The Banner Boy Scouts Afloat Part 7

"Yes," added Old Dan Tucker, who happened to be close to them, "that ain't the worst of it. You know the main part of the grub's aboard the other boat Think of those juicy hams floatin' off down the Bushkill, with not a single tooth ever bein' put in 'em; and all that bread and stuff soaked. Oh! it gives me a cold s.h.i.+ver to even think of it," for Dan loved the bugle call that announced dining time better than any other music.

The greatest excitement prevailed aboard both boats. Jack seemed to be keeping his crew perched along the upper rail, where their weight had the effect of holding the boat with the narrower beam from toppling over on her side. It looked like a close shave, as Jud Elderkin said, with that swift current rus.h.i.+ng past on the port quarter, and almost lapping the rim of the c.o.c.kpit.

Of course, as soon as she struck Jack had shut off power, so that the boat was now lying like a stranded little whale.

Paul brought up alongside, looking out that he did not strike the same unseen sandbar.

"Take this rope, some of you, and make fast to that cleat at the stern,"

Paul called out, giving a whirl that sent it aboard the tilted motorboat.

"What are you meaning to do, Paul; give us a pull back?" asked Jack, who did not seem to be one-half so "rattled" by the mishap as some of the other fellows; simply because he had the faculty of keeping his wits about him in an emergency.

"That's the only way I can see," came the reply. "And as the stern is under water, Jack, what's the matter with backing when we start to pulling?"

"Not a thing, that I can see," answered the skipper of the _Speedwell_; "But I hope she slides off all right."

"Have your crew get as far aft as they can," continued Paul. "That will lighten the bow, more or less. And keep them all on the side they're on; only as soon as she drops back on an even keel, they must get over, so she won't swing to starboard too much. All ready, now?"

"Yes, the rope's tied fast to the cleat, and unless you yank that out by the roots, the boat's just _got_ to move! Say when, Paul," with which Jack again bent over the three horse-power motor with which the faster boat was equipped.

Paul took one look around before giving the word. He wanted to make sure that everything was in readiness, so there might be no hitch. A mistake at that critical stage might result in bringing about the very accident they were striving to avoid, and as a consequence it was wise to make haste slowly. That is always a rule good scout masters lay down to the boys under their charge. "Slow but sure" is a motto that many a boy would be wise to take to himself through life.

And when Paul had made certain that everything was in readiness he started the motor of the _Comfort_, reversing his lever; so that every ounce of force was exerted to drag the companion boat off its sandy bed.

Jack complied with the requirements of the situation by also starting his motor the same way; and with the happiest results.

"Hurrah! she's moving!" cried little Nuthin, who was not in danger, but just as much excited as though the reverse had been the case.

"There she comes!" yelled several of the anxious scouts, as the _Speedwell_ was seen to start backward.

"One good pull deserves another; eh, fellows?" cried the delighted Bobolink, who was wondering whether Jack would ever entrust the wheel to his care again, after that accident; but he need not have worried, for somehow the skipper did not seem to feel that it was his fault.

And Bobolink, when he was again placed in charge of the wheel, felt that he had had a lesson that would last him some time. In this sort of work there could be no telling what was going to happen; hence, each scout would be wise to remember the rule by which they were supposed to always be guided, and "be prepared." That meant being watchful, wakeful, earnest, and looking for signs to indicate trouble, so that should it come they would not be caught napping.

After a little while they came in sight of Manchester, with its smoking stacks, and its busy mills. Possibly the news of the expedition of the Stanhope Troop had been carried to the boys down here. At any rate, there was a group of several fellows wearing the well known khaki-uniform, who waved to them from the bank and acted as though wis.h.i.+ng the expedition success. They were pretty good fellows, those Manchester scouts, and the Stanhope boys liked them much more than they did the members of the Aldine troop up the river. Everybody knows there is a vast difference in boys; and sometimes even the fellows in various towns will seem, to be built along certain lines, having pretty much the same leading characteristics. The Manchester lads had proven a straight-forward set in what compet.i.tions the several troops had had so far. And hence every fellow aboard the two boats swung his hat, and sent back hearty cheers.

"What's the matter with Manchester? She's all right!" they called, in unison, as Gusty Bellows took upon himself the duties which, on the ball field, made him invaluable as the "cheer captain."

His name was really Gustavus Bellows; but that was easily corrupted into Gusty when the fellows learned on his first coming to Stanhope what a tremendous voice he had.

About a mile or so below Manchester, Paul had said, the mouth of what had once been Jackson Creek, might be found. Several of the boys could remember having heard more or less about that abandoned ca.n.a.l; perhaps the Manchester lads knew about it, since it was closer to their home town.

Everybody, then, was anxiously scanning the sh.o.r.e on the left, because they knew it must lie somewhere along there.

"I see the mouth!" exclaimed Phil Towns, who had very keen eyesight.

"Just look on the other side of that crooked tree, and you'll glimpse a little bar that juts out. That must be on the upper side of the creek's mouth; because Paul said bars nearly always form there. How about that, Paul?"

"Go up head, Phil; you've struck the bull's eye," replied the other, with a laugh, as he began to head in toward the crooked tree mentioned, and which doubtless he took for his landmark when in search of the creek.

The _Comfort_ was in the lead now. Jack was content to play "second fiddle," as he called it. As Paul had gone through the disused ca.n.a.l in his canoe, exploring it pretty thoroughly, he must act as pilot.

Once they had pushed past the mouth of the creek they found a rather disheartening prospect. The water seemed very low, so that they could see bottom everywhere. Even Paul frowned, and shook his head.

"It surely must have lowered several inches since I was here yesterday,"

he declared, in dismay.

"Think we'll get through safely?" queried Jud Elderkin, anxiously.

"I hope we may," replied the scout master; "but we've just got to creep along, and be mighty careful. You see, most of the bed of this ca.n.a.l is mud, and not sand. Once the sharp bow starts to rooting in that, there's no telling how far we'll explore before letting up. And it's surprising how that same mud clings. I could hardly work my light canoe loose two or three times. Just seemed like ten pair of hands had hold of her, and were gripping tight. Easy there, Jack, take another notch in your speed, old fellow! Crawl along, if you can. And have the poles ready to fend off, if we get into any bad hole."

The boys were strung along the sides of the slowly moving motorboats.

Every fellow came near holding his breath with nervousness.

"Excuse me from getting stuck here in this nasty mess," remarked Nat Smith, on board the roomier boat with Jack, Bobolink, Tom Betts, Andy Flinn, Curly Baxter, Spider s.e.xton, Frank Savage and Bob Tice.

"Why, we might stay here a week," observed the last mentioned, in a voice that told plainly how little he would relish such a mishap, when they had planned such splendid times ahead.

"All summer, if it didn't rain, because the creek would get lower all the time." Paul himself observed, with emphasis, wis.h.i.+ng to make every scout resolve to avoid this catastrophe, if it were at all possible.

"Who'd ever think," remarked Jud, "that there was such a queer old place as this not more'n seven miles away from home? And not one of us ever poked a boat's nose up this same creek before Paul came down, to spy out things."

"Oh! well, there's a reason for that," replied Phil Towns, who knew all about everything that had ever happened in and around Stanhope. "Until lately, when the scouts organized in these three towns, the boys of Stanhope and those of Manchester never had much to do with each other.

Many's the stone fight I've been in with those big mill chaps. Sometimes we whipped them; and then again they chased us right home. So no Stanhope boy ever dared go far down the river in the old days. That's the reason, I guess, why none of us ever tried to explore this place. Say, we seem to be getting in worse and worse, Paul. It isn't more'n a foot deep over there on the right, and less'n ten inches here on the left."

"I know it, Phil, and I'm beginning to be afraid we'll have to back out of this the best way we can," replied the scout master, reluctantly; for his heart had been set on carrying out this plan, and he hated to be compelled to give it up.

Hardly had he spoken than the boat brought up with a jolt that came near throwing several of the scouts into the water and mud. They had run aground after all! Paul turned the motor to the reverse, and the little propeller fairly sizzled in its mad efforts to drag the craft back into clear water, but it was just as Paul had said--there seemed to be innumerable hands clinging fore and aft that refused to let go. And in spite of all the work of the motor they did not move an inch.

"Rotten luck!" exploded Jud Elderkin, as he looked helplessly around, as if to see whether a fellow could at least jump ash.o.r.e; but since ten feet of that ooze lay on either side, he failed to get much encouragement.

"Ahoy, _Speedwell_, you'll have to give us a lift!" called Paul, making a megaphone out of his hands.

"Y-y-yes, t-t-turn about's f-f-fair p-p-play," added Bluff, waving his bugle. "We p-p-pulled you off, and n-n-now you g-g-got to return the f-f-favor."

"Listen!" said Paul, sharply; "Jack's calling something."

And as they all lined up along the side of the _Comfort_ they heard Jack's voice come across the forty feet of water and mud, saying:

"Only wish we could, Commodore; but sad to say, we're stuck about as fast in this lovely mess as you are, and can't budge her an inch!"

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT THE WATER GAUGE SHOWED

"Well, here is a pretty kettle of fis.h.!.+" grunted the disgusted Jud. "We seem to take to sandbars and mud flats today to beat the band."