CAUGHT IN THE WHIRLPOOL
About three o'clock the boys broke camp. They were now thoroughly
rested, and eager to be on the water again. Moreover the cleft among the
rocks--though admirably adapted for a hiding place--had none of the
qualifications which a good camping site should possess.
A paddle of two miles brought the party to Tanner's Dam, and when they
had carried the canoes around and embarked on the lower side they passed
the mouth of the real Otter Run. This enabled Ned to fix their bearings
definitely on the map, and he resolved to keep close track of the
topography of the creek in the future.
About six o'clock a beautiful place to camp was found on the left shore
of the creek; shade was abundant, and the soil was level and grassy. A
few yards up the beach a spring bubbled and spurted from a nest of
rocks.
As the boys landed a flock of wild ducks flew up with a great splashing,
and winged their way down the creek. Along the opposite shore, which was
flat and marshy, yellow-legged snipe were running to and fro, a couple
of gray herons standing contentedly on one leg, were gobbling minnows
from the shallow pools.
This was now Thursday evening. It would be a week on the morrow since
the Jolly Rovers had started on their cruise. They were so pleased with
the location of the camp, and the opportunities it seemed to offer that
they concluded to remain for a while, and here they spent Friday,
Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
The keen and peaceful enjoyments of those four days were in vivid
contrast to the turbulent, adventurous life the boys had led during the
past week. They looked back upon it afterward as the brightest period of
their cruise.
Sunday was spent quietly in camp, but the remainder of the time was
filled up with all sorts of occupations. Randy shot numerous snipe and
woodcock. Clay and Nugget gave their attention to fishing, and caught
altogether some thirty or forty large bass--not counting the trout which
they snared in a neighboring brook.
Ned found his keenest enjoyment in wandering over the country from
farmhouse to farmhouse and bringing back tempting supplies. He was a
born forager, and well understood the art of making bargains with the
farmers.
The boys lived on the fat of the land, and at very slight cost. The diet
of fish and game was constantly varied by green corn, new potatoes,
sometimes peaches or melons, and occasionally a plump duck or chicken.
Only on one day did it rain, and this merely served to make the fish
bite better.
But each and every one of the Jolly Rovers had the true instinct of the
canoeist, and when Monday's sun dropped redly behind the hills they were
eager to start afresh on their wanderings. Their arms tingled to grasp
the paddle and drive the graceful canoe over the blue water; they longed
to explore the great unknown territory that lay in front of them, to
seek new camping grounds and new adventures.
At eight o'clock on Tuesday morning the crimson and gold pennant stood
stiffly against the breeze as it led the little fleet from the spot
where so many happy hours had been spent.
It was a glorious day--a day when all living things should have been
happy. So it seemed to the boys as they paddled lazily down mid-channel
with the slanting sunbeams on their bronzed and radiant faces.
But the business of life went on just the same around them. The hungry
bass with his piratical black fin just cutting the surface, scattered
the shoals of minnows, and sadly lessened their numbers. The kingfisher
scooped occasionally from his perch to return with a shining morsel, and
the gray heron stalked among the pools like a duck on stilts, searching
the muddy bottom for tender young frogs.
Back in the forest the crows and the blue jays were waging a bitter
squallish conflict, and here and there weary toilers among the yellow
grain dropped their scythes to watch the canoes drifting by.
But the problem of life cast no shadow on the Jolly Rovers, and they
paddled on contentedly, finding something new to admire every few
minutes.
Nugget was more than usually happy that morning. The past few days had
taught him the bright side of canoeing, and he fondly hoped to find the
future just as smooth and free from snags.
He was dipping his paddle from side to side in a leisurely way when his
eyes chanced to rest on the bottom of the cockpit. Right between his
knees was a flat little head with two bead-like eyes and a red tongue
that darted quickly in and out. Attached to the head was a long
gracefully coiled body, mottled like the skin of a brook trout.
The yell that burst from Nugget's lips would have done credit to a Sioux
warrior. It scared the snake half out of its wits, and the reptile
wriggled under the bottom board.
"Help! Murder! Snakes!" roared Nugget, partly rising and clutching the
combing with both hands. "Help me, help me! I'll be bitten. I'll die."
"Where is it?" cried Ned, paddling alongside.
"Stamp on it," shouted Randy. "Throw it out and I'll shoot it."
Nugget only yelled the more and shook the canoe so violently by his
antics that it threatened to tip over.
"Be careful," Ned warned him. "You will upset. Paddle to shore and we'll
take the snake out for you."
"I can't, I can't," shrieked Nugget. "My paddle fell overboard. There it
goes."
Ned and Clay started simultaneously for the drifting paddle, but they
had hardly taken a dozen strokes when the snake thrust his head out of a
crevice in the bottom boards.
This proved too much for Nugget. Uttering yell after yell he sprang to
his feet and tried to climb out on the foredeck of the canoe. The Imp
refused to stand such treatment, and tipped over instantly, throwing
Nugget head first into the water.
Fortunately the creek was shallow at this point, and after going under a
couple of times, and swallowing a quantity of water--owing to his
persistent yelling--Nugget gained a foothold without the aid of his
friends, and waded shoulder deep for the nearest shore.
Amid all the confusion the snake escaped in some manner from the
overturned canoe, and swam rapidly down stream. Ned and Clay went in
pursuit, but the reptile was too swift for them, and safely gained a
patch of reeds.
The Imp was quickly righted and towed to shore. The contents were little
damaged, and Nugget made haste to change his clothes.
"I'd like to know how that snake got in my canoe," he said angrily. "It
was a beastly mean trick."
"I don't believe it was a trick at all," exclaimed Ned laughingly. "The
snake must have crawled in when the canoe was lying on shore, bottom up.
It no doubt thought it had found a nice snug place to live."
"That's the way it happened, of course," said Randy. "No one would have
been mean enough to put it in on purpose."
Clay said nothing, but turned abruptly aside and began to busy himself
with his canoe.
The delay was of brief duration, and the Jolly Rovers were soon afloat
again. Nugget had stretched his wet clothes across the fore and rear
deck of his canoe, so that the sun would quickly dry them.
About noon, while the boys were paddling through a deep and narrow part
of the creek, Ned called attention to a bunch of ducks that were feeding
in the reeds some distance down the right shore. All eyes were turned in
that direction, and consequently no one happened to glance toward the
opposite bank.
Clay had fallen a little behind his companions, and was three or four
yards to the left of them. He was drifting along with his gaze fixed on
the ducks, when all at once his canoe began to twist and oscillate in a
most alarming manner.
He turned quickly to see what was the matter, and the first glance sent
a chill of fear to his heart. He was on the edge of a violently agitated
patch of water that kept moving round and round in constantly narrowing
circles until it ended in a funnel shaped aperture that went beneath the
surface, and was itself whirling in dizzy revolutions.
Even as he looked his canoe drifted into the second circle, and mounted
toward a great rock fifty or sixty feet high that rose straight from the
water on the left shore.
Clay realized his situation instantly. He was caught in the whirlpool
which some of the farmers had spoken about in a vague manner, as though
they doubted its existence. There was no doubt about it now. The
whirlpool was a stern reality, and he was fast in its embrace.
Without calling his companions, Clay tried to paddle away from the
circling current. But to his horror and consternation the canoe was
unmanageable. The violent paddle strokes simply made it swing around on
its keel.
Then Clay became terribly frightened, and shouted for help. It was
indeed high time. He had already drifted to the base of the rock where
the whirlpool terminated, and was now swinging back toward the center of
the creek.
The appeal for help--though its meaning was not comprehended at
first--brought the other boys to Clay's assistance. That is to say they
paddled toward the dangerous spot and were within an ace of getting in
the same fix, when Clay frantically warned them back.
"Keep away! keep!" he shouted. "You must find some other way to help
me."
Ned was the first to grasp the situation. During the last few days he
had heard more than one tale about this dreaded whirlpool with its
merciless undertow, and now it made him sick and faint to see Clay's
peril, and yet be unable to devise a way of helping him.
For so it seemed then. It would be simple folly and madness for the
others to trust themselves near the rapacious current; yet how else
could help reach the imperiled lad?
The whirlpool was thirty feet in diameter, and while Randy and Nugget
were looking on with white, scared faces, and Ned was vainly trying to
plan a means of rescue, Clay was slowly drifting around the circle,
coming nearer each time to the gurgling funnel in the center--and this
in spite of the most strenuous paddling. Each stroke, in fact, only
deflected the canoe sideways, as though it had no keel, and increased
the risk of upsetting.
None realized the danger more than Clay himself and the horror of those
few short minutes--they seemed more like hours--he never forgot.
It was not likely of course that the heavy canoe could be dragged clear
under water; the whirlpool was no such gigantic thing as that. But it
was absolutely certain that when the canoe reached the funnel shaped
aperture in the center it would instantly be overturned, and just as
surely Clay would be sucked into the black depths below, and whirled off
by the fierce undercurrent with no possible chance of reaching the
surface.
This was the awful fate that stared him in the face; and all that while
he drifted nearer and nearer the end, crying vainly for help, and
beating the frothy water with his paddle.