The Yazoo Mystery. Irving Craddock

When Hiram Strong collapsed it did not surprise the other firemen. It was not a rare occurrence for even seasoned firemen to faint. But it did amaze the engine-room crew at the ease with which I took him in my arms, for he weighed at least one hundred and sixty pounds. I laid him down beneath the ventilator, where the others had prepared a place for him. I then removed his cap and dashed a pail of cold water over his face and chest, coal dust and dirt having washed up in his black, wavy hair.

For the first time since I had met him I got a good look at the youngster's face. Even during this temporary lapse the slightly upturned corners of his mouth and the red of his lips showed, lending the impression that he was about to break out into a sunny smile. There was nothing about his features to indicate the confirmed inebriate or debauchee. He had a good, honest ear, a clean neck and a generous breadth of shoulder. After making sure of his respiration and heart action, I returned to my post to feed his furnace and mine. To maintain two hundred and eighty pounds of steam on the gauge required constant, back-breaking shoveling. In a few minutes both furnaces were roaring, with one blowing off a notice to the engineer that, although one of the crew had fainted, the boilers were hot.

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour before Strong raised himself to a sitting posture and looked over toward me. He was dazed, and blinked like an owl. I waved to him to stay where he was and rest. For answer he made a "cat's cradle" by clasping his hands before his knees, unmindful of the fact that he was seated in a pool of water and saturated coal dust.

We evidently had a good head wind outside, for it rushed down through the big ventilator as though driven by an exhaust fan, thus rapidly reviving Strong. However, it would not be well for him to remain in the draft too long, so I crossed over and helped him to regain his feet. He reeled and stumbled as he walked back to his station, which took grit, but there was no evidence of self-pity.

For the remainder of the watch Strong was unable to do much work. First he tried to shovel coal, but found he couldn't lift it. However, he insisted on staying around while I shoveled, occasionally opening and closing the furnace doors. All the while he maintained his attitude of silence, apparently taking it for granted that I understood the situation and was willing to help him. At last the eight o'clock relief crew came, and although still weak, he made the narrow iron stair to the deck much easier than when he descended four hours before. He was adapting himself to the conditions the best he could.

Strong soon washed up and donned clean wear, which seemed to refresh him, but coal dust still showing about his eyes, ears and brow gave him the appearance of an actor made up for his part. At mess he devoured soup with relish, but when he tried the stew, made up of overdone neck, cuts of fried beef and cold potatoes, he tossed the pan and its contents overboard.

"I need sleep more than that stuff," he said, and straightway made for his bunk.

Six hours later I found him standing beside me at the rail in the waist of the ship and he appeared to be much improved. His fine skin glowed, but his hands looked as though they had been parboiled, with palms badly blistered. His trousers were dirty, dry, stiff, baggy and wrinkled. On the upper part of his body he wore nothing but a silk undershirt, and for his overworked feet he had pulled on a pair of sandals.

It is quite as impossible to disguise a real man as it is for a make-believe to pass himself off for a gentleman. Though unaware of how to go about it, he began taking my measure quite as coldly as I was his,

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