“But yer got ter.” The driver was very emphatic. “The law says yer got ter take a tow troo.”
“The ‘Gazelle’ is light; one mule would be enough, and you have five.”
“Yer gotter have five. But we’ll snake yer troo quick.” This last was said with the air of one who is conferring a great favor.
“The first time I ever drove five-in-hand,” said Arthur, laughing, as the driver whipped up and the yacht began tearing through the water. It was a pleasant ride through that short canal. The mules kept on at a steady trot, and the trees, with an occasional house, went flying past. At six o’clock, the lock opening into the Delaware River at Delaware City was reached; but as the tide was wrong the “Gazelle” did not float into the historic stream till several hours later.
The river was full of moving craft when the “Gazelle” swung into the stream. Great ocean-going steamers, disreputable looking tramp steamships, trim schooners of every size, and here and there a yacht. A scene full of animation and color—of busy boats and busy people—very different from the easy-going life which the boys had just left on the Southern water courses.
Towns with factories whose smoking chimneys told of active work, dotted the river bank every mile or two, and between were fields of flourishing crops—not a foot of ground was wasted.
Head winds delayed the little craft much, and the smoky haze that hung over the great city of Philadelphia was not sighted until the fourth day after leaving Delaware City.
“We’re just in time. Look!” Frank pointed through the rainlike fog that greeted the young voyagers on their first visit to the City of Brotherly Love.
“What—Say, that’s fine!”
It was an ejaculation that the sight before them extracted involuntarily. Anchored in two long lines, lay a great fleet of Uncle Sam’s dogs of war. Painted white, they looked like great ghosts of ships through the fog; all was gray except where the beautiful red, white and blue showed dimly through, or where the red, yellow and blue signal flags on the flagship made spots of color in the general dulness. In and about darted the man-o’-war launches like the restless, ever-moving insects which one sees on placid pools in summer.