Making the boat fast to the lockhouse we lighted our oil lantern,
dropped the side curtains and disregarded the returning rain while we
prepared dinner on two small stoves formed by a pair of tripod rings
containing cans of solid alcohol. Motor boating creates a genuine
appetite and we had all the facilities for preparing a good dinner
in the smallest possible space. The deck of "Sometub" provided a dry
place for the storing of bedding, dishes and supplies and there was
no crowding at mealtime. After dinner we wrote up the log, spread a
mattress in the bottom of the boat, fastened down the curtains and
retired early.
The night was inky dark. The lights in the locktender's dwelling were
extinguished before 9 o'clock and the denizens of the village of North
Branch, several hundred yards away, seemed to seek repose at the same
hour. The solitude of the place grew oppressive. About midnight we were
aroused by a shriek that pierced the night air and echoed back from the
mountains across the river. Parting the curtains, we saw two sheeted
forms on the towpath, their ghostly outlines standing out against
the cloudy sky, while the waters of the canal reflected a pair of
shimmering specters which at first glance were calculated to make the
average stranger wish that he made this trip in a Pullman car.
Again the shrieking broke forth and the sheeted forms began to move. We
were undergoing our initiation in night traveling on the canal, but we
didn't realize it at the time.