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      The Tugboat Mystery

      by MARY ADRIAN

       Illustrated by

       WILLIAM MOYERS

       WILDSIDE PRESS

      Copyright, 1952, by MARY VENN

      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE

      THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM

      1

      The Bessie

      WITH horn blowing, coon tail flying, Tom Owens rode his bicycle along the sidewalk of a parkway in New York City. It was a beautiful parkway with trees and benches almost at the edge of the East River. People strolled along the wide sidewalk, enjoying the warm spring weather. Tom put on his brake as he came near a nursemaid pushing a baby carriage. Then he hurried on his way.

      A short distance in back of Tom came another boy on his bicycle. He was Bill Timbers, nine years old, the same age as Tom.

      “Hey, wait for me,” he shouted as he tried to catch up with his friend.

      Then came Janie on her bicycle. She was Bill’s sister, seven years old, with pigtails that were forever bobbing from side to side.

      But Tom did not wait for Bill or Janie. He rode his bicycle even faster, for he was in a hurry this afternoon. A tugboat called the Bessie was going to deliver coal at a dock along the river shore. And Tom wanted to see his uncle, who was the first mate on this tugboat.

      Uncle Steve was a swell guy, the best in the world, according to Tom. When Tom’s father had died a year ago, he had insisted that the boy and his mother come and live with him.

      “I have an apartment all to myself,” Steve had said. “It’s just going to waste, so you’ll have to move in.”

      That is exactly what Tom and his mother did, baggage and all. Now Steve no longer had to eat in restaurants, for there were home-cooked meals, prepared by Tom’s mother. There were white curtains at the windows, too, and flowers on the living room table. And Tom was learning more about tugboats every day, for his uncle had worked for a tugboat company since he was twenty-one years of age. He had started as a deck hand and finally he was promoted to first mate, whose duty it was to help the captain.

      Every evening after supper Tom would sit in the living room and listen to Uncle Steve tell about the different work done by tugboats in New York Harbor: how they delivered barges of coal, sand and gravel to different docks along the waterfront, and how they helped to dock the large ocean liners. Sometimes his uncle would tell him about his experiences in New York Harbor. They were always very thrilling, for Uncle Steve was always the hero. Once when he was relieving the Captain and piloting a tugboat in the harbor, a heavy fog came up and a freighter almost crashed into them. But Steve swung the tugboat to one side and missed hitting the freighter by a hair’s breadth.

      Now as Tom rode his bicycle along the parkway this afternoon, he looked to see if the Bessie was coming up the river. His friends, Bill and Janie, kept yelling that he wait for them, but Tom wanted to be at the dock when his uncle’s tugboat came in. It wasn’t often that he had the chance to see him working in New York Harbor.

      Presently the boy reached his destination, one of the most exciting places along the East River, since tugboats delivered at least one thousand tons of coal a day at this dock. The coal was taken out of the barges and brought to the top of a large tower by means of a conveyer belt. From there it ran across a small bridge into a building with millions of lights, known as the Power House. This building had six smokestacks and was filled with many furnaces which supplied power for the Third Avenue Elevated Trains.

      Tom would spend hours at this dock, watching the tugboats come in. He had made friends with the foreman there, too. His name was Mac, and much to Tom’s joy, he knew Uncle Steve. Mac’s face was always streaked with coal dust and his hands were just as dirty, but that made Tom like him all the more.

      “Hi, Mac,” he called when he saw the foreman standing on the dock near a barge filled with ashes that had been removed from the furnaces in the Power House. “Uncle Steve has been transferred to the Bessie. He said that she’s going to deliver coal here this afternoon.”

      “Why, that’s swell,” answered the foreman. “I’ll be able to have a chat with your uncle. And I’m glad to hear that he’s been transferred to the Bessie. She’s a fine tug. Only last week she delivered coal here.”

      “Uncle Steve is going to be a Captain, too,” added Tom. “He passed his examinations. And now all he has to do is wait until there is an opening in the company for a Captain.”

      “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time,” answered Mac. “I must congratulate your uncle.”

      By this time Bill and Janie had reached the dock.

      “Where’s the Bessie?” they cried. Tom had told them about his uncle being the first mate on this tugboat, and they were anxious to see him, too.

      “The Bessie is due very soon, isn’t she, Mac?” said Tom, turning to the foreman and cocking his head with importance.

      Mac pulled a large watch out of a pocket in his overalls and looked at it. “She ought to be here any minute,” he replied.

      “Whoopee!” cried Tom.

      “You’re sure your uncle is going to be on the Bessie, aren’t you?” said Janie.

      “Of course, I’m sure,” answered Tom.

      Janie sighed with relief. “I wouldn’t want to miss seeing your uncle.”

      “So you know Steve, too,” said Mac, his eyes twinkling.

      Janie nodded. Then she looked at the water lapping against the side of the dock. She hoped Mac wouldn’t ask any more questions, for she hadn’t told the boys that she thought Steve was someone very special. She hadn’t decided whether it was because his hair was red like hers or whether it was because he was tall and handsome. She was relieved when Tom gave a loud yell.

      “I see the Bessie! Here she comes!” he cried.

      Breathlessly, the children watched the tugboat draw up to the dock with her cargo, two barges of coal. The Bessie had just had a fresh coat of paint. Her cabin and pilot house were a dark red, and her hull a light green.

      “Gee, she’s a beautiful tug,” said Tom.

      “She sure is,” answered Bill. “It must be wonderful to be the captain of a tugboat.”

      “That’s what I’m going to be when I grow up,” said Tom. “A Tugboat Captain.” Then he let out another yell. “I see Uncle Steve. He’s standing on the upper deck. Oh, Uncle Steve,” he cried at the top of his lungs. And he jumped up and down and waved his arms like a windmill.

      Bill and Janie were just as excited. They jumped up and down and waved, too. But Uncle Steve did not wave back.

      “I guess he didn’t hear me,” yelled Tom, for the Bessie was snorting and puffing as she drew up to the dock.

      Then came bells ringing. Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Captain Brown was in the pilot house, signaling to the engineer below to slow down. The Bessie grunted and chugged some more. Then her engine gave a deep sigh, and the deck hand, a short ruddy-faced man, threw a heavy rope around one of the dock posts.

      Tom was still trying to get his uncle’s attention. But Steve was not wearing his usual sunny grin. He looked angry and his mouth was pressed together in a tight line.

      “Jeepers,” said Tom. “I wonder what’s wrong with Uncle Steve.” And he ran along the dock to get closer to the Bessie. He went past the two coal barges, which looked like huge freight cars and which were already tied up to the dock.

      “Hey, wait for me,” shouted Bill, running after his friend.

      Janie did not bother to yell.

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