CHAPTER XLII.
THE SAIL ON THE RIVER.
The morning succeeding the party was hot and sultry, and two, at least, of the young ladies at Schuyler Hill were cross, and tired, and worn when they joined the family at breakfast. Alice had slept but little, and her temper was still at the boiling point when she went down to the table, where she scarcely spoke at all, while Julia, who had a headache, was not much better. Both were fagged out, and after breakfast announced their intention to keep their rooms the entire morning.
“But I thought we were to have a sail up the river, and call at the Piersons’,” Godfrey said; and Alice, to whom the remark was addressed, replied:
“I’ve changed my mind, and do not care to go. You can take Gertie in my place.”
“Very well,” Godfrey answered, accepting the gauntlet she threw down; and going at once to Gertie, he explained that he and Robert and his sisters were going to call upon the Misses Pierson, and he would like her to accompany them.
Of all the city people in the neighborhood the Piersons had been the most polite to Gertie, and she signified at once her willingness to go. Ten was the hour fixed upon, and before that time came Alice had changed her mind, and when Godfrey and Robert joined the ladies upon the piazza, preparatory to starting, they found Miss Creighton with them, her face a little brighter and herself very anxious about her fluted dress, which she was afraid would be crumpled with so many in the boat. Gertie paid no attention to the hint, and of all the party seemed to enjoy the sail and the call the most. The Misses Pierson were glad to see them, and kept them till after lunch, when Godfrey hurried them to the boat, pointing out a mass of thunder-clouds in the west, and saying they must get home before the shower. There was ample time for it, he said, but for once he miscalculated, and though he and Robert rowed with all their strength, they were but little more than half way across the river when the first rain-drops began to fall, and in a few moments the storm was upon them in peals of thunder and dashes of rain and gusts of wind which rocked the boat from side to side, and made Alice cry out with fear as she sprang up to avoid a wave which came plashing in and wet her fluted dress.
“Keep quiet, Allie, or you’ll upset the boat,” Godfrey said, sternly.
Alice began to cry, and whimpered that her dress was spoiled, and said some of them ought not to have come; there were too many in the boat, and she knew it all the while.
“Why didn’t you stay out, then?” Julia asked; and then Alice cried harder, and wrung her hands in fear as peal after peal of thunder rolled over their heads and crashed up the mountain side, while the lurid lightning, flash after flash, broke through the inky sky, and blinding sheets of rain and wind swept down the river, threatening each moment to engulf the boat, as yet riding the waves so bravely. It was a terrible storm, and seemed to increase each moment, while the white faces looked at each other anxiously, and the pale lips made no sound until Godfrey’s oar snapped in two, and a wave carried it far out upon the angry waters. Then Alice shrieked: “We are lost; we shall all be drowned,” and bounding up she lost her balance and fell heavily across one side of the boat, which was instantly upset, and six human beings were struggling madly in the river.