“Hip! Hip! Hurrah!” they shouted over the placid waters of the Raritan River; and well they might.
Next day Kenneth steered his craft past Perth Amboy into the Arthur Kills back of Staten Island, and that evening saw them anchored off Elizabethport. Pretty much the same sort of feeling that rouses a child on Christmas morning at daybreak, brought Kenneth, Arthur, and Frank on deck before the sun had fairly started his day’s work. It was September 7th, and the red and black sweaters with the word “Gazelle” embroidered on the breast were found very comfortable in the chill morning air. A haze hung over everything, and the boats that were moving slipped about as if on tiptoe, fearful lest the sleeping millions be wakened too soon.
As the “Gazelle” rounded Bergen Point, Jersey City, and sailed into the Upper New York Bay, boats seemed to spring out of the very water, ferryboats, sailboats, tugs; never had the boys seen so many craft in motion before.
A haze still hung over the water, and objects only two hundred yards off could be seen but dimly.
“There’s the Statue of Liberty,” Arthur cried excitedly.
Sure enough, the great statue stood before them—her torch held on high, the heavy vapor wreathed about her like beautiful, filmy drapery.
Putting helm to starboard, the “Gazelle” turned to go inside Bedloe’s Island.
“Look, can’t you see a tall building over there?”
All the boys looked for the jagged sky line which they had seen pictured so often, and soon became so intent that they forgot to watch where they were going.
With a sudden bump and a sickening jar, the “Gazelle” stopped short. She was hard and fast on the cruel rocks.