly all the time. Then one morning, sitting in the cabin of the tug anchored near Gold Hill, there came an alarm.
"A land slide! A big slide in Culebra Cut! Emergency orders!"
"That means us!" cried Blake, springing to his feet, and getting out a camera. "It's our chance, Joe."
"Yes! Too bad, but it had to be, I suppose," agreed his chum, as he slipped into a mackintosh, for it was raining hard.
JOE'S PLIGHT
JOE'S PLIGHT
From outside the cabin of the tug came a confused series of sounds. First there was the swish and pelt of the rain, varied as the wind blew the sheets of water across the deck. But, above it all, was a deep, ominous note—a grinding, crushing noise, as of giant rocks piling one on top of the other, smashing to powder between them the lighter stones.
"What will happen?" asked Mr. Alcando, as he watched Joe and Blake making ready. They seemed to work mechanically—slipping into rubber boots and rain coats, and, all the while, seeing that the cameras and films were in readiness. They had brought some waterproof boxes to be used in case of rain—some they had found of service during the flood on the Mississippi.
"No one knows what will happen," said Blake grimly. "But we're going to get some pictures before too much happens."
"Out there?" asked the Spaniard, with a motion of his hand toward the side of the big hill through which the Canal had been cut.
"Out there—of course!" cried Joe. "We can't get moving pictures of the slide in here."
He did not intend to speak shortly, but it sounded so in the stress of his hurry.
"Then I'm coming!" said Mr. Alcando quietly. "If I'm to do this sort of work in the jungle, along our railroad, I'll need to have my nerve stiffened."
"This will stiffen it all right," returned Blake, sternly, as a louder sound from without told of a larger mass of the earth sliding into the waters of the Canal, whence the drift had been excavated with so much labor.
It was a bad slide—the worst in the history of the undertaking—and the limit of it was not reached when Joe and Blake, with their cameras and spare boxes of film, went out on deck.
The brown-red earth, the great rocks and the little stones, masses of gravel, shale, schist, cobbles, fine sand—all in one intermingled mass was slipping, sliding, rolling, tumbling, falling and fairly leaping down the side of Gold Hill.
"Come on!" cried Blake to Joe.
"I'm with you," was the reply.
"And I, also," said Mr. Alcando with set teeth.
Fortunately for them the tug was tied to a temporary dock on the side of the hill where the slide had started, so they did not have to take a boat across, but could at once start for the scene of the disaster.
"We may not be here when you come back!" called Captain Wiltsey after the boys.
"Why not?" asked Joe.
"I may have to go above or below. I don't want to take any chances of being caught by a blockade."
"All right. We'll find you wherever you are," said Blake.
As yet the mass of slipping and sliding earth was falling into the waters of the Canal some distance from the moored tug. But there was no telling when the slide might take in a larger area, and extend both east and west.
Up a rude trail ran Blake and Joe, making their way toward where the movement of earth was most pronounced. The light was not very good on account of the rain, but they slipped into the cameras the most sensitive film, to insure good pictures even when light conditions were most unsatisfactory.
The moving picture boys paused for only a glance behind them. They had heard the emergency orders being given. Soon they would be flashed along the whole length of the Canal, bringing to the scene the scows, the dredges, the centrifugal pumps—the men and the machinery that would tear out the earth that had no right to be where it had slid.
Then, seeing that the work of remedying the accident was under way, almost as soon as the accident had occurred, Blake and Joe, followed by Mr. Alcando, hurried on through the rain, up to their ankles in red mud, for the rain was heavy. It was this same rain that had so loosened the earth that the slide was caused.
"Here's a good place!" cried Blake, as he came to a little eminence that gave a good view of the slipping, sliding earth and stones.
"I'll go on a little farther," said Joe. "We'll get views from two different places."
"What can I do?" asked the Spaniard, anxious not only to help his friends, but to learn as much as he could of how moving pictures are taken under adverse circumstances.
"You stay with Blake," suggested Joe. "I've got the little camera and I can handle that, and my extra films, alone and with ease. Stay with Blake."
It was well the Spaniard did.
With a rush and roar, a grinding, crashing sound a large mass of earth, greater in extent than any that had preceded, slipped from the side of the hill.
"Oh, what a picture this will make!" cried Blake, enthusiastically.
He had his camera in place, and was grinding away at the crank, Mr. Alcando standing ready to assist when necessary.
"Take her a while," suggested Blake, who was "winded" from his run, and carrying the heavy apparatus.
The big portion of the slide seemed to have subsided, at least momentarily. Blake gave a look toward where Joe had gone. At that moment, with a roar like a blast of dynamite a whole section of the hill seemed to slip away and then, with a grinding crash the slanting earth on which Joe stood, and where he had planted the tripod of his camera, went out from under him.
Joe and his camera disappeared from sight.
AT GATUN DAM
AT GATUN DAM
"Look!" cried Mr. Alcando. He would have said more—have uttered some of the expressions of fear and terror that raced through his mind, but he could not speak the words. He could only look and point.
But Blake, as well as the Spaniard, had seen what had happened, and with Blake to see was to act.
"Quick!" he cried. "We've got to get him out before he smothers! Pack up this stuff!"
As he spoke he folded the tripod legs of his camera, and laid it on top of a big rock, that seemed firmly enough imbedded in the soil not to slip from its place. Then, placing beside it the spare boxes of film, and throwing over them a rubber covering he had brought, Blake began to run across the side of the hill toward the place where Joe had last been seen.
"Come on!" cried Blake to Mr. Alcando, but the Spaniard needed no urging. He had laid with Blake's the boxes of film he carried, and the two were now speeding to the rescue.
"Go get help!" cried Joe to an Indian worker from the tug, who had followed to help carry things if needed. "Go quick! Bring men—shovels! We may have to dig him out," he added to Mr. Alcando.
"If—if we can find him," replied the other in low tones.
"Go on—run!" cried Joe, for the Indian did not seem to understand. Then the meaning and need of haste occurred to him.
"Si, señor, I go—pronto!" he exclaimed, and he was off on a run.
Fortunately for Blake and Mr. Alcando, the worst of the slide seemed to be over. A big mass of the hill below them, and off to their right, had slid down into the Canal. It was the outer edge of this that had engulfed Joe and his camera. Had he been directly in the path of the avalanche, nothing could have saved him. As it was, Blake felt a deadly fear gripping at his heart that, after all, it might be impossible to rescue his chum.
"But I'll get him! I'll get him!" he said fiercely to himself, over and over again. "I'll get him!"
Slipping, sliding, now being buried up to their knees in the soft mud and sand, again finding some harder ground, or shelf of shale, that offered good footing, Blake and the Spaniard struggled on through the rain. It was still coming down, but not as hard as before.
"Here's the place!" cried Blake, coming to a halt in front of where several stones formed a rough circle. "He's under here."
"No, farther on, I think," said the Spaniard.
Blake looked about him. His mind was in a turmoil. He could not be certain as to the exact spot where Joe had been engulfed in the slide, and yet he must know to a certainty. There was no time to dig in many places, one after the other, to find his chum. Every second was vital.
"Don't you think it's here?" Blake asked, "Try to think!"
"I am!" the Spaniard replied. "And it seems to me that it was farther on. If there was only some way we could tell—"
The sentence trailed off into nothingness. There was really no way of telling. All about them was a dreary waste of mud, sand, boulders, smaller stones, gravel and more mud—mud was over everything. And more mud was constantly being made, for the rain had not ceased.
"I'm going to dig here!" decided Blake in desperation, as with his bare hands he began throwing aside the dirt and stones. Mr. Alcando watched him for a moment, and then, as though giving up his idea as to where Joe lay beneath the dirt, he, too, started throwing on either side the clay and soil.
Blake glanced down the hill. The Indian messenger had disappeared, and, presumably, had reached the tug, and was giving the message for help. Then Blake bent to his Herculean task again. When next he looked up, having scooped a slight hole in the side of the hill, he saw a procession of men running up—men with picks and shovels over their shoulders. He saw, too, a big slice of the hill in the Canal. The wonderful waterway was blocked at Culebra Cut.
Blake thought little of that then. His one idea and frantic desire was to get Joe out.
"They'll never get here in time," said Mr. Alcando in a low voice. "We'll never get him out in time."
"We—we must!" cried Blake, as again he began digging.
Mr. Alcando had spoken the truth. The men could not get there in time—Joe could not be dug out in time—if it had depended on human agencies. For not only was Blake unaware of the exact spot where his chum lay buried, but, at least so it seemed, there had been such a mass of earth precipitated over him that it would mean hours before he could be gotten out.
However, fate, luck, Providence, or whatever you choose to call it, had not altogether deserted the moving picture boys. The very nature of the slide, and the hill on which it had occurred, was in Joe's favor. For as Blake, after a despairing glance at the approaching column of men, bent again to his hopeless task, there was a movement of the earth.
"Look out!" cried Mr. Alcando.
He would have spoken too late had what happened been of greater magnitude. As it was Blake felt the earth slipping from beneath his feet, and jumped back instinctively. But there was no need.
Beyond him another big slide had occurred, and between him and Mr. Alcando, and this last shift of the soil, was a ridge of rocks that held them to their places.
Down in a mass of mud went another portion of the hill, and when it had ceased moving Blake gave a cry of joy. For there, lying in a mass of red sand, was Joe himself, and beside him was the camera, the tripod legs sticking out at grotesque angles.
"Joe! Joe!" yelled Blake, preparing to leap toward his chum.
"Be careful!" warned Mr. Alcando. "There may be danger—"
But no known danger could have held Blake back.
"He is there!" Blake cried. "We were digging in the wrong place."
"I thought so," said the Spaniard. But Blake did not stay to listen to him. Now he was at Joe's side. The slide had laid bare a ledge of rock which seemed firm enough to remain solid for some time.
"Joe! Joe!" cried Blake, bending over his chum. And then he saw what it was that had probably saved Joe's life. The boy's big rubber coat had been turned up and wound around his head and face in such a manner as to keep the sand and dirt out of his eyes, nose and mouth. And, also wrapped up in the folds of the garment, was the camera.
Rapidly Blake pulled the coat aside. Joe's pale face looked up at him. There was a little blood on the forehead, from a small cut. The boy was unconscious.
"Joe! Joe!" begged Blake. "Speak to me! Are you all right?"
He bared his chum's face to the pelting rain—the best thing he could have done, for it brought Joe back to consciousness—slowly at first, but with the returning tide of blood the fainting spell passed.
"We must get him to the boat," said Mr. Alcando, coming up now.
"Are you hurt? Can you walk?" asked Blake.
Joe found his voice—though a faint voice it was.
"Yes—yes," he said, slowly. "I—I guess I'm all right."
There seemed to be no broken bones. Mr. Alcando took charge of the camera. It was not damaged except as to the tripod.
"What happened?" asked Joe, his voice stronger now.
"You were caught in the slide," Blake informed him. "Don't think about it now. We'll have you taken care of."
"I—I guess I'm all right," Joe said, standing upright. "That coat got wound around my face, and kept the dirt away. I got a bad whack on the head, though, and then I seemed to go to sleep. Did I get any pictures?"
"I don't know. Don't worry about them now."
"We—we missed the best part of the slide, I guess," Joe went on. "Too bad."
"It's all right!" his chum insisted. "I was filming away up to the time you went under. Now, let's get back."
By this time the crowd of men, including Captain Wiltsey, had arrived. But there was nothing for them to do. The slide had buried Joe, and another slide had uncovered him, leaving him little the worse, save for a much-muddied suit of clothes, and a bad headache, to say nothing of several minor cuts and bruises. It was a lucky escape.
Back to the tug they went, taking the cameras with them. Joe was given such rough and ready surgery and medical treatment as was available, and Captain Wiltsey said he would leave at once for Gatun, where a doctor could be obtained.
Fortunately the blockading of the Canal by the slide did not stop theBohiofrom continuing her journey. The slide was north of her position.
"I do hope we got some good films," said Joe, when he had been made as comfortable as possible in his berth.
"I think we did," Blake said. "Your camera was protected by the rubber coat, and mine wasn't hurt at all."
Later the boys learned that though they had missed the very best, or rather the biggest, part of the slide, still they had on their films enough of it to make a most interesting series of views.
Late that afternoon Joe was in the care of a physician, who ordered him to stay in bed a couple of days. Which Joe was very willing to do. For, after the first excitement wore off, he found himself much more sore and stiff than he had realized.
They were at Gatun now, and there Blake planned to get some views of the big dam from the lower, or spillway side.
"But first I'm going back to the slide," he said. "I want to get some views of the dredgers getting rid of the dirt."
MR. ALCANDO'S ABSENCE
MR. ALCANDO'S ABSENCE
Blake spent a week at Culebra Cut, making pictures of the removal of the great mass of earth that had slid into the water. The chief engineer, General George W. Goethals, had ordered every available man and machine to the work, for though the Canal had not been formally opened, many vessels had started to make trips through it, and some of them had been blocked by the slide. It was necessary to get the dirt away so they could pass on their voyage.
So with dredges, with steam shovels, and hydraulic pumps, that sucked through big flexible pipes mud and water, spraying it off to one side, the work went on. Blake had Mr. Alcando to help him, and the Spaniard was now expert enough to render valuable assistance. While Blake was at one scene, getting views of the relief work, his pupil could be at another interesting point.
Blake had telegraphed to New York that the one picture above all others desired had been obtained—that of a big slide in the Culebra Cut. He did not tell how Joe had nearly lost his life in helping get the films, for Blake was modest, as was his chum, and, as he said, it was "all in the day's work."
Joe was left to recover from the shock and slight injuries at Gatun, while Blake and Mr. Alcando were at Culebra. For the shock to the young moving picture operator had been greater than at first supposed, though his bodily injuries were comparatively slight.
"Well, what's next on the programme?" asked Joe of Blake, about two weeks after the accident, when Blake had returned from Culebra. Most of the work there was done, and the Canal was again open, save to vessels of extreme draught.
"I guess we'll go on making pictures of Gatun Dam now; that is, if you're well enough," spoke Blake. "How do you feel?"
"Pretty fair. How did Alcando make out?"
"All right. He's learning fast. We can trust him with a camera now, out alone."
"That's good. I say, Blake," and Joe's voice took on a confidential tone, "you haven't noticed anything strange about him, have you?"
"Strange? What do you mean?"
"I mean while he was off there with you. Anything more about that alarm clock of his? And did anything more develop about his knowing the captain of that vessel that sunk theNama?"
"No, that was only coincidence, I think. Why, I can't say that I've noticed anything suspicious about him, Joe, if that's what you mean," and Blake's voice had a questioning tone.
"That's what I do mean," spoke Joe. "And if you haven't I have."
"Have what?"
"I've been watching Alcando since you and he came back, and I think he's decidedly queer."
"Suspicious, you mean?"
"I mean he acts as though something were going to happen."
"Another landslide?" asked Blake with a laugh. "No chance of that here at Gatun Dam."
"No, but something else could happen, I think."
"You mean the—dam itself?" asked Blake, suddenly serious.
"Well, I don't exactly know what I do mean," Joe said, and his voice was troubled. "I'll tell you what I noticed and heard, and you can make your own guess."
"Go on," invited Blake. "I'm all ears, as the donkey said."
"It's no laughing matter," retorted his chum. "Haven't you noticed since you and Alcando came back," he went on, "that he seems different, in a way. He goes about by himself, and, several times I've caught him looking at the dam as though he'd never seen it before. He is wonderfully impressed by it."
"Well, anybody would be," spoke Blake. "It's a wonderful piece of engineering. But go on."
"Not only that," resumed Joe, "but I've heard him talking to himself a lot."
"Well, that's either a bad sign, or a good one," laughed his chum. "They say when a fellow talks to himself he either has money in the bank, or he's in love. You can take your choice."
"Not when it's the kind of talk I overheard Alcando having with himself," Joe resumed. "I went out on the dam yesterday, and I saw him looking at it. He didn't see me, but I heard him muttering to himself."
"What did he say?" Blake wanted to know.
"I didn't hear it all," was Joe's answer, "but I caught two sentences that made me do a lot of thinking. They were these: 'I just hate to do it, though I'll have to, I suppose. But I'll not put the blame on'—" and Joe came to a pause.
"Well, go on," urged Blake.
"That's all there was," Joe continued. "I couldn't hear any more. What do you suppose he meant?"
"He might have meant nothing—or anything," Blake remarked slowly. "It sounds to me as though he meant that he had made a failure of the moving picture business, and was going to quit. That must be it. He meant that he had to give it up, though he hated to, and that he wouldn't blame us for not giving him better instruction."
"Could he have meant that?"
"He could," Blake replied, "for, to tell you the truth, he'll never be a good operator. He hasn't a correct eye for details, and he can't focus worth a cent, though that might be overcome in time. He does well enough for ordinary work, but when it comes to fine details he isn't in it. I found that out back there at Culebra when he was working with me. Of course he was a lot of help, and all that, but he's a failure as a moving picture operator."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Joe, with genuine sympathy.
"So am I to have to come to that conclusion," Blake went on. "I guess he knows it, too, for he said as much to me. So I guess that's what his talking to himself meant."
"Perhaps it did. Well, we did our best for him."
"We surely did, and I guess he appreciates that. He said so, anyhow."
"And so you're going to get some Gatun pictures and then quit—eh?"
"That's it, Joe, and the sooner we get them the sooner we can get back home. I've had all I want of Panama. Not that it isn't a nice place, but we've seen all there is to see."
"We might try a little more of the jungle."
"We got enough of those pictures before," Blake declared. "No, the dam will wind it up, as far as we're concerned."
If Mr. Alcando felt any sorrow over his failure as a moving picture operator he did not show it when next he met the boys. He was quite cheerful.
"Are you fully recovered, Joe?" he asked.
"Oh, sure! I'm all right again."
"I only wish I could have had a hand in rescuing you," the Spaniard went on. "It would have been a manner of paying, in a slight degree, the debt I owe you boys. But fate took that out of my hands, and you were saved by the same sort of slide that covered you up."
"Yes, I guess I was born lucky," laughed Joe.
Preparations for taking several views of the big Gatun Dam from the lower, or spillway side, were made. One afternoon Mr. Alcando asked if he would be needed in making any views, and when Blake told him he would not, the Spaniard went off by himself, taking a small camera with him.
"I'm going to try my luck on my own hook," he said.
"That's right," encouraged Blake. "Go it on your own responsibility. Good luck!"
"He's trying hard, at all events," said Joe, when their acquaintance had left them.
"Yes," agreed Joe. "He wants to make good."
Several times after this Mr. Alcando went off, by himself for more or less prolonged absences. Each time he took a camera with him.
It was a small machine, made more for amateurs than for professionals, but it gave good practice.
"How are you coming on?" asked Blake one day, when Mr. Alcando returned after a trip which, he said, had taken him to Gatun Dam.
"Oh, pretty well, I think," was the answer, as the Spaniard set down his camera and carrying case. "I got some good scenes, I believe. When are you going to make the last of the spillway views?"
Blake did not answer. He was listening to a curious sound. It was a ticking, like that of an alarm clock, and it came from the interior of the carrying case that held extra reels of film for the little camera Mr. Alcando had.
Blake felt himself staring at the black box.