Free Clive Cussler; Craig Dirgo by The Sea Hunters II

Orleans racing downstream. He stared in awe. The slate blue of the hull seemed to blend with the blue of the river water. Sparks and smoke poured from the stack and trailed to the rear like a signal fire run amok. The twin paddle wheels chopped at the river, flinging sheets of water high in the air. No one was visible on deck save for the big black dog atop the bow sniffing the air. In fact, the vessel looked like a ghost ship. Suddenly, the steam whistle shrieked, and Milo watched as New Orleans entered the middle channel of the falls.
    “Back left wheel,” Jack shouted, “full starboard.”
    New Orleans leaped sideways.
    “Full on both wheels,” Jack said a second later.
    Spray washed through the open windows in the aft cabin, wetting Lydia’s and Maggie’s faces. To each side of the vessel were rocks and churning waters. They braced themselves as New Orleans took a sharp turn from left to right. In the pilothouse, Nicholas Roosevelt peered downstream.
    “Looking good,” he shouted over the roar of the water.
    Engineer Baker poked his head into the pilothouse. “How much longer?”
    “Two, maybe three minutes,” Jack said.
    “Good,” Baker said. “I’ll rupture a boiler if it’s much longer.”
    “Twenty yards ahead is a series of boulders we need to avoid,” Jack said.
    “What’s the sequence?” Roosevelt shouted.
    “Hard left, right half, left half, then full to the right and hug that side of the river until we’re in the clear,” Jack said.
    “Here they go,” Milo shouted as New Orleans lined up to tackle the last rapids.
    “He had better get her over to the left,” Simon added.
    The mayor of Louisville crested the rocks. He panted from the exertion of the climb. Stopping to catch his breath, he pulled the stub of a cigar from his vest pocket and crammed it in the comer of his mouth before speaking.
    “Hard to believe,” he said. “They just might make it after all.”
    Inside the pilothouse, the mood was tense but optimistic. Eighty percent of the falls had been navigated already. All that remained was a small series of rocky outcropping at the outflow. Then they would be in the clear.
    “We’re almost through,” Jack said.
    “The river narrows a bit right ahead,” Roosevelt noted.
    “And the current becomes stronger,” Jack noted. “I’ll need to steer at the rocks to the right, then let the current swing the bow around. Once she’s straight, give her full steam. We should pop right out the other side.”
    “Should?” Roosevelt asked.
    “We will,” Jack said.
    Inside the aft cabin, Lydia Roosevelt, Maggie Markum, and the heavyset German cook, Hilda Gottshak, were huddled together alongside the widows on the starboard side. Henry the baby was awake, and Lydia held him up to see.
    “Looks like we’re headed right for the wall,” Lydia said, pulling the baby closer.
    Gottshak hugged her Bible. “I pray the rest of this trip goes smoothly.”
    “Pray the engines keep running,” Lydia said to her.
    At that instant, the current grabbed hold of the bow and swung the vessel around.
    “Bully of a job,” Nicholas said, as they cleared the last of the falls. “Maxwell will bring you a snifter of brandy.”
    “The river is smooth from here to the Mississippi,” Jack noted.
    “How long until we reach Henderson?” Roosevelt asked.
    “Barring any problems, we’ll be there tomorrow afternoon,” Jack said.
     
    “QUIET,” LUCY BLACKWELL said, “or you will scare it away.”
    Blackwell was Lydia Roosevelt’s best friend. She was also the wife of artist John James Audubon, who would become famous for his sketches, drawings, and paintings of birds. Lydia Roosevelt was the daughter of Benjamin Latrobe, surveyor general of the United States. Nicholas had known the Latrobe family before Lydia was born, and he had watched her grow into womanhood. Though there was more than a twenty-year age difference between the two of them, Lydia was a happy wife.
    “Carolina Parrot,” Lucy