NORTHWARD HO!
It was hardly surprising that the ship-news reporter had instantly
recognized the Bungalow Boys when he heard their names. Their exploits
in many quarters had received numerous columns of newspaper space,
much to their amusement. The clever manner in which they had broken up
forever the operations of the gang of counterfeiters in the Sawmill
Valley, as related in the first volume of this series, "The Bungalow
Boys," had brought them before the public. Further interesting "copy"
had been made by their wonderful adventures in search of a sunken
treasure galleon. Readers of this series were given full details of
that adventurous voyage on the surface and below the ocean, in the
second volume dealing with our young friends' experiences, which was
called "The Bungalow Boys Marooned in the Tropics."
In the third volume we followed them throughout their venturesome
doings in the northwest. "The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest"
showed how pluck and self-reliance can win out even against such a
combination as the boys found in the "Chinese runners." The fourth
volume dealt with their voyage on the Great Lakes. The mysteries of
Castle Rock Island, the ways of the wreckers who captured the lads,
and the daring manner in which the boys escaped from the ruined
lighthouse, all were set forth in the book in question, which bore the
title, "The Bungalow Boys on the Great Lakes."
Now the Bungalow Boys found themselves setting forth on a voyage to
the Northland on board a fine, staunch steamer. That adventures and
possibly perils lay ahead of them they could not doubt; but just what
the object of the voyage was, had not been revealed to them.
Tom had stuck to the strict truth when he told the reporter that he
did not know anything about the voyage. His uncle had merely invited
Jack and himself to take a "sea voyage." At the lad's solicitation,
Sandy had been allowed to make one of the party. Of course, the boys
would not have been taken from their studies to make this trip, but
the headmaster of the academy that they all attended had been taken
very ill a short time before and the school had been temporarily
closed.
The pilot had been dropped and the _Northerner_ was in free sea room,
forging ahead through the great swells of the ocean. The steamer
appeared oddly silent. There were no passengers rushing about, no
bustle and confusion. The voyage had begun as unobtrusively as the
departure from the dock. The small crew moved about under the
direction of a mate, setting things to rights, coiling ropes and
making everything snug. On the bridge were Captain Goodrich and Mr.
Dacre. Presently a third person joined them--a man of massive build
with crisply curling hair and a big beard. This was Colton
Chillingworth, the rancher friend of Mr. Dacre, whose Washington ranch
had formed the scene of some of the boys' most exciting adventures in
the northwest.
"Where are we headed for?" asked Jack, as the three lads stood at the
stern of the steamer watching the white wake that was rolling outward
from the vessel's counter at a twelve-knot gait.
"Bang for the Straits of San Juan de Fuca. I heard the captain tell
the pilot so when we dropped him," replied Tom.
On one side of the steamer were the picturesque, snow-capped Selkirks,
on the other the Olympics, calm and majestic in the afternoon light.
Along the shore were small settlements fringing the deep woods. Above
all towered Mount Rainier, sharply chiseled against the sky. The
pearly whiteness of its eternal snow-cap glistened in the sunlight
like a field of diamonds.
Broken at intervals by cliffs of chalk, white or dark brown stone,
immense forests of somber green fir and cedar stretched from the hills
almost to the water's edge. Here and there a cascading stream like a
silver thread could be seen dashing its troubled way down the steep
mountainside. It was a beautiful, impressive sight, and the boys felt
it so as they gazed. But uppermost in their minds was the question of
the object of the trip, of its destination. In this regard they were
not to be left long in the dark.
"And after the Straits?"
The question came from the Scotch boy.
"Northward, I guess, to Alaska. That's positively all we know," came
from Jack.
"Awell, we're entitled to a guess, I ken," hazarded Sandy. "Suppose we
are going pole hunting?"
"What!"
"Looking for the north pole," responded the other stoutly, while Tom
and Jack exploded with laughter.
"Nonsense," said Tom. "Uncle Chisholm has too much sound common sense
to go off on a wild goose chase like that."
"Anyhow, the pole has been found," quoth Jack in tones of finality.
"You can be sure of one thing at least," put in Tom; "whatever we are
after, the whole expedition has been carefully thought out. That
steamer on the upper deck, for instance."
"She's all in numbered sections to be put together when we get ready,"
said Jack. "Doesn't that suggest something to you?"
"How do you mean?" questioned Tom in his turn.
"Just this. In my opinion, we are going to ascend some river."
"But what for?"
"Ah! that's just what we shan't know till they choose to tell us."
"Hoot, mon," exclaimed Sandy, "gie ower guessing! We'll ken all aboot
it in gude time. In the meanwhile, we're three mighty lucky boys to
have a chance to make such a trip."
"Them's my sentiments," coincided Tom heartily.
They looked seaward. The air had a sharp brisk tang in it, a veritable
sea tonic that braced and invigorated. The waves were choppy and as
the _Northerner_ steamed onward through them, from time to time a
glistening cloud of spray was hurled high above her sharp bow. From
her funnel poured a column of wind-whipped black smoke, showing that
coal was not being spared to drive her along at her best gait.
"Oh, but this is great!" exclaimed Jack, pulling off his cap and
letting the wind blow through his tousled hair.
"One thing is certain, this is no idle cruise. There's an object in
it," said Tom, "and I reckon that we boys are due to play a part in
whatever enterprise is on hand."
"Well, I hope we make good, whatever it is," said Jack.
"Nae fear o' that," spoke up Sandy confidently.
The _Northerner_ arose on a higher swell than usual, and then with a
sidewise motion settled glidingly down into a watery hollow, rising
the next instant on the crest of another roller. Her masts swept the
sky in broad arcs. All at once Sandy released his hold on the rail and
slid half across the deck before he brought up. His face had suddenly
grown very pale. His freckles stood out on it in bright relief.
"What's the matter?" demanded Jack, noticing the woe-begone expression
of his friend's face.
"Um?" inquired Sandy. "Matter? Naething's the matter, mon. O-h-h-h-h!"
"Seasick, eh? That's the last meal you ate ashore. I warned you
against all that pie."
Sandy shuddered.
"Don't talk of pie," he groaned.
Just as Tom was about to suggest that Sandy go to his stateroom and
lie down for a while, the second mate approached them.
"You young gentlemen are to go to the charthouse. Mr. Dacre says he
has something to tell you."
The boys exchanged glances. Even Sandy forgot his woes in the interest
aroused by this communication. The officer walked on aft while Tom
exclaimed in a low tone:
"At last we'll find out where we are bound, and what for. Come on,
Jack."
"How about me?" inquired Sandy.
"Thought you were seasick."
"I was," rejoined Sandy, "but, mon, I feel grond again. If Mr. Dacre
is going to talk, I'm a weel boy the noo."