THE ICEBOAT SQUADRON
At exactly ten o’clock, on Monday morning, December 26th, Bobolink sounded the “Assembly” on his bugle. A great crowd had gathered on the bank of the frozen Bushkill. For the most part this was made up of boys and girls, but there were in addition a few parents who wanted to see the start of the scouts for their midwinter camp.
Up to this time their outings had taken place in a more genial period of the year, and not a few witnessed their departure with feelings of uneasiness. This winter had already proved its title to the stormiest known in a quarter of a century, and at the last hour more than one parent questioned the wisdom of allowing the boys to take the bold tour.
However, there were no “recalls,” and as for the ten lads themselves, to look at their eager faces it could be seen that they entertained no doubts regarding their ability to cope with whatever situations arose. 85
The five iceboats were in line, and could be compared with so many fleet race horses fretting to make a speedy start. Each had various mysterious packages fastened securely, leaving scanty room for the pair of “trippers.”
“After all we’re going to have a fine day of it,” remarked Tom Betts, as he gave a last look to the running gear of his new ice craft, and impatiently waited for Paul to give the word to be off.
“Luck seems to be with us in the start,” admitted Bobolink, who was next in line. “I only hope it won’t change and slap us too hard after we get up there in the woods.”
“I heard this morning that the Lawson crowd had started overland, with packs on their backs,” Phil Towns stated.
“Oh! we’re bound to rub up against that lot before we’re done with it,” prophesied Bobolink. “But if they give us any trouble I miss my guess if they won’t be sorry for it.”
“Scouts can take a heap,” said Tom, “but there is a limit to their forbearance; and once they set out to inflict proper punishment they know how to rub it in good and hard.”
“Do you really believe there’s any truth in that report we heard about Mr. Briggs’ safe being found broken open and cleaned out?” asked Phil.
“There’s no question about it,” replied Bobolink. 86 “Though between you and me I don’t think the robbers got much of a haul, for the old man is too wise to keep much money around.”
“I heard that Hank Lawson and his crowd were spending money pretty freely when they got ready early this morning to start,” suggested Tom.
Jack, who had listened to all this talk, took occasion to warn his fellow-scouts, just as Paul had done on the other occasion.
“Better not say that again, Tom, because we have no means of knowing how they got the money. Some of them are often supplied with larger amounts than seem to be good for them. Unless you know positively, don’t start the snowball rolling downhill, because it keeps on growing larger every time some one tells the story.”
“All right, Jack,” remarked Tom, cheerfully; “what you say goes. Besides, as we expect to be away a couple of weeks there isn’t going to be much chance to tell tales in Stanhope.”
They waited impatiently for the word to go. Paul was making a last round in order to be sure that nothing had been overlooked, for caution was strongly developed in his character, as well as boldness.
There were many long faces among the other boys belonging to Stanhope Troop, for they would have liked above all things to be able to accompany 87 their lucky comrades. The lure of the open woods had a great attraction for them, and on previous outings every one had enjoyed such glorious times that now all felt as though they were missing a grand treat.
At last Paul felt that nothing else remained to be done, and that he could get his expedition under way without any scruple. There were many skaters on the river, but a clear passage down-stream had been made for the start of the iceboat squadron.
A few of the strongest skaters had gone on ahead half an hour back, intending to accompany the adventurous ten a portion of the way. They hoped to reach the point where the old canal connected the Bushkill river with the Radway, and a long time back known as Jackson’s Creek.
Here they would await the coming of the fleet iceboats, and lend what assistance was required in making the passage of this crooked waterway.
When once again the bugle sounded the cheering became more violent than ever, for it was known that the moment of departure had arrived.
Tom Betts had been given the honor of being the first in the procession. His fellow passenger was Jack Stormways. As the new Speedaway shot from its mooring place and started down the river it seemed as though the old football days had 88 come again, such a roar arose from human lungs, fish-horns, and every conceivable means for making a racket.
A second craft quickly followed in the wake of the leader, then a third, the two others trailing after, until all of them were heading down-stream, rapidly leaving Stanhope behind.
The cheering of the throng grew fainter as the speedy craft glided over the ice, urged on by a fair wind. There could be little doubt that the ten scouts who were undertaking the expedition were fully alive to the good fortune that had come their way.
Tom Betts was acknowledged to be the most skilful skipper, possibly barring Paul, along the Bushkill. He seemed to know how to get the best speed out of an iceboat, and at the same time avoid serious accidents, such as are likely to follow the reckless use of such frail craft.
It was thoughtful of Paul to let Tom lead the procession, when by all rights, as the scout-master, Paul might properly have assumed that position. Tom must have been considering this fact, for as he and Jack flew along, crouching under the big new sail that was drawing splendidly, he called out to his comrade:
“Let me tell you it was mighty white in Paul to assign me to this berth, Jack, when by rights 89 everybody expected him to lead off. I appreciate it, too, I want you to understand.”
“Oh! that’s just like Paul,” he was told. “He always likes to make other fellows feel good. And for a chap who unites so many rare qualities in his make-up Paul is the most unassuming fellow I ever knew. Why, you can see that he intentionally put himself in last place, and picked out Spider Sexton’s boat to go on, because he knew it was the poorest of the lot.”
“But all the same the old Glider is doing her prettiest to-day and keeping up with the procession all right,” asserted Tom, glancing back.
“That’s because Paul’s serving as skipper,” asserted Jack, proudly. “He could get speed out of any old tub you ever saw. But then we’re not trying to do any racing on this trip, you remember, Tom.”
“Not much,” assented the other, quickly. “Paul impressed it on us that to-day we must keep it in mind that ‘safety first’ is to be our motto. Besides, with all these bundles of grub and blankets and clothes-bags strapped and roped to our boats a fellow couldn’t do himself justice, I reckon.”
“No more he could, Tom. But we’re making good time for all that, and it isn’t going to be long before we pass Manchester, and reach the place where that old abandoned canal creeps across two 90 miles of country, more or less, to the Radway.”
“I can see the fellows who skated down ahead of us!” announced Tom, presently.
“Yes, they’re waiting to go through the canal with us,” assented Jack. “Wallace Carberry said they feared we might have a bad time of it getting the iceboats over to the Radway, and he corralled a few fellows with the idea of lending a hand.”
“They hate the worst kind to be left out of this camping game,” remarked Tom, “and want to see the last they can of us.”
A few minutes later and the skipper of the leading iceboat brought his speedy craft to a halt close to the shore, where several scouts awaited them. The other four craft soon drew up near by, thus finishing what they were pleased to call the “first leg” of the novel cruise.
It was decided to work their way through the winding creek the best way possible. In places it would be found advisable to push the boats, while now and then as an open stretch came along they might take advantage of a favorable wind to do a little sailing.
Two miles of this sort of thing would not be so bad. As Bobolink sang out, the worst was yet to come when they made the Radway, and had to ascend against a head wind that would necessitate skilful tacking to avoid an overturn.