Home > Authors Index > Burt L. Standish > Frank Merriwell Down South > This page
Frank Merriwell Down South, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
||
Chapter 29. A Wild Night In The Swamp |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXIX. A WILD NIGHT IN THE SWAMP Clang! clang! clang! "Fire!" "Turn out!" The boys leaped to their feet, and the professor came tearing out of the bedroom, ran into the table, which he overturned with a great clatter of dishes, reeled backward, and sat down heavily on the floor, where he rubbed his eyes, and muttered: "I thought that fire engine was going to run me down before I could get out of the way." "Fire engine!" cried Frank Merriwell. "Who ever heard of a fire engine in the heart of the Florida Everglades?" "Oi herrud th' gong," declared Barney. "So did I," asserted the professor. "I heard something that sounded like a fire gong," admitted Frank. "Pwhat was it, Oi dunno?" "It seemed to come from beneath the head of the bed in there," said Scotch. "An' Oi thought I herrud it under me couch out here," gurgled Barney. "We will light a candle, and look around," said Frank. A candle was lighted, and they looked for the cause of the midnight alarm, but they found nothing that explained the mystery. "Whist!" hissed the Irish boy. "It's afther gettin' away from here we'd better be, mark me worrud." "What makes you think that?" demanded Frank, sharply. "It's spooks there be around this place, ur Oi'm mistaken!" "Oh, I've heard enough about spooks! It's getting tiresome." The professor was silent, but he shook his head in a very mysterious manner, as if he thought a great many things he did not care to speak about. They had been thoroughly awakened, but, after a time, failing to discover what had aroused them, they decided to return to bed. Five minutes after they lay down, Frank and the professor were brought to their feet by a wild howl and a thud. They rushed out of the bedroom, and nearly fell over Barney, who was lying in the middle of the floor, at least eight feet from the couch. "What is the matter with you?" cried Frank, astonished. "Oi was touched!" palpitated the Irish lad, thickly. "Touched?" "Thot's pwhat!" "What do you mean by that?" "Oi wur jist beginning to get slapy whin something grabbed me an' threw me clan out here in th' middle av th' room." "Oh, say! what are you trying to make us believe!" "Oi'll swear to it, Frankie--Oi'll swear on a stack av Boibles." "You dreamed it, Barney; that's what's the matter." "Nivver a drame, me b'y, fer Oi wasn't aslape at all, at all." "But you may have been asleep, for you say you were beginning to get sleepy. There isn't anything here to grab you." "Oi dunno about thot, Frankie. Oi'm incloined to belave th' Ould B'y's around, so Oi am." "Oh, this is tiresome! Go back to bed, and keep still." "Nivver a bit will Oi troy to slape on thot couch again th' noight, me b'y. Oi'll shtay roight here on th' flure." "Sleep where you like, but keep still. That's all." Frank was somewhat nettled by these frequent interruptions of his rest, and he was more than tempted to give Barney cause to believe the hut was really haunted, for he was an expert ventriloquist, and he could have indulged in a great deal of sport with the Irish boy. But other things were soon to take up their attention. While they were talking a strange humming arose on every side and seemed to fill the entire hut. At first, it was like a swarm of bees, but it grew louder and louder till it threatened to swell into a roar. Professor Scotch was nearly frightened out of his wits. "It is the end of everything!" he shrieked, making a wild dash for the door, which he flung wide open. But the professor did not rush out of the cabin. Instead, he flung up his hands, staggered backward, and nearly fell to the floor. "The white canoe!" he faintly gasped, clutching at empty air for support. Frank sprang forward, catching and steadying the professor. "The white canoe--where?" "Out there!" Sure enough, on the dark surface of the water, directly in front of the hut, lay the mysterious canoe. And now this singular craft was illuminated from stem to stern by a soft, white light that showed its outlines plainly. "Sint Patherick presarve us!" panted Barney Mulloy. "I am getting tired of being chased around by a canoe!" said Frank, in disgust, as he hastily sought one of the rifles. "Don't shoot!" entreated the professor, in great alarm. "Av yer do, our goose is cooked!" fluttered Barney. Frank threw a fresh cartridge into the rifle, and turned toward the open door, his mind fully made up. And then, to the profound amazement of all three, seated in the canoe there seemed to be an old man, with white hair and long, white beard. The soft, white light seemed to come from every part of his person, as it came from the canoe. Frank Merriwell paused, with the rifle partly lifted. "It's th' spook himsilf!" gasped Barney, covering his face with his hands, and clinging to the professor. "That's right!" faintly said Scotch. "For mercy's sake, don't shoot, Frank! We're lost if you do!" Frank was startled and astonished, but he was determined not to lose his nerve, no matter what happened. The man in the canoe seemed to be looking directly toward the cabin. He slowly lifted one hand, and pointed away across the Everglades, at the same time motioning with the other hand, as if for them to go in that direction. "I'll just send a bullet over his head, to see what he thinks of it," said Frank, softly, lifting the rifle. Then another startling thing happened. Canoe and man disappeared in the twinkling of an eye! The trio in the hut gasped and rubbed their eyes. "Gone!" cried Frank. "Vanished!" panted the professor. "An' now Oi suppose ye'll say it wur no ghost?" gurgled Barney. It was extremely dark beneath the shadow of the cypress trees, and not a sign of the mysterious canoe could they see. "It is evident he did not care to have me send a bullet whizzing past his ears," laughed Frank, who did not seem in the least disturbed. "What are your nerves made of?" demanded Professor Scotch, in a shaking tone of voice. "They must be iron!" "Hark!" Frank's hand fell on the professor's arm, and the three listened intently, hearing something that gave them no little surprise. From far away through the night came the sound of hoarse voices singing a wild, doleful song. "Hamlet's ghost!" ejaculated the professor. "Pwhat the Ould Nick does thot mane?" cried Barney. "Hark!" Frank again cautioned. "Let's see if we can understand the words they are singing. Be still."
"They're all drunk," declared the professor. "You can tell that by the sound of their voices. Drunken men are dangerous." "They're a blamed soight betther than none, fer it's loikely they know th' way out av this blissed swamp," said Barney. "They may bub-bub-be pup-pup-pup-pirates!" chattered the professor. "What sticks me," said Frank, "is how a party of sailors ever made their way in here, for we are miles upon miles from the coast. Here is another mystery." "Are ye fer takin' a look at th' loikes av thim, Frankie?" "Certainly, and that without delay. Come, professor." "Never!" "What do you mean?" "I am not going near those ruffianly and bloodthirsty pirates." "Then you may stay here with the spooks, while Barney and I go." This was altogether too much for the professor, and, when he found they really intended to go, he gave in. Frank loaded the rifles and the shotgun, and took along his bow and arrows, even though Barney made sport of him for bothering with the last. They slipped the canoe into the water, and, directed by Frank, the professor succeeded in getting in without upsetting the frail affair. "Oi hope we won't run inther the ghost," uttered the Irish boy. "The sound of that singing comes from the direction in which the old man seemed to point," said Frank. This was true, as they all remembered. The singing continued, sometimes sinking to a low, droning sound, sometimes rising to a wild wail that sounded weirdly over the marshland. "Ready," said Frank, and the canoe slipped silently over the dark surface of the water course. The singing ceased after a time, but they were still guided by the sound of wrangling voices. "They are quarreling!" exclaimed Frank, softly. "This is tut-tut-terrible!" stuttered the professor. Suddenly the sound of a pistol shot came over the rushes, followed by a feminine shriek of pain or terror! _ |
||