ALONG THE “RAGING CANAL”
“It’s fourteen miles from Schenectady to Troy,
And that’s a blame long walk, my boy,”
Kenneth sang as he walked along behind “Step Lively” who, true to her
name, set off at a good pace.
Arthur and Frank lay back in the cockpit and shouted remarks to the
captain on the tow path.
“You just wait,” he yelled back; “I’ll bet our one-horse-power engine
will be fatter when we get to Buffalo than she is now.”
Forward on the deck house of the mastless yacht was stowed a generous
bale of hay and bags of ground feed; fuel for the one-horse engine.
Twenty-five miles were covered the first day, and at dusk the faithful
beast was stalled in a shed close to the big ditch with a plentiful
supply of feed. She was apparently very content with her lot, and the
scoffers had to admit that, perhaps, after all, the old nag was a good
investment.
The canal wound its sinuous way through the beautiful Mohawk Valley, the
land of Goshen of the Empire State; great undulating fields of
cultivated land lay on either side of the narrow strip of water. “Step
Lively’s” slow but steady pace gave the boys a full opportunity to see
the country through which they were passing and they agreed that it was
well worth coming so far to view.
Each took a turn driving the horse one hour on and two hours off—watch
and watch all day. At night the old mare was comfortably bedded down in
some old barn on the canal bank and all hands slept undisturbed.
“Step Lively” knew the canal much better than did the boys, for she had
been over the tow-path many times, and driving meant little more than
keeping her at a steady even pace, which, though slow, ate up the miles
at a satisfactory rate.
“Let’s see, who runs the engine first to-day?” Ransom looked around at
the other two one morning.
“Not I,” said Arthur. “I held the throttle the last hour, and put her up
for the night.”
“Nor I,” protested Frank. “I ’tended sheet and was at the helm the hour
before.”
“Well, then, I suppose it’s up to me to handle the ribbons,” and Kenneth
stepped ashore to start the old mare on her day’s work. “You’ve got your
metaphors well mixed up; a fellow overhearing us talk couldn’t tell
whether we had a locomotive, a boat, or a horse to tow us.”
In spite of the parleying, the “Gazelle” was soon moving along once
more. Hansom walked behind the mare, reins in hand, or walked just
ahead, setting the pace. The long line stretched behind, sagging in the
water, making long ripples on the placid water ahead of the yacht’s keen
prow. Frank, with his hand on the tiller, kept the boat in the middle,
while Arthur, having nothing else to do, lay prone, basking in the sun.
“Say, Art,” Frank inquired drowsily, “did Ken read to you that part of
his father’s letter where he warned us not to get wrecked on the canal?”
“Yes,” the other answered, “and I thought it the most foolish piece of
advice I ever heard. Wrecked in this old ditch! I would as soon think of
being wrecked in a bath tub.”
But later they both had cause to remember the warning.
[Illustration:
ON THE “RAGING CANAL.”
“‘STEP LIVELY’ ONCE MORE GOT GOING.”
]
When the hour was up, Kenneth came aboard, Frank took the reins, and
Arthur his place at the stick. Frank had not been driving long when he
met a four-horse team pulling a train of three heavy canal boats. The
driver stopped accommodatingly, and allowed his tow line to sag so “Step
Lively” and the yacht could pass over it. Frank thanked him and went
over, but hardly had the mare’s heels got over the stranger’s line than
he whipped up and tautened it. Kenneth, who was watching, said, “Look at
that chap, Art; he thinks he is going to snap ‘His Nibs’ off with his
line, but you watch.”
The small boat was towing behind the larger boat, and the driver of the
four-horse team figured that when his tow-rope had passed under the
“Gazelle” it would snap up and yank “His Nibs” from her fastenings. Soon
the tow-line could be felt rubbing along on the yacht’s keel, then, for
an instant, there was a pause, while both teams pulled with all their
might in opposite directions; the tow-lines tautened like harp strings,
and the water was sent flying in all directions by the vibration.
Suddenly the stranger’s line parted, cut in two by the “Gazelle’s” sharp
plate rudder; the four horses almost fell on their heads, and the
driver, who was riding one of them, barely escaped a ducking in the
canal. Relieved of their accustomed burden, the team started off on a
run, and the driver, picking himself up, ran after them, swearing
loudly, and ever and anon turning to shake his fist at the boys. These
threatening gestures were received with roars of laughter, which
continued long after the runaway team and the angry driver had
disappeared round a bend.
All along the canal small stores were kept for the convenience of the
canal men and their families. Food was cheap, and therefore abundant,
and the boys thrived under the easy life, the nourishing fare, and the
open-air exercise. In spite of the eight or ten miles of walking each of
them put in every day, they began to get fat. “Step Lively” also showed
signs of her good care; her ribs became less evident, and her coat
showed signs of glossiness.
Considerable affection had sprung up in the boys’ hearts for their
“one-horse-power engine,” as they called their steed. She was such a
faithful old beast, and did her work so uncomplainingly. It was with
real grief and alarm, therefore, that Kenneth saw early one morning that
the stall the mare had occupied was empty and the ring bolt to which her
halter had been made fast was pulled clear out of the decayed wood.
Delayed by a visit to friends chance had thrown in their way, the
skipper had risen at 3 A. M. in order to make up for lost time. But, lo
and behold! the steed had fled. Without a horse they could not proceed,
and there was not enough money in the crowd to buy another—even at
twelve dollars.
“We are certainly up against it,” Kenneth said to himself, as he
examined the damp ground for hoof prints. He found a few marks, but
these were lost in the lush grass surrounding the stable, and all hope
of tracing the nag by that means had to be given up.
A howl of dismay went up from the other two when the skipper told of
their loss.
“I bet she’s five miles off by this time.”
“We’ll never see _her_ again,” was Arthur’s comforting prophecy.
It was a very serious situation. Over two hundred miles of canal
remained to be covered, the cold season was coming on fast, and there
was not a minute to be lost if the home-stretch of the journey was to be
traversed this year. The combined funds could pay for neither tow nor
another horse, and “Step Lively,” their sole dependence, was gone.
“After breakfast, when it gets light,” said the skipper, putting his
plan into words, “we’ll divide up, each will go in a different
direction, and perhaps we will round her up.”
It was a gloomy breakfast the boys hurried through that morning. The
gray light of early morning turned the cabin lamplight a sickly yellow
and showed the faces of the boys frowning and dejected.
While Kenneth was downing the last mouthful of coffee, they heard the
hollow thump, thump of a horse’s hoofs on the bridge just above them.
Ransom rushed on deck to ask the driver of the supposed team if a stray
horse had been seen, and, to his utter surprise and delight, found “Step
Lively” on the canal bank gazing at the yacht, as if to say, “Well,
boys, I’ve had a bully time; but let’s be going.”
The skipper nearly fell overboard in his eagerness to reach the land and
see if it was indeed the faithful old beast. Sure enough, there was no
mistaking that drooping under lip and resigned pose.
“Well, old nag, you deserve a ten-acre lot to rest your old bones upon
and a lump of sugar fresh every hour, but you’ve got to get a gait on,”
and Kenneth Ransom, chief hostler, chief coachman, and skipper,
harnessed her up.
As the boys proceeded on their journey, the horse developed a bad
tendency to interfere, and to prevent a raw sore from forming, a boot
was put over the place where the hoof came in contact with the other
leg.
It became the duty of the boy who drove the last hour, when stabling
“Step Lively,” to take off the boot. If left on all night the leg would
swell, and the horse would, in consequence, go lame next day. As a
penalty for the breaking of this rule, it was decreed that the offender
must wash dishes every day for a week.
Before the boys had this understanding with each other, the poor old
mare started her day’s work with a lame leg several times, but after the
rule was made their memories improved, and “Step Lively” was soon well
again.
One evening it was Arthur’s turn to put the horse up for the night. He
did it with considerable grumbling, for he was in a hurry to get below
in the snug little cabin. The wind blew round the big deserted barn
where the horse was to be stabled for the night; it whistled round the
eaves and rattled the loose boards of the walls. At a little distance
was an old inn or hotel, that was also deserted and stood black and
desolate in the gloom; one of the few remaining window panes caught the
last gleam of the setting sun and glowed with the redness of an evil
eye. Arthur made haste to get aboard, and once below, allowed himself
the luxury of a good shiver.
“Phew! that’s an uncanny place,” he said, as he sat down to the meal
Frank had already prepared.
Ransom kicked Chauvet under the table, to put him on to the game. “Yes,
I hear the house is haunted.” The wind howled, as if to confirm the
fact, and a puff came down the companionway hatch and made the lamp
flicker.
Frank and Kenneth kept up a fire of ghost stories, so that their own
hair showed a tendency to rise, while Arthur was visibly unnerved.
As the wind gave a particularly weird shriek, Kenneth made a scratching
noise on the centre-board trunk.
“What’s that?” said Arthur, startled.
“What’s what?” Frank inquired, innocently.
“That noise—hear it?”—Arthur paused to listen—“sounds like a person or
dog scratching to get in.”
“Oh, it’s your imagination, I guess.”
“By the way, Art, did you take the boot off ‘Step Lively’?”
“Sure!” he answered.
“I’ll bet you didn’t; too much of a hurry to get out of the wind and
aboard.”
“I know I did—at least I think I did.”
“Gee, that’s a queer noise,” Kenneth interrupted the inquiry to say. The
wind made a noise like one in torment, and the light flickered again.
“I’ll give you two dollars if you go out and make sure. It’s up to you,
and don’t forget the week’s dishwashing if we find the boot on in the
morning.”
The thought of a week of dishwashing braced the mate, and, lighting a
lantern, he pushed open the companionway door and went out.
Almost immediately he was back again, white and shaking. “Say, boys, saw
something queer in there—something white moving round—sure’s you’re
born!”
“Did you find out about the boot?” inquired Ransom, inexorably.
“No; didn’t wait.”
“You had better go and find out.”
“I wouldn’t be hired to go in there.”
“Well, we’ll find out.” Frank wore a superior air, but he kept close to
Kenneth for all that.
The whispers of the wind grew into shrieks as they approached the barn,
and, as Frank reached out his hand to grasp the door-catch, a damp leaf
slapped his face. Opening the door cautiously, they poked in their heads
and looked. Startled, they saw a dim gray shape in the middle of the big
open space, and as they were about to turn and run, the ghost stamped
hard and whinnied gently. “Step Lively” was glad to see something alive
and human.
“Hullo, old beast, broke loose, did you?” Kenneth was very bold; went up
to the horse, felt her leg.
“Boot’s off, all right, but we’ve got the laugh on Art.”
“He pretty nearly got the laugh on us,” Frank remarked, honestly.
“Saw your ghost, old man,” Kenneth remarked airily when they entered the
cabin, “and tied her up good and strong this time.”
“You don’t mean to say it was the mare?” Arthur had visions of the
guying he was bound to get.
“Yep. Let’s call her ‘Ghost’ after this. What do you say, Frank?”
“Oh, quit! I’ll wash dishes if you let up.”
It was only necessary to say ghost to Arthur after this episode to
reduce the swelling of his head to the humblest proportions.
“Step Lively” settled down to good, hard, steady work after her various
adventures, and the “Gazelle” made her way over the “raging canal” at a
good round pace.
The boys met many people on the way; some were pleasant and courteous,
and a few were inclined to make disagreeable remarks. To these the boys
paid no attention, and the remarks fell flat, having nothing to feed
upon.
The locks, by means of which the boats passed from one level to another,
were encountered at frequent intervals. Occasionally, a lock tender
would be disinclined to take the trouble to let the yacht pass, and made
it as hard for the boys as possible. And at one time it seemed certain
that both the yacht and a member of the crew would be destroyed.
One afternoon the boys approached the great wooden portals of a lock and
blew a horn to notify the keeper that they wished to enter; he was a
surly chap, and grumblingly set to work to admit the yacht. The
“Gazelle” once inside, the heavy wooden barriers were closed, two lines
were run from the bitts forward to snubbing posts, in order to keep her
straight in the lock; and Arthur, with a long, heavy pole in hand, stood
ready to fend her off from the rocky sides. Frank looked after the
horse, while Kenneth helped the keeper. Usually the water from the
higher level was let in gradually, but this keeper was in an ugly
temper, and allowed the water to come in with a rush. The “Gazelle,”
bouyant, rose light as a cork, and Arthur pushed with all his might on
the stout pole to keep her from being dented by the cruel rocks. The
water came boiling into the basin, and the yacht rocked and strained at
her mooring lines. Suddenly one of them parted, and, the strain being
unequal, she swung sharply to one side. Arthur pushed with might and
main, but the sidelong swing of the three-ton boat was too much for him;
his pole was caught against the side of the lock and he was jerked
overboard into the seething pool.
“Art’s overboard!” cried Frank. “He will be crushed, sure.”
“Shut off the water, for heaven’s sake!”
They looked into the narrow basin, but not a sign could they see of him.
The water swirled and eddied, formed little whirlpools, dashed miniature
breakers against the rocky walls, and receded. All the time the yacht
swung nearer and nearer the masonry, and the boys knew that unless he
escaped by a miracle Arthur would be crushed between.
For a minute the two boys gazed helpless, then a plan occurred to the
skipper, which he proceeded to execute instantly. Taking the broken end
of the parted line, all the slack possible having been let out, he stood
on the capstone of the lock and measured the distance between it and the
unsteady yacht. It was a long leap under the most favorable
circumstances, and the handicap of the heavy rope and the heaving deck
of the vessel, such a long way out and so far below, made the chances of
failure infinitely greater—and failure in this case meant almost certain
death. For an instant he hesitated, then, fearful lest his resolution
should fail him if he waited longer, he sprang over the tossing,
swirling water straight for the yacht’s deck. With scarcely six inches
to spare, he landed with a jar that dazed him for a second. With the
line still in his hand, he ran forward and made it fast to the bitts, so
that the “Gazelle” once more swung straight in the pool.
“Do you see him?” Frank cried anxiously from the shore.
Kenneth looked into the bubbling water for signs of the mate. It was
hardly more than a minute or two since the skipper had cried, “Shut off
the water!” but Arthur might have met his doom in even that short time.
“I am afraid he’s a goner,” Ransom answered. “I can’t see him.”
“You can’t lose me!”
It was Arthur’s familiar voice, and came from below aft somewhere.
“Where are you?”
“Astern here, having a swim.”
Kenneth rushed aft and caught sight of the mate’s legs thrashing around
under the overhang.
With rare presence of mind he had done the one thing that could save
him. Finding himself overboard, he swam with swift strokes aft and
clung, in spite of the twisting and rocking of the yacht, to the rudder.
The overhang protected him from all harm, and beyond a chill produced by
the cold water he was unhurt.
The lock-keeper, thoroughly scared by the consequences of his
ill-temper, tried to make amends by letting in the water so gently that
the “Gazelle” reached the upper level with scarcely a tremor.
“These very narrow escapes are trying, to say the least,” Frank
remarked, as “Step Lively” once more got going.
“Yes, if we really had any skin on our teeth it would have been worn off
long ago,” said Arthur, as he appeared on deck in dry clothes, smiling
cheerfully.
While the “one-horse motor” could not be classed as a high-speed engine,
the old mare plugged along with a steady gait that covered the miles at
a speed sufficient for the purpose. It was a great trip, and the boys
agreed that it would be hard to find a better way to see the country.
Many of the important cities of the Empire State were cut in two parts
by the canal, and as the boys passed through at the two-miles-an-hour
pace, they had plenty of time to go ashore and see things—the great
electric works of The General Electric Co. at Schenectady, the optical
and camera works at Rochester. Troy, Schenectady, Utica, Rome, Syracuse,
Rochester, and a score of other towns whose names are familiar all over
the United States were visited.
They passed many sorts of vessels carrying cargoes of freight over the
great water highway of the State. Canal boats, laden with lumber and
grain, in fleets, single file, drawn by teams of from two to six mules,
eastward bound, the water within eighteen inches of the decks. Forward
on many of the boats was a box-like compartment for the steeds when off
duty, and it was a common thing to see the head of a mule sticking out
above the deck, “viewing the landscape o’er.” Whole families lived
aboard these queer vessels; clothes were washed and spread to dry on the
little backyard-like piece of deck over the cabin-house. Sometimes boxes
of brilliant geraniums were placed to protect the family from the public
gaze, and occasionally, under an awning spread over the cabin roof, a
woman sat and sewed, rocking a cradle with her foot.
There was a constant procession of boats of many kinds, floating high as
a rule when going westward, but laden down within a foot or two of the
scupper holes when eastward bound.
One morning the “Gazelle” passed three immense iron grain boats tied up
to the stone-lined bank. They were empty, and loomed up beside the yacht
like small mountains.
Later that same day they had occasion to remember those boats.
They made a good day’s run, and night found them tied up to snubbing
posts placed for the purpose; their lanterns displayed, they went to
bed, each with a light conscience and heavy eyelids. The open-air
exercise and active appetites made the boys sleep solid as logs. The
grain boats they saw in the morning came along, towed by a steam barge;
tooted for the lock to be opened, and two of the boats passed through.
But the boys never stirred. The third boat was left to her own control,
and, being without sails or steam, she drifted with the wind unhampered.
Unladen, her high sides offered a splendid surface to the breeze, and
she drifted sidewise towards the “Gazelle.” Black and remorseless, she
swung towards the little yacht nestling close to the rock-lined bank of
the canal. The grain boat’s one human passenger sat sleepily on a great
cleat aft and dozed. The boys slept on, all unconscious of their
impending doom. Slowly, slowly, she drifted nearer, until she touched
the “Gazelle’s” sides. The ironclad’s bulk was great, and, driven by the
wind against her tall sides, she pushed the yacht steadily until the
smaller boat was hard against the shelving rocky bank. Still the
pressure continued, and she began to be pushed up out of the water by
the tremendous squeeze. All three boys were stirred into wakefulness by
the first upward lift.
The first sound that reached their ears was the groaning of the timbers
under the tremendous grip of stone and iron.
Instantly the words of the elder Ransom flashed into Kenneth’s mind.
“Look out and don’t get wrecked on the canal,” he had written.
Something, the boy knew not what, held his beloved vessel in its grip.
Some tremendous power was crushing his vessel as a strong hand grinds an
almond shell to fragments. The tongued and grooved cherry woodwork of
the cabin creaked, snapped, and, as they looked, was forced out at the
joints by the fearful pressure.
With a cry that was half a groan, Kenneth rushed on deck, followed by
Arthur and Frank. The great iron sides loomed above them black and
implacable.
For an instant he stood dazed, uncomprehending, then he realized the
situation—realized that the mighty floating fabric of iron, forced by
the wind beyond the power of human hands and human brains to check it,
was slowly grinding the doomed yacht to kindlings. He could not bear to
think of his vessel a wreck, and, for a moment, covered his eyes with
his hand.