A NIGHT EXPEDITION
“Hist! Look out for the fence!”
It was Tony Larcom’s whispered exclamation of warning to Ray Wendell,
Dick Palmer, and myself. We were hurrying along the narrow country lane
that skirted Packer’s woods, and Tony, who was leading, had almost come
to grief against the bars which separated us from the broad meadow. The
starlight was all we had to guide us, the crescent moon having set two
hours before. Vaulting the fence, we turned to the left and pursued our
way through the somber shadow of the woods, making a short straight
cut to the bank of the river. When within about twenty yards of the
water, we came out upon a stretch of clear, open ground. There we stood
a moment, straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of the excursion boat
Geraldine. Just then the sound of the college clock broke on the still
night air. It was on the stroke of eleven.
“We are prompt,” said Ray softly. “Now where is the boat? Try the
signal, Tony. I think I see a shadow over there to the right.”
Tony picked up a stone and threw it well out into the river toward a
large black body that loomed up in the direction indicated.
Immediately a lantern appeared, and swung to and fro. Then came the
sound of oarlocks, and presently a small rowboat approached the shore.
We were taken aboard, and in a few moments stood upon the deck of the
Geraldine.
Clinton Edwards was already there, having boarded Jerry Bunce’s craft
down at the lake. We had scarcely been disposed of when there came
another signal――the splash of a stone beside the boat――and the two men
who had brought us turned again toward the shore. And now the signals
came fast and thick, and the oarsmen were kept busy for the next ten
minutes transporting the students to the steamer. As the first batch of
them clambered up on deck, I was surprised to see that they all wore
masks.
“Why, what is all this disguise for?” I asked of the nearest student.
His stalwart figure and strong voice easily betrayed him. It was Percy
Randall.
“I ordered the fellows to have masks. There will be fun later, and we
will need them. Better take one,” and he held one toward me.
“No,” I answered sharply, “and moreover, I think――――” but I was
interrupted by the sudden departure of Randall to another part of the
boat.
There was no catching him again at that moment of confusion, and among
the rapidly increasing crowd of students similarly disguised. I was
uneasy at the spirit in which the enterprise was undertaken. I moved
forward to the front of the boat, where I found Ray and Tony seated
together, and some distance from any of the others. I joined them
immediately.
“Hullo, Harry,” said Ray. “I was just saying to Tony that I don’t like
the looks of things at all. We have begun all wrong.”
“So say I,” was my prompt response. “These masks don’t suit me. The
fellows know that the college has made strict laws against the wearing
of masks. What is it for?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” responded Ray. “We have no need of them. I
am sure we have no fear of the Park men, nor any need to conceal our
features from them, while we certainly have no reason to be ashamed to
show ourselves when we return home with the cannons. I can’t understand
such concealment. It seems underhand and sneaky.”
“Oh, I suppose it is some of Percy Randall’s doings,” said I. “He told
me that he had ordered the masks.”
At this moment Clinton Edwards came up. Ray rose impatiently.
“Edwards, what on earth are these masks made for?” he exclaimed.
Clinton shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know. I have just been urging Percy Randall to give them up,
but he wouldn’t listen to me, and the fellows all stand by him. They
are all of his spirit of mischief. He is the leader and we are simply
nobodies.”
“It is too bad,” said Ray. “I had my doubts when you told Percy to
organize. This is no Freshmen’s scrape. This is to regain college
rights――to vindicate college honor, and it was only on that basis that
I joined it. Percy Randall is too reckless and mischief loving to run
such an enterprise.”
Edwards laughed.
“Well, we can’t unseat him now. The fellows are all in his wake. After
all, maybe I exaggerated. He promised good behavior, and I don’t think
he intends any wild capers. Our best plan is to join the rest and use
our influence in keeping them closely to the night’s work.”
“Oh, we can’t back out now,” said Ray, leaning on the rail and looking
down at the water that spurted upward in front of the prow as the boat
made rapid headway toward Berkeley. “We will have to see it through,
and perhaps it may turn out all right, though I don’t feel at all at
ease. Your plan is undoubtedly the wisest, so let us make the best of
it.”
Here the conversation dropped, and except for a few occasional remarks
in low tones, the remainder of the trip was made in silence. After the
first twenty minutes all the students moved forward to the front of the
boat, where they stood in silent expectation of the sight of Park Hill,
where the slumbering college lay.
It was a curious group that huddled there at the bow of the Geraldine,
mysteriously masked, and bearing an air of grim determination that
boded no good for any unfortunate Park College man that happened to be
abroad at that hour of the night.
Suddenly we shot out from the shadow of the trees that darkened the
bank of the river at that point, and came upon a stretch of open
land rising gently to a plateau on which the college rested. In some
respects the situation of Park College was not unlike our own, although
Belmont had more shade, stood on higher ground, and close to a lake of
considerable size, while Berkeley had no water beyond the narrow river.
There was a dock somewhat similar to ours, though smaller, which jutted
out into the stream, and toward this we faced. The bell sounded faintly
from the engine room, the wheels ceased their beating, and we glided
gently through the smooth water that rippled softly away from our bow.
Slower and slower we moved until we had almost reached the dock, when
one of our men dropped quietly over, with a rope on his arm. Then came
a gentle bump as the boat grated against the dock, a quick knotting of
the hawser, a slight straining and creaking of timbers, and the first
step in our expedition was taken. We had “crossed the Rubicon.”