A PEAL OF GIRLISH LAUGHTER.
In vain did Winn gaze in every direction, up and down the river, across
its darkening waters, and into the shadowy thicket behind him. There
were no objects in sight, save those with which he was already only too
familiar. Again he began to doubt the evidence of his senses, and wonder
if his mind had not become somewhat unsettled by his misfortunes. But
no, there was the ringing peal of laughter again. This time it was
accompanied by a strange chattering sound such as he had never heard
before. At the same moment a most delicious whiff of frying bacon
reached the hungry boy, mingled with the unmistakable and equally
enticing odor of coffee. There was no doubt as to the direction from
which these came, and plunging into the cotton-wood thicket, Winn made
his way diagonally up and across the tow-head.
In less than a minute he reached its opposite side, where he halted to
gaze with amazement at the very strangest-looking craft he had ever seen.
At first he thought it a small stern-wheeled steamboat. She certainly
had such a wheel, but then there was no chimney. Perhaps she was a
trading-scow. Who ever heard, though, of a trading-scow with a
pilot-house such as this nondescript craft had on the forward end of its
upper deck? Besides, there were no sweeps, nor was she in the least like
any trading-scow Winn had ever seen. A low house occupied her entire
width, and extended along her whole length except at the curve of her
bows, where there was room left for a small deck. A structure with a
door and windows, that was somewhat larger than the pilot-house, rose
from the upper deck near its after-end. There were three doors on each
side of the main house, a large one well forward, a small one nearly
amidship, and another large one well aft. There were also six small
windows on each side, and from three of those nearest Winn a cheerful
light was streaming, while the other three were dark. There was a name
painted on the boat's side in such large black letters that even in the
fading twilight Winn managed to read it--"_W-H-A-T-N-O-T_," he spelled
slowly--"_Whatnot_! Well, if that isn't the queerest name for a boat I
ever heard of!"
Just then, however, there were things of far greater importance to a boy
in his situation than queer names. The tantalizing odors that were
pouring from that after-window, for instance, and the sound of voices
that rang out merrily from the two just beyond it. The boat was moored
to a tree, with her bows pointed up-stream, and had swung in so close to
shore that by standing on a half-submerged log, which served as a fender
to keep her off a few feet from the bank, Winn could look into one of the
open windows. It was evidently that of the galley, for the odor of
frying came from it, and half hidden in a cloud of fragrant steam was the
form of a negro bending over a small stove.
This was a welcome and comforting sight; but hungry as he was, Winn's
curiosity was stronger than his appetite. He must see into those other
windows, and discover the source of the merry laughter that had so
suddenly banished his loneliness and despair of a few minutes before.
Cautiously advancing a few steps along the slippery log, he reached a
point that commanded a view of the room or compartment next forward of
the galley. It was of good size, and occupied the entire width of the
boat.
In the centre of this room was a table spread for supper, and beside it,
so as to take advantage of its bright lamp, was a group that to Winn
appeared both extraordinary and fascinating. A white-haired old man was
seated before an easel, on which was stretched a large canvas. A young
girl stood near him watching the movements of his brush with deep
interest, and at the same time evidently restraining, with gentle but
firm hands, the impatient struggles of something which she addressed as
"Don Blossom," but whether it was a child or an animal Winn could not
see. In his effort to do so he stood on tiptoe, and just as the old man
began to say, "There, Sabella, that will do for this sitting," the boy's
treacherous footing slipped from under him.
With a half-suppressed cry and a loud splash he was plunged headlong into
the narrow space of water between the boat and the shore.
A frightened exclamation came from the interior of the boat, and then the
small door on that side was flung open. At the same instant a woolly
head was thrust out of the galley window, and a trembling voice cried,
"Golly, Marse Cap'n! Wha' dat ar? Yo' heah um?"
"Yes, Solon, I heard it, and you want to come here as quick as you can.
Some one is in trouble," answered the old man, who was standing with the
girl in the open doorway. He held a lamp above his head, and was peering
anxiously in the direction of the splashings and flounderings that Winn,
sitting in the shallow water, but tightly wedged between the log and the
boat, was making in his efforts to extricate himself.
"Who's there?" cried the old man, who could not yet make out what was
taking place; "and what are you doing?"
[Illustration: "'Who's there?' cried the old man"]
"It's me!" returned Winn, regardless of his grammar; "and I am sinking in
this awful mud. Hurry up and push your boat away from the log, or I
shall be drowned!"
While the old man and the negro exerted all their strength at the pole,
with which they finally succeeded in pushing the boat a foot or so out
into the stream, Sabella was also busy. Though greatly excited, and
somewhat alarmed by the unexpected appearance of a human being in that
place, and his perilous situation, she still had presence of mind enough
to run for a rope, one end of which she fastened to the table. She
carried the other end out through the door, and tossed it over the side
just in time for Winn to catch it, as the moving of the boat once more
gave him freedom of action.
Hauling himself up by this welcome rope, and at the same time being
assisted by the two men, the boy quickly gained the open doorway, where
he stood blinking in the bright lamplight, while mud and water ran from
him in streams. He faced the occupants of the boat, who, standing a few
steps back in the room, regarded him with undisguised wonder, not unmixed
with suspicion. On the table behind them stood a small, gaudily-dressed
object, that Winn at first took to be a child. Upon his appearance it
remained motionless for a few seconds, and then, with a frightened cry,
it sprang to the little girl's shoulder, from which it peered at the
stranger, chattering angrily all the while.
"Well, I am blest if this isn't a most extraordinary situation!"
exclaimed the old man. "It suggests a tableau of Venus rising from the
sea."
"Or a alligator," said the negro.
Sabella wanted to laugh at the comical spectacle presented by the
dripping, coatless, hatless, bare-footed, and generally woe-begone boy;
but pitying his evident embarrassment, she exclaimed:
"Uncle, how can you! Don't you see that he is shivering? You must go at
once and find him some dry clothes. Solon, show this boy to the
engine-room, where he can change his wet things. Don Blossom, be quiet,
sir! Aren't you ashamed of yourself!" Then, turning to Winn with a
cheery smile, she said, "We are very sorry for your accident, and should
like to know all about it after you are dry again. If you will go with
Solon to the engine-room, he will do everything he can for you."
The Captain had already hastened away on his quest for dry clothing. As
he left the room, Winn noticed that he had a wooden leg. It was not one
of the modern kind, so carefully constructed as to closely resemble the
real article, but an old-fashioned, iron-shod stick of timber strapped to
his right knee.
As Sabella finished speaking, she too left the room, running after the
Captain, and smiling cheerfully as she went at the mud-streaked boy, who
still stood speechless and motionless in the doorway.
Now, at Solon's invitation he followed the negro into what had been
called the engine-room, though to Winn's eye it looked as little like an
engine-room as any place he had ever known. At one side was a
horse-power treadmill, such as he had often seen used for the sawing of
wood. Half of it was sunk below the level of the deck, and covered with
a removable floor. It was geared in the most direct and simple manner to
a shaft that disappeared through the rear wall of the room, and
presumably connected with the stern wheel he had previously noticed.
There was also a belt extending to a shaft pulley overhead, but beyond
this there was no trace of machinery, nor was there either boiler or
furnace. There was what looked like a stall at one end of the room, but
it contained only bales of hay and sacks of oats.
"Yes, sah, we uses a mewel-ingine when we hab um. We hain't got no mewel
at de present time, but we 'specs ter contrac' fer one shortly,"
explained the negro, noting Winn's inquiring glances, as he assisted him
to remove his wet garments.
Before the boy had a chance to ask the questions that were at his
tongue's end, he, as well as the other occupants of the boat, was
startled by a loud hail from the river.
"Hello! What steamer is that?"
"The _Whatnot_, of Dubuque," was the answer.
"Do you know the Sheriff of Dubuque County?"
"Who--Riley? Yes, I know him."
"Do you know his skiff?"
"As well as I know my own boat, for I built it."
"Have you seen it pass down the river to-day, containing only a boy
between sixteen and seventeen years old?"
"No. Haven't seen it or any other skiff. What's the matter? Has it
been stolen?"
"That'll do, thank you. Good-night," came the reply, without an answer
to this last question, and then the stranger passed out of hearing down
the river.