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It floated at the end of a tether but the bow of the canoe pressed the stern under and tipped it until the water rushed in. Listed far over, the sea-chest slid a trifle and this was enough to push the gunwale clear under. The boat filled and capsized, what with the weight of the chest and the pressure of the canoe's fore part. Down to the oozy bed sank Blackbeard's treasure.
Oh, the windings of that Falcon River! In some parts not more than a canoe's length wide, and in none more than two, it wound in and out, up and down, this way and that. For a hundred feet we were dead against the wind, then a sharp turn sent us spinning along before it, when, standing up, I held the waterproof in my outstretched arms as a sail.
As Richter sat in the canoe's stern, and drank in the influence of the scene, his heart rose within him, and he could scarcely refrain from shouting. His wife, also, seemed to partake of this buoyancy, for her eyes fairly sparkled as he glanced from side to side. All at once Teddy ceased paddling and pointed to the left shore.
Only the momentary scraping of his canoe's nose against the ship's planking broke the silence of the night. Trembling with nervous excitement, the Russian remained motionless for several minutes; but there was no sound from the great bulk above him to indicate that his coming had been noted. Stealthily he worked his craft forward until the stays of the bowsprit were directly above him.
At the base of the cliff the water was already boiling and tossing. "Paddle on, quick!" cried Ned in an agony of fear. "We may reach a break in the cliff." Nugget, who was half a canoe's length in advance had sufficiently presence of mind to obey. He paddled off with desperate strokes, and Ned crowded him closely. A few yards down stream the wall of rock jutted out slightly and then receded.
His added weight sent the canoe careening. There was a quick scramble to right the craft. Flop! The canoe's port rail was under water. She filled and sank, carrying a lot of excited high school boys down at the same time. Dick Prescott sank into the water not more than two or three feet. Then his head showed above the surface of the river. He struck out vigorously, looking about him.
Stolid and unshaven fishermen, in drab scows, along the canoe's route, looked up from their lines, in bovine wonder at the vision of loveliness which swept resonantly past them. For the quartet were warbling. They were also doing queer musical stunts which are fondly miscalled "close harmony."
"Look out, Moses," said Van der Kemp. "There it comes. Let go the sheet. Keep good hold of your paddle, Nigel." The warning was by no means unnecessary, for as the canoe's head was turned to meet the blast, a hissing sheet of white water swept right over the tiny craft, completely submerging it, insomuch that the three men appeared to be sitting more than waist-deep in the water.
I took the cord which served for the canoe's painter, and with Joe's assistance measured it carefully, the greatest distances first, making a knot each time.
Presently he conquered himself, and, without moving, said: "You're free! The canoe's ready for you, too. Go home if you want go home and get what's coming to you! I've been busy. There's a boat stopping at the wharf to-night. I'm leaving for the States. I've told them, as will pass it on, that you and me are going together. I'll stand by it, too, God hears me!"
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