A MIDNIGHT TOW
Bob’s yell and the sound of the opening door caused the utmost
confusion. Jack, half-awakened, almost fell out of his bunk; Dave
Brandon and Tommy were up in an instant, while the others scrambled
to a standing position almost in unison. Then, their senses taking in
the extraordinary situation, all followed Bob, Joe stumbling over the
terrified Confuse-us and going down on hands and knees.
The “Gray Gull,” without any effort on its own part, was cutting
through the water at a speed which it had never before attained.
Jack Lyons and Bob had disappeared around the side of the boat.
“Well, well!” exclaimed the latter. “Did you ever! The Ripley and
Thornton boys again--and--and towing us to beat the band!”
A terrific din suddenly filled the air; above the shrill blasts from a
horn rose a chorus of loud yells. It was quite the most inharmonious
combination of sounds they had ever heard, and Owen Andrews and his tin
horn, as a sound producer, were voted an enormous success.
The “Reindeer” and “Dart” could be plainly seen in the moonlight. The
house-boat boys, having groped their way around to the front of the
boat, responded to the others’ shouts with loud cheers.
“Rah, rah--boom!
Oh, we’re on the way to Albany,
The prettiest town you’ll ever see.
Rah, rah--boom!
And we’re going to have a rush
That won’t do a thing but hush
Poor Ripley. Rah, rah--boom!”
After about two seconds of silence, the Ripleys were heard voicing a
refrain that ran as follows:
“And they’ll know there’s been a muss,
And they’ll try to make a fuss;
But you’ll never hear of Thornton any more.”
The rival students sang these lines with the greatest gusto, Owen
Andrews and his tin horn again taking a prominent part.
Bill Stiles yelled to Lon Bates, and, in a moment, the “Reindeer” and
“Dart” had come to a stop. Then the two skippers brought their boats
alongside the “Gray Gull.”
“Well,” said Lon Bates, “guess you fellows had a frightful scare, all
right.”
“Scare?” answered Jack. “Scare?--what does that word mean?”
“I see,” chuckled Bates, “you are just as chipper as ever.”
“Oh, yes; it doesn’t wear off,” laughed Jack.
“You’re mighty good sleepers,” went on Bates. “Never even heard us pull
up the anchor, and didn’t awake till we’d towed you about five miles.”
“I suppose you boys are going back now, and are ready for a winter’s
grind?” said Redfern.
“Right--about the first part,” said Roy Pinger. “Just now, we’re
showing these Thornton chaps the way home. They might stray off the
river.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Lon Bates. “They keep close to us because they’re
afraid of the dark. We feel so sorry for ’em.”
“How we wonder what’s the matter
When those children make a clatter!
Poor, poor Ripley.”
“Do you hear them tremble?” inquired Owen Andrews.
“Want to know how to get the best of them?” shouted Joe.
“We have a hundred rules for it, but you may add one more.”
“Stay up all night and bail out the river.”
“At last we have met some one who knows how to talk sense,” exclaimed
Bill Stiles, amidst a ripple of laughter. “It’s me for the shore now,
and a bit of sleep.”
And this sentiment met with unanimous approval.
So Jack Lyons anchored the “Gray Gull” once more, while the “Reindeer”
and “Dart” slowly moved toward the shore.
The house-boat boys lay down again, and when they awoke in the morning
their midnight visitors had gone.
The heat was somewhat less oppressive, and a pleasant air rippled the
water.
About noon they caught a glimpse of the Catskill Mountains to the west,
a faint gray line against a pile of whitish clouds. But the telescope
brought this wooded range into closer view and the charm and beauty of
the scenery appealed to all.
Later in the afternoon, the “Gray Gull” was approaching a section
of the river in which there are a number of islands. As they slowly
continued along, some of these were found to be small, wooded hills,
while others were flat and marshy.
“Fellows,” remarked Jack Lyons, “let’s camp out to-night for a change.”
“Select your island, cap,” said Joe.
“That one with rocks and trees suits me. Plenty of shade--just the
place for a camp.”
“And must be a lot of nice plants to study,” added Dave. “Let’s go
there by all means.”
To this sentiment Fred Winter heartily agreed.
The house-boat was soon anchored in the shade of the island, its
pleasant wooded heights rising above them. One by one they scrambled
ashore and began to explore it with interest.
In portions it was rocky and barren, while in others masses of
underbrush grew in a wild tangle which effectually prevented their
passage.
But the boys quickly found a way to the top, although in some places
they risked a fall over the steep, rocky ledges.
Bob Somers climbed a tree, and, perched comfortably among the branches,
had a good view of the landscape. When he came down, the eight, for
Redfern had stayed by the shore, took seats on a grassy knoll on the
other side of the island, and idly watched one of the powerful Albany
steamers passing on its way to that city.
After supper a fire was kindled, and, as the boys piled on brush and
the flames mounted higher and higher, they cast a bright glow on
the sturdy form of the “Gray Gull” and far out over the dark water.
Confuse-us, too, joined the circle, and seemed quite mystified and
uneasy.
A steady breeze made the tree tops rustle with a soft, musical
whispering. The woods outside the flaring glare looked black and
forbidding. The New York boys were surprised to find how far the
firelight carried. An island some distance off sprang into view
against the blackness, its rocks and trees weirdly illuminated.
That night the boys rested on beds made of fragrant cedar boughs, and
although the insects were quite annoying, managed to sleep most of the
time.
Bright and early next morning the voyage was resumed.
Had they so desired, Albany might have been reached late that night.
But Jack and his chums decided to halt and wait for daylight.
“Besides,” said Tom, “we might give the whole city an awful scare if we
took ’em unaware in the night.”
Once more, at dusk, the “Gray Gull” was anchored near shore. An
uneventful night was passed, and about 9 A. M. on the following
day the “Gray Gull,” Jack Lyons, master, had actually reached its
destination--the city of Albany.
The capital of New York State is built on a succession of hills, and in
the clear, bright sunlight presented a beautiful sight. The imposing
capitol building loomed up prominently, and several other handsome
edifices were pointed out by Redfern.
“Bet the governor is looking at us through a spy-glass right now,” said
Joe.
Boats of all description crowded the water-front. There were saucy
little skiffs, excursion steamers, and clumsy barges, some of them
just in from their long trip through the Erie Canal. Puffing, panting
tugs were going up and down the river. It was a picturesque and lively
scene, and the boys crowding the deck of the house-boat gazed at the
sights with much enjoyment.
All of Jack Lyons’ faculties were on the alert. Out in mid-stream, he
was obliged to navigate with the greatest care, and often the “Gray
Gull” wobbled violently on the swells sent forth by passing boats.
Norman Redfern looked rather grave. His trip on the house-boat had
only placed him in a worse light than ever in Colonel Ellison’s eyes;
and now that the journey was about over, and he thought of leaving the
jolly company of boys, he could not shake off a feeling of sadness.
“It’s fine around here,” remarked Tom Clifton, his eyes sparkling with
pleasure.
“There’s a good place to tie up,” declared Bob Somers, presently.
He pointed toward an old pier close at hand.
Quite a crowd collected, as the “Gray Gull” swung slowly in. A boy with
a fishing pole kindly seized the rope that Jack Lyons threw him, and
wrapped it around a post.
Within a few minutes, the house-boat boys were ashore. Jack answered
questions from the curious in his usual free and easy manner; then all
began moving away from the wharf.
“I certainly feel pleased,” declared George Clayton, with a sigh of
satisfaction. “Got to Albany, in spite of Pierre; and now I don’t care
if Uncle Dan orders me right back home.”
“Yes, you won out, old boy,” said Bob, slapping him on the back.
“And---- Good gracious alive!”
From behind a small shanty, a slight figure suddenly stepped into view
and confronted the runaway.
One glance into the excited face that looked into his own, and George
Clayton gave a start.
“Pierre Dufour!” he exclaimed, in astonishment.