It was supper time when the boys arrived in camp, and Ethan and his son at once prepared the evening meal. Strange as it may seem to be, the appetites of the campers were almost as keen as they had been for the dinner at Goose Bay, and a full hour had elapsed before they rose from the table.
As soon as the remains of the feast had been cleared away, that is, if dishes can be called “remains,” for little else was left by the hungry lads, Ethan and Tom prepared to depart for home, promising to be back in camp in time for breakfast.
“You won’t forget what I told you, Ethan,” called Jock, as the men were about to set sail.
“No. I’ll go over to the bay [Alexandria Bay, Ethan meant] and stop on my way home. I’ll fix you out to-morrow mornin’ sure.”
“What conspiracy are you up to now, Jock?” inquired Bert.
“That’s a secret,” replied Jock, laughingly. “If it’s a good day to-morrow you’ll know all about it. You’ll like it, too. I’m sure you will; and it’ll leave even the fishing we’ve had to-day away behind.”
“What is it?” persisted Bert. “More fishing?”
“No. You’ve had enough of that for one day, I should judge by the looks of your face. It’ll peel in a day or two.”
“I can stand it to have a layer or two drop off. But what is it you and Ethan are going to do to-morrow?”
“Sufficient unto the day is the question thereof,” answered Jock. “I shan’t tell you, Bert. It’s to be a surprise.”
“Come up here, you fellows,” called Bob from the bank. “We want your valuable assistance. My little body is aweary.”
“Since when?” called Jock, as he and his companions started back to camp.
“Since I’ve been trying to roll these logs into position. Lend a hand, you two. I’m not equal to the task.”
The boys all began to labor now, and soon had a great pile of logs in the fireplace in front of the camp, under these some kindlings were placed, and as soon as all things were in readiness, Bob took a match and started a fire. The flames were soon leaping into the air and cast their beams far out over the river. The boys then threw themselves upon the ground in front of the blazing logs, and for a time no one spoke.
The fire roared, and the flames leaped higher into the air. All about them it was as light as day, and the scene was indescribably weird. The great river swept onward in its course, and its waters reflected the light of the blazing camp-fire. The branches of the tall trees in the rear of the camp swayed before the night wind, and increased the wildness of the scene. Bats could be seen circling about in the air, as if they were startled and confused by the strange light. Across the water came the faint and indistinct sounds of a party of young people out for an evening sail. Altogether the experience was so novel that the boys were all impressed by it, but it was impossible for them long to remain silent, and Bob was the first to speak.
“I’ve been thinking about the history ofGoose Bay. It is an historical spot, you know, boys, just as Ethan said it was.”
“The fire roared, and the flames leaped higher.”
“The fire roared, and the flames leaped higher.”
“Suppose you tell us about it, then,” said Ben, whose long form had hardly stirred since the fire had been kindled.
“That’s just what I was intending to do,” replied Bob.
“It’ll be a good lullaby,” drawled Ben. “If you hear any sound that leads you to suspect that I have fallen asleep, please don’t blame me. I always go to sleep when I try to read history.”
“As long as there are live coals here, you’d better not go to sleep,” warned Bob. “I’ll serve you worse than the tithing-men used to serve the old farmers who went to sleep during the sermon.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. It won’t be my fault if you put me to sleep. Did you ever hear what Henry Ward Beecher said about the tithing-man and his pole?”
“No. What did he say?”
“He said if he saw anybody going to sleep when he was speaking, he didn’t want any tithing-man to come around with his stick and stir the man up, but he wanted him to take his stick and stir him up, for it was his fault if he let a man go to sleep. See?”
“Yes,” replied Bob. “I’ll do my best. Listen, then, my children, and you shall hear the wonderful tale of Goose Bay.”
“I knew a goose had a tail, but I didn’t know Goose Bay had a tail.”
“Well, it has,” replied Bob, as he pretended to kick a live coal toward the mocker. “This is the tale of Goose Bay. Many years ago, away back in 1813, the British and Americans were at war. I know just how much you know about that, so I’ll not go into particulars.”
“Don’t,” drawled Ben. “I’m beginning to feel sleepy already.”
“Well,” resumed Bob, “it was about the middle of July in that year. Our forces were over at Sackett’s Harbor, but they weren’t having much excitement, so it was decided to fit out an expedition and come around the lake to Cape Vincent and then go on a cruise down the St. Lawrence, seeking whom they might devour.”
“I thought it was a lion, a ro-a-a-ring lion that did that,” interrupted Bert.
“So it is sometimes.”
“But wasn’t it the British lion you were telling about? Now I could understand how a lion, a real genuine British lion, mightgo roaring around, but when the eagle, the genuine American eagle, starts out on an expedition, I never thought of him as ‘roaring.’ What is a roaring eagle, Bob? Any relation to a soaring lion?”
“Oh, hold on, Bert, give Bob a chance to tell his story,” said Jock.
“Story? Story? What more of a ‘story’ do you want than that? The American eagle going down the St. Lawrence roaring and seeking whom he might devour. Is that where ‘Goose’ Bay got its name, Bob?”
“As I was saying, when I was interrupted by this infant crying in the night,” resumed Bob, disdainfully, “the expedition was partly national and partly individual, that is to say, it was a privateering trip with government backing. The man who fitted it out was named Gilbert, I believe.”
“A kind of patriot for revenue only?” inquired Ben, blandly.
“Precisely. Well, they had two gunboats, theNeptuneandFox, and about forty-five or fifty men. They stopped at Cape Vincent and Clayton, or French Creek as they used to call the place then, and then kept on their way rejoicing, until theycame to Goose Bay. There they landed and had a parade.”
“What did they parade for?” inquired Jock.
“No one knows, or at least I don’t. What do they ever parade for?”
“For to show brass buttons and for to delight the ladies and small boys. I used to think a drum-major was a bigger man than the President,” replied Ben, quickly.
“After they had landed and paraded, they—”
“Went fishing?” inquired Ben.
“They sent a few men down toward Ogdensburg to spy out the land.”
“Weren’t they roaring and seeking whom they might devour this time?”
“Keep still, Ben, I want to hear about this,” said Jock.
“The next afternoon two men, their names were Baldwin and Campbell—”
“Good names!” interrupted Ben, again.
“—came back and reported that a gunboat and fifteen loaded bateaux were coming up the river. The gunboat was theSpitfire—”
“That’s a good name, too,” remarked Ben.
“At once there was great excitement among the American men. They arranged a force to cut off all retreat, and then started for the enemy. Before they fairly knew it they were all taken.”
“Who?”
“The British,” replied Bob.
“Were they dead? Did they like it?”
“Then the Americans landed at Goose Bay. Oh, I forgot to say that not a shot was fired in the attack on the bateaux and theSpitfire.”
“That’s the way to fight,” drawled Ben. “That would suit me exactly. If I could parade and then go out and call names, and then march back in triumph with the haughty foe in chains, I’d like to be a soldier. I wonder why I wasn’t born into this world in my proper age.”
“Of course our troops were highly elated,” resumed Bob, “for theSpitfirewas armed with a twelve-pound carronade and fourteen men, and in the bateaux were two hundred and seventy barrels of pork and as many bags of pilot bread.”
“Was that where Ethan got the pork we had for dinner to-day?” inquired Bert, innocently.
Not deigning to reply or to notice the laugh which arose at Bert’s words, Bob resumed. “The Americans sent sixty-nine prisoners across the country to Sackett’s Harbor, and then with the others they waited for the enemy to come.”
“Why did they wait? What did they want them to come for? I should think they’d all have gone ’cross lots to Sackett’s Harbor,” said Jock.
“They wanted to save the gunboat and supplies. The next morning about sunrise the bold and brave foe, to the number of two hundred and fifty, hove in sight. They had four gunboats and two transports and were evidently ready for the fray. Our men had been stationed in detachments along the shore, and soon the action was begun. ‘They fit all day and they fit all night,’ as the poet says, though I don’t know whether that’s history or not; but two of the gunboats had soon been so injured by our fire that they had to stuff the holes the shot made with weeds to keep them from sinking.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” groaned Ben, sitting quickly erect, “I have lived long in this weary world of woe, but that’s the worst Iever heard yet. A British gunboat stuffing the holes in its sides with weeds! There’s an insane asylum down at Ogdensburg, and either you or I must go there.”
“It is a pretty big story, but that’s what the book says,” protested Bob.
“Go on! go on!” said Ben, eagerly. “After the British had stuffed the gaping wounds with seaweed, and our brave and determined lads, with a fresh supply of spitballs and slingshots—go on! go on!”
“The next morning the redcoats wanted to call it quits, or rather they sent a flag and a demand for our men to surrender ‘to save the effusion of blood.’ The proud foe was sternly repulsed, and the firing was resumed. It seems all they had expected was to gain time. Trees had been felled across the creek,—Cranberry Creek they called it, I believe,—but the foe managed to get away. They were said to have lost a good many men.”
“Did our side lose any?” inquired Bob.
“Three. But reinforcements soon came, and after the boats had been patched up they started up the river again, bound for Sackett’s Harbor. Off Tibbet’s Point they fell in with theEarl of Moira, which chasedthem, and finally to get away they had to sink the gunboat they had taken and the most of the bateaux, so that the expedition came out about even.”
“Bob,” demanded Bert, once more sitting erect, “the next time hadn’t you just as soon tell us a true story?”
“That’s true. I read it in the old histories.”
“Do you know any more as ‘true’ as that?”
“Yes. I’ve been reading up on the St. Lawrence. I wanted to know something about the region before I came down here. I don’t believe you know anything about Cartier, or Frontenac, or any of the early discoverers.”
“Carter? Who’s Carter?” demanded Ben.
“I didn’t say Carter. I said Cartier. He’s the discoverer of the St. Lawrence.”
“He was, was he? Well, he’s the man for me. Just think of it, fellows, we’d never be camping here if this place hadn’t been discovered. I move you,” he added, “that the professor be invited to resume his falsehoods to-morrow evening, and that whenever we are seated before the embersof our glowing camp-fire, or can’t get asleep nights, that he soothe us with his fairy tales.”
The boys laughingly agreed to the proposal, and as they rose, Ben said, “I feel a craving in the inner man. Any of you got a ‘crave’ too?”
All four declared they were in suffering need of food, and at once began to prepare another supper. When their labors were ended, however, the results were far from satisfactory. Somehow the fish did not tempt them, and when Jock opened the coffee-pot he exclaimed: “I thought coffee was a liquid, fellows. Look at this, will you?”
With his fork he lifted from the interior of the pot long, stringy substances, which certainly were not inviting to the sight.
“What do you suppose is the trouble?” said Ben. “There must be something wrong with the coffee. Do you suppose it’s poison?”
“I don’t know. I’ll leave it and ask Ethan in the morning,” said Bob. “He’ll know all about it.”
However, the boys discovered the pies and other viands the boatmen had left incamp, “pies’n things” Bert termed them, mimicking Ethan’s dialect, and their immediate wants had, to all appearances, been satisfied when they sought their cots.
So tired were they that even the question of what Jock and Ethan had prepared for the morrow was soon forgotten, and the smouldering camp-fire burned low and lower, while the boys slept the sleep which can only be gained within the sound of the music of the mighty river.
The sun was just appearing above the tree-tops on the following morning, when the camp was shaken by a report which caused the boys to leap from their beds and rush out into the open space. So startled were they that the absence of Jock was not perceived; but when they discovered him on the bank, and a cloud of smoke could also be seen floating over the river, they knew at once the cause of the alarm.
The presence of a small brass cannon on the ground near where Jock was standing would have revealed the cause of the excitement if nothing else had; and, as Jock laughingly turned to greet them, he said:—
“That’s the signal to get up, boys. Ethan will be here soon, and we don’t want to delay breakfast.”
“Where did you get it, Jock?” said Bert, eagerly examining the cannon as he spoke. “It’s a beauty!”
“Oh, I brought it with me, but I hadn’t had a chance to mount it before. We wanted something to salute the sun with, to say nothing of the yachts and steamers that pass us every hour or two.”
“You don’t know how you frightened me,” said Bob, slowly. “I almost thought the British had come back for us.”
“Look out at that smoke, will you, fellows?” said Ben, pointing to the little cloud which could still be seen. “What do you think it looks like?”
“What does it look like, Ben?” inquired Jock.
“It reminds me of the tail of a goose. Something like the tale of Goose Bay, with which our imaginative friend here regaled us last night.”
“It makes me think of the story Virgil tells about Æneas, where the ‘pious son’ tried to grasp the shade of his faithful wife Creusa. She just vanished into thin air, you remember.”
“It’s like Bob’s history,—too thin,” laughed Bert. “Isn’t that Ethan’s boat?” he added, pointing as he spoke to a sail which could be seen approaching the island.
“Yes; that’s Ethan. Hurry up, fellows, or you’ll be late for breakfast. You know what his opinion is of people who aren’t up early in the morning.”
His companions hastily returned to the tent, and by the time Ethan landed they were ready for the breakfast which he speedily prepared.
“Goin’ to have another good day,” remarked Ethan, as he and Tom cleared away the breakfast dishes.
“That’s what we want,” said Jock. “Ethan, did you bring over the things we were talking about last night?”
“Yes, they’re in the boat. We’ve got just the kind of a day we want, too.”
“What is it, Jock, you and Ethan are plotting?” inquired Ben.
“You’ll find out pretty soon.”
The boys were all eagerness as they followed Ethan down to the dock. The boatman soon brought forth a small mast and sail, and as he spread the latter out on the ground, its peculiar shape at once impressed the interested beholders.
“What do you call that thing, Ethan?” inquired Bert.
“A sail.”
“Yes, I see; but what kind of a sail is it? I never saw one like it before.”
“Likely not. They don’t grow in cities. It’s a ‘bat wing.’”
The name was so appropriate that no one had any difficulty in understanding the cause of the term, but the boatman did not deign to make any further explanation and at once proceeded to fit the mast in one of the canoes.
“I only had one,” he explained, when the task was completed. “I can get another at the Bay, probably, and as I didn’t have time to stop there this mornin’ and see whether there was any letters for any o’ ye, if ye don’t object, I’ll take Jock along with me and sail over there now. I can show him a little how the thing’s managed on our way over, and then when I come back I’ll have a couple o’ the bat wings, an’ can let the rest o’ ye have a try, if ye want it.”
Jock protested that some other one of the boys should be permitted to have the first sail; but they all declared that he was the one to go, and so the lad took his place in the little canoe, and in a moment the light craft was speeding swiftlyover the water in the direction of Alexandria Bay.
“Isn’t she a beauty!” exclaimed Bert, delightedly. “They wont be gone long, will they?” he added, turning to Tom.
“No,” replied Tom. “You’ll get all the sailing you want, to-day.”
The boys watched the canoe as it sped on before the wind. They could see Jock, who was seated on the edge of the canoe in the bow, while Ethan was in the stern and was managing the sail. At times the canoe dipped until it seemed to the watching boys that it must be swamped, but it always righted itself and then leaped forward with ever increasing speed. At last it disappeared from sight behind one of the neighboring islands, and then the boys turned with a sigh to the camp, all of them eager now for the return of their companions, and for the opportunity to try the merits of a canoe fitted out with a bat-wing sail.
“What’ll we do to pass the time, fellows?” said Ben.
“I think it would be a capital idea for Tom here to speak his piece before us,” drawled Bob. “He wants to practise, andperhaps we can be of some help to him. Ben here is a prize speaker, you know.”
Tom’s face flushed, and for a moment he evidently thought Bob was poking fun at him. “It isn’t much of a piece,” he said in confusion. “The young folks are going to have a dialogue and try to raise some money to fix up the walks over at the Corners.”
“So your father told us,” said Bob. “I’m in dead earnest, though, Tom. It’s more than likely that Ben can give you points. He took the school prize in speaking this summer. Go ahead, anyway.”
“And you boys won’t make fun of me?” inquired Tom.
“Not a bit of it,” said Bob, cordially. “We’re coming over to see the show when it comes off, anyway, so you might as well give it to us now, or, at least, your part. You had pretty good courage to tackle one of Shakespeare’s plays, though. How did you happen to do it?”
“Oh, that was Mr. Wilkinson’s idea; he’s the teacher at the Corners, you know. He said we might as well learn something worth hearing while we were about it, so we finally chose ‘Hamlet.’”
“Quite right, too,” remarked Bob, encouragingly, as if he was familiar with all such little matters as the great dramas of Shakespeare, and was willing to share his courage with all the world.
Tom at last reluctantly consented, and striking an attitude, gazed up into the sky as if nothing less than the ghost was beckoning to him. His eyes assumed a far-away expression, and he waited a moment before he began. Then apparently every muscle in his body became rigid, and in a loud and unnatural tone of voice he commenced.
“Tew be-e-e- or not to be-e-e-e-e-”
As he spoke his right arm shot suddenly out in front of him, much after the action of a piston rod in a great locomotive, and his eyes began to roll. Bert suddenly rolled over upon the ground and hid his face in the grass, and Ben as quickly turned and gazed out upon the river as if something he had discovered there demanded his attention. Only Bob was unmoved, and without a smile upon his face, he said solemnly, “Why do you talk it off like that, Tom?”
“Isn’t that the way to do it?”
“I should hardly think so. Don’t you think Hamlet was puzzled and was somehow half talking to himself? It seems to me as if he was musing and didn’t think of any one to whom he was speaking. He was talking to himself, so to speak. Don’t you think so, Ben?”
“Yes,” replied Ben, desperately striving to control his voice, and not turning his face away from the spot he had discovered on the river.
“Well, I don’t know about it,” protested Tom. “It always seemed to me that Hamlet was a good deal of a crank, and instead of acting naturally he was more likely to do the most unnatural thing in the world.”
“That may be so. Perhaps you are right about that,” said Bob, “but still I think he was communing with himself. They call it his soliloquy, don’t they?”
“Yes; but he was crazy, wasn’t he? I think that’s what the critics say.”
“I don’t know. I believe so,” replied Bob, though somehow his air of confidence seemed to be departing. “Tom,” he added, “have you read much of Shakespeare?”
“I’ve read all he wrote,” said Tom.“We can’t do much except read in the winter down here on the river.”
Ben by this time had either examined the distant object on the river to his entire satisfaction, or else was startled by Tom’s words. At all events he quickly withdrew his gaze and looked at the young boatman in surprise, and even Bert had ceased to bury his face in the grass. Somehow the comical aspect of Tom’s speech had suddenly changed.
“What have you read this winter, Tom?” inquired Bob, slowly.
“Oh, I’ve read all of Shakespeare, as I told you, and then I’ve read all of Parkman’s histories, and all of Bancroft. You know Parkman has a good deal to say about the men who first came up the St. Lawrence, and I wanted to learn all I could about the part of the country I live in. But I wanted to know something about other countries too, so I’ve read Motley’s ‘Rise of the Dutch Republic,’ and Prescott’s ‘Conquest of Peru and of Mexico.’ Then I’ve read Wordsworth’s poems. It seems to me I enjoy him better than I do any other poet, for the country around his home must have been something like thisSt. Lawrence country. Don’t you think so?”
Before Bob could reply, Ben and Bert suddenly rose from the ground, and ran speedily into the tent where the trunks were.
“What’s the matter with those boys?” inquired Tom, innocently, looking up in surprise at the sudden departure of his companions.
“I don’t think they feel very well,” replied Bob, demurely; “or it may have been that they’ve gone to see if their fishing tackle is all right after the experience of yesterday. Tom,” he added, “do you read any fiction, any novels?”
“Not many. Pa doesn’t like to have me. He says they’re all lies anyway, and there’s enough that’s true to read. I’ve read a little. I’ve read most of Scott’s novels and Charles Kingsley and some of the other writers. The last book I read was Defoe’s account of the London plague. I don’t like that very well, do you?”
“I’ve got to see what those boys are up to,” said Bob, suddenly, leaping to his feet as he spoke and moving with unusual quicknessaway from the place where he had been lying.
“I say, Bob,” said Bert, when their friend joined them, “the next time you catch a weasel asleep, you let me know, will you?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it,” spoke up Ben, quickly. “Here we were thinking we’d get some fun out of this greenhorn, and then he turns round and puts us all in a hole. I wonder if he really has read all those books he says he has?”
“You might examine him and see,” replied Bob, dryly.
“Not much. You don’t catch me that way. Here I was thinking we’d do some missionary work for the poor benighted heathen of the region, and lo and behold, they turn upon us and beat us at our own game. Who would have believed it? I know I shouldn’t, for one.”
“Serves us right. I’ll keep clear of Tom till his ‘pa’ comes back.”
Bob’s sentiments were echoed by his companions, and not one of them ventured to remind the young boatman of the desire to hear him recite Hamlet’s soliloquy. Indeed, they did not venture near the camp until it was almost noon time, and thenEthan and Jock returned with the new “bat-wing sail.” As they had also brought with them letters for each of the boys, the time until dinner was ready was all consumed in reading them, and perhaps no one of them regretted the fact.
After dinner, both Ethan and his son gave their entire attention to the task of teaching the young campers the art of sailing a canoe equipped with a bat-wing sail. Only one of the party was taken out each time by a boatman, and then, after a trial trip, he was allowed to hold the sheet while the boatman occupied the place in the bow which the pupil formerly had held.
In this manner the entire afternoon was consumed, and when they all returned to camp for supper, Ethan declared that he thought it would be safe for the boys to use the canoes, though he advised that no one should venture far from the island, and promised on the following day to repeat the lessons.
When he and Tom had gone, Ben declared he was going out alone for a sail. He would not listen to the remonstrances of his comrades, and soon started from the dock. The boys watched him until thecanoe disappeared behind the nearest island. They had no thought of peril, but when the darkness deepened, and at last the hour of retiring had arrived, the uneasiness in the camp had become a fear which no one dared to express.
To add to the consternation of the boys, the face of the sky was now obscured by clouds, and the rising wind gave tokens of a coming storm. The tall trees groaned and swayed, and the quiet waters of the river were rising, and already were beginning to lash the low beach.
“I’m afraid Ben’s in trouble,” said Jock, unable to endure the silence longer. “If he’s all right, he never could find his way in such darkness as this.”
“He started out as if he was going up the stream,” said Bert, no less troubled than his friend. “He ought to have been able to get back.”
“He ought not to have gone out at all, as far as the ‘ought’ is concerned,” replied Jock, gloomily. “Here we were thinking Ethan was a greenhorn; but he’s forgotten more than we ever knew. It was a fool trick for Ben to start out as he did.”
“Well, he went, and that’s all there is to say about it. We’ll pile the logs up higher and wait. It’s all we can do now,” said Bob.
Bob’s suggestion was at once acted upon; and soon the light of the camp-fire was leaping up in long tongues of flame. The wind served to increase the blaze, and the roar of the blazing logs was added to that of the rising storm.
For a time the boys sat in silence before the fireplace, gazing out over the river, and eagerly looking for the sight of the little canoe. They knew that even a skilled sailor would not dare to venture out in such a night, but as Ben was already on the river, he must find some place to land; and so, hoping against hope, the lads waited.
“There comes the rain,” said Bob, at last, as a few drops fell upon his upturned face. “What a night to be out on the river in!”
“Jock,” said Bert, “haven’t I read that these canoes are upset very easily on the river here?”
“I think it’s likely. They are capsized, whether you’ve read it or not.”
“Ben can swim, anyway,” said Bert, “and that’s one comfort.”
“I’m afraid he couldn’t swim very far to-night,” replied Jock, gloomily. “He couldn’t see ten yards before him, and he wouldn’t know where to start for. Whew! Just hear that!”
The rain was now coming faster, and beat upon the faces of the boys and fell sputtering into the fire. The wind, however, was so strong that the fire roared and snapped, and a cloud of smoke was borne away down the river. Inky blackness surrounded them, and the sounds of the storm-swept river became steadily louder.
“There’s no use in all of us staying out here in the rain. The rest of you go into the tent, and I’ll stay here and attend to the fire,” said Jock.
“Don’t you think we’d better try to go over to the mainland and rouse out Ethan? Ben may be in trouble somewhere, and Ethan’ll find him if any one can,” said Bert.
“I’ve thought of that,” said Jock, “but it won’t be safe to try it. We’ve nothing but the canoe here, and it couldn’t live in such a storm as this. Just hear that, will you!” he added.
There was a great roaring in the treesnow, and the sound became steadily louder. The rain, too, increased, and sometimes seemed to dash upon them in sheets. Out on the river the tossing waters could be seen where the light of the camp-fire fell, and, capped with white, they presented a wild sight. And Ben was somewhere on those angry waters! For a moment it seemed to the troubled Jock that he could see the picture of a little white-winged canoe driven on by the furious storm, and in the stern of the boat was a terrified face which strongly resembled that of the missing Ben. Just then there came a still more furious blast. The tall trees bent and groaned, and the tossing waters leaped before it, as a highly strung horse darts forward at the touch of a whip.
Again it seemed to Jock as if he could see the little canoe driven before the roaring wind. The gust seemed to lift the light craft in its grasp, the pale face of the lad on board leaned forward, then there was a sudden lurching of the boat, the sail dipped until it touched the water, and then boat and boatman disappeared from sight and nothing could be seen but the tossing waters and nothing be heard but the roarof the storm. Thick darkness settled over all, and even penetrated the heavy heart of the anxious watcher.
None of the boys was willing to leave Jock alone to watch the camp-fire, and after the mackintoshes had been put on they all returned and waited. Occasionally a fresh log was thrown upon the blazing pile and the sparks flew upward, serving only to render more intense the thick blackness that surrounded them.
There was slight hope of Ben returning now, but the anxious boys were determined to keep the fire burning, for it would serve as a landmark if, by any chance, the absent lad might be near. Their eyes were seldom taken from the river, and hour after hour passed as the vigil continued.
About midnight the storm abated, and soon the twinkling stars appeared in the sky. In the renewed hope that Ben might have been able to gain the shelter of some secluded island and remain until the storm had passed, they piled the logs still higher and waited and watched for the canoe to appear.
There were few words spoken now. The river gradually became more silent and resumedits former peacefulness, and the tall trees ceased to bend and sway. Perhaps the end had already come and even the waves were satisfied with the ruin they had wrought.
“I shan’t give up hope yet,” said Jock, at last. “Ben wouldn’t be likely to try to get back before morning, and he’ll wait for daylight wherever he is.”
“Wherever he is,” murmured Bert, as if he was speaking to himself.
“You don’t really think he’s been—that anything has happened to him, do you?” said Jock, anxiously.
“I hope not.”
“I don’t know what I’d say to his father and mother,” began Jock, again. “And just think of it! When we were counting on such a good time, too, and to have this happen almost at the very beginning! Don’t you think we’d better go over to Ethan’s now and rouse him out? He’d know what to do.”
“I think we’d better wait till it’s light, anyway,” said Bob. “I suppose you’re thinking of sending Ethan with his sailboat to look him up?”
“Yes, that was what was in my mind.You see, Ben may have met with an accident. He may have lost his paddle, or his mast may have been broken. There’s a hundred things I can think of, and if he should be cast away on some island, he wouldn’t be able to get off without help.”
“You don’t know whether to go up the river or down,” said Bert, disconsolately.
“Ben started up the river when he went off,” replied Jock; “but it’s just as likely that he’s been carried down the stream, with the current and the wind both to push him on. Ethan will know what to do, though.”
“He’ll probably go in one direction and Tom in the other,” suggested Bob.
The three boys lapsed into silence, and while no one spoke openly of the great fear in his heart, it was nevertheless evident that a common anxiety had them all in its grasp. Occasionally one would rise and go down to the dock and peer eagerly out over the river, but his failure to discover anything of interest would be betrayed by his silence and gloom when he rejoined his fellows.
The slow hours dragged on and still the heavy-hearted lads waited. The leaves of the trees dripped steadily, and the monotonoussounds served only to deepen the feeling of depression. Try as they would the boys could not shake off their fears, and when at last the first faint streaks of the dawn appeared in the eastern sky, they were so worn by their watching, and the anxiety of the long night, that the coming day brought no relief.
“Two of us had better stay here in the camp,” suggested Bob, when the light became more pronounced. “If you know where Ethan lives, Jock, you’d better take the canoe and go over to his place.”
“I’ll go,” replied Jock, quickly.
The opportunity to bestir himself afforded a slight relief, and going at once to the bank he lifted the overturned canoe from its place and bore it in his arms down to the water. Quickly taking his place on board he grasped the paddle and with vigorous strokes sent the light craft swiftly over the water in the direction of the mainland. His two friends watched him as long as he could be seen and then returned to the camp. The fire had burned low by this time, but as daylight was at hand there was little use in keeping it up, and the boys occasionally stirred the embers as if in theashes they were looking for something they had lost.
As the glow of the dawn became more pronounced, and at last the great sun itself appeared above the horizon, the waiting lads had no thought of breakfast. Even the wonderful appetite of which they had boasted on the preceding day, was not able to move them now. The keen air had lost its power, and all hunger was gone.
From time to time a boat was discovered on the river, and the lads watched each in silence until it was hidden from sight among the islands; the missing Ben did not appear. More than two hours had elapsed since Jock’s departure from the camp, when Bob suddenly exclaimed:—
“Isn’t that a canoe out there on the river?”
“Where? Where?” inquired his companion, eagerly.
“Out there in the direction of the point! Hold on a minute, and I’ll get the glasses and we’ll see what we can make of it.”
Bob hastily ran into the tent and returned with the glasses. Lifting them to his eyes he gazed long and earnestly at the little spot on the surface of the river, andthen without a word handed them to his friend. Bert eagerly took them, and after he had peered intently at the distant object, he lowered the glasses and said in a low voice, “It’s a canoe, Bob, and it’s headed this way.”
“That’s what I made out of it,” replied Bob.
“If it was Ben he’d have a sail.”
“I don’t know whether he would or not. He might have lost it, you know, in the storm. That isn’t the direction from which Jock would come.”
“No. He went straight across from here. Do you think it’s Ben?”
Bob made no reply, but he ran swiftly down to the dock, and his companion as speedily followed him. There they waited for the approaching canoe, confirming themselves by repeated uses of the glasses that it was headed for the camp. The little boat became more distinct, and soon they could see the movements of the occupant as he deftly wielded his paddle.
At last, when it was within two hundred yards of the dock, after another long look through the glasses, Bob said, “It’s Jock.”
Neither of them spoke until Jock ran thecanoe in-shore, and then by the expression upon his face they knew that he had no good report to make.
“I found Ethan,” said Jock, as he lifted the canoe out of the water and placed it on the bank, “and he and Tom have gone out. One has gone up the river and the other down.”
“What did he say?” inquired Bert, eagerly.
“Nothing.”
“Does he think Ben’s—”
Bert did not complete the question, and then said, “We weren’t looking for you to come from that direction. We thought perhaps it might be Ben.”
“Ethan sent me over to a man he knew a little farther up the river. I’ve started him out to look, too. That’s the reason why I came from that direction. Ethan suggested that I should bring some breakfast over for you, but I didn’t think you’d want any. I knew I didn’t, anyway.”
“Nor do we,” said Bob. “What are we to do now, Jock? Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Ethan told us to stay here in camp till he came. He says he’ll be here by noon,and then if he doesn’t learn anything, we’ll decide whether we’d better telegraph home or not.”
Jock’s voice broke as he spoke, and his evident anxiety was shared by the other boys. The end would soon be at hand, but before Ethan’s return there was nothing for them to do but to strive to possess their souls in patience and wait. Working would have been much more easy for them all, but there was nothing they could do. They dared not venture forth from the island for fear of losing their way in the tangled maze, but they paced back and forth along the shore, peering eagerly out over the river for the boat which still did not come.
About noontime Ethan returned to camp, but he had found no trace of the missing Ben; and when an hour later Tom returned, he also had the same disheartening report to make, for neither had he seen any one who knew of the lost boy.
Ethan beckoned to Tom, and together they at once began to prepare dinner. The boys noticed their proceedings, but in spite of the fact that they had had no breakfast, none of them took any interest in the boatman’s task. They did not leave their position on the bank, and still stood looking out over the river, vainly watching for the coming of a canoe which as yet had not appeared.
Dinner was soon ready, and Ethan at once summoned the young campers. His own distress was evident, and did not tend to allay the anxiety of the boys; but in response to their protest that they were not hungry, he said:—
“That doesn’t make a bit o’ difference. Ye’ve got to eat whether ye want to or not. It may be we’ll have a lot o’ work yet to do, and if ye don’t eat ye can’t work.”
“Ethan,” said Jock, “don’t you think we’d better telegraph to my father or to Ben’s?” The boys had obeyed the summons, and were now seated at the table, but the eyes of all were upon the boatman.
“Telegraph?” replied Ethan. “It’ll cost ye four shillin’ to do that.”
“I don’t care what it costs,” said Jock, recklessly; for even Ethan’s fear of a telegram and its probable expense did not interest him now.
“Wall, mebbe, mebbe,” said Ethan, slowly. “Ye’d better eat yer dinner first, and then we’ll see what can be done.”
No one spoke during the early part of the dinner, and although the boys managed to eat some of the food which had been provided for them, it was evident that they were not hungry, and their thoughts were all upon their missing comrade. The hopes which they had had at the coming of the day had disappeared now, and with the passing of the hours the conviction deepened that Ben was lost. How could they ever send word to his home? When Jock thought of the enthusiasm with which they had come, and then realized that he was the one who had proposed the camp, he wasready to blame himself as the cause of all the sorrow and trouble. Already in his mind he could see Ben’s father and mother, when the word should be received in their home. How could he bear it? But Ben was gone; there could be no question about that, and it was quite probable that they never would learn how or where he had disappeared. The hungry current of the river bore swiftly onward in its course all that it seized, and traces of missing boat or boy would be difficult, if not impossible, to find. His eyes filled with tears, and he started abruptly from the table.
No one spoke to recall him, for they all understood his feelings, and indeed their own sympathies were now increasing; but as Jock ran toward the shore, he perceived that Tom was standing on the bank and gazing earnestly out upon the river.
Jock looked up to see what had interested Tom, and perceived a small steam-yacht coming close in-shore. Even while he was watching it, the beautiful little craft stopped, and a moment later he saw a canoe lowered from the stern and some one step into it.
The whistle of the yacht sounded shrilly,and in a moment all the campers were running swiftly toward the dock. No one spoke, but the canoe was now being paddled toward them, and in a brief time such a shout rang out from the watchers as was seldom heard on the great river.
“It’s Ben, it’s Ben!” cried Jock; and instantly his companions joined in the word.
There could be no doubt about it now, for even Ben’s face could be seen as he occasionally turned and glanced at them. The yacht whistled again, as if the people on board shared in the manifest excitement of the camp, and then turned and steamed up the river, leaving a long trail of dark smoke behind it. None of the boys marked her departure, however, interested as they would ordinarily have been in the approach of such a beautiful visitor, for they were all intent upon the canoe and its occupant now.
Nearer and nearer came the canoe, and soon it was close to the shore. In their eagerness, the boys ran into the water, and to save himself Ben was compelled to relinquish his paddle, and suffer himself to be drawn up on the beach. As soon as he was safely landed, there was a scene enacted which none of them ever forgot. Jock waslaughing and crying at the same time, and even the phlegmatic Bob was not unmoved.
“You rascal!” he said at last, when a momentary lull came, “what do you mean? Give an account of yourself, sir!”
“Here I am,” replied Ben, evidently not unmoved by his reception. “Proceed, my lord, and do as it seemeth good in thy sight.”
“Where have you been, Ben?” said Jock, eagerly. “Tell us about it.”
“Mebbe he wants some dinner, first,” suggested Ethan, who was not the least unmoved of the party. “He can tell us while he’s eatin’.”
“We’re all hungry, now,” said Bert; “we’ve been fasting while you’ve been gone, Ben. Don’t we look so?”
“Fasting, fasting?” exclaimed Ben; “then you must have suffered keenly. I’m as hungry as a bear, myself. Come on, and I’ll tell you all about it, while I’m sampling Ethan’s wares.”
The boys were soon all seated at the table again, and now that their lost comrade was found it seemed as if the lost appetites had also been restored. They fell upon the food before them in a mannerwhich highly delighted Ethan, and compelled him and Tom to busy themselves in preparing more.
The dual occupation seemed in no way to interfere with Ben’s ability or disposition to talk, and he at once began his story.
“Well, fellows, it was like this. When I started out last night I intended to go only a little way. I was going up just around the first island and then come straight back to camp; but when I rounded the island, I found the passage so narrow and dangerous I thought I’d go on around the next one. When I got to the end of that I found I was a good way out of my course; for the island was a pretty long one, you see, and when I cleared it, and I came out into the open river again, I must have made a mistake in my bearings. I didn’t realize I’d lost my way till about a half an hour later, but then I knew it. There were islands all around me, and the wind had died away, or at least had died down a good deal.
“I kept on, thinking I’d strike a familiar spot, but the current is much stronger over there than it is here, and I found I was going down the stream all the time. I ranthe canoe in-shore and took in my sail and thought I’d paddle, for the wind was mostly gone, as I said. I got along all right till I was out in the open water again, and had gone a good distance, but I couldn’t find the island I was looking for.
“I began to look about me then, for the sun was almost out of sight by that time, and the first thing I knew it was dark, and the rain was on me. I’d been so busy I hadn’t fairly realized there was a storm coming, but I knew it pretty quick then, I can tell you. I kept on and did my best, but that wasn’t much, as you can imagine, and all the time it kept getting darker and darker. I was wet to the skin in no time, and the way the waves began to toss my frail bark about was a caution. Paddling wasn’t of much use, and I began to look about me for some place to run into. Everything was pretty dark, and getting darker all the time, and I couldn’t make out any island anywhere near me. But I wasn’t staying in one place all the time, let me tell you, for the river was busy if I wasn’t, and I went down the stream very swiftly, for the wind was at my back.
“I don’t just know how long the thingkept up, or how far I’d gone, but I pretty soon saw a light ahead of me which I decided in very short metre must be a cottage or a house on some island. The paddle was still in my hands, for I’d been lucky enough to hold on to that, and then I did my best to steer for the light I’d seen.
“It kept coming nearer to me all the time, or so it seemed to me, though I suppose I was the one that was doing the travelling, and after a while I found I was correct, and that it must be ‘a light in the window for thee, poor sailor, a light in the window for me.’ I pulled for the shore, or rather ran for it, and I thought I was just going to run into shelter, when plump! my canoe struck a rock, and I was in the water before you could say Jack Robinson. The water didn’t come much above my knees, and then, when I discovered that I wasn’t dead, I swallowed my despair, also a few gallons, more or less, of this noble river, made a grab for my canoe, and somehow managed to get to the bank.
“The storm was getting in its fine work then, but it didn’t make much difference to me, for I was wet and couldn’t be any wetter. I’d reached the superlative degree, you see, by that time. I looked up, and there on the bluff was the light which I’d seen when I was out on the river; so, when I’d carried the canoe up on the bank, I decided to try my luck in the house, for I knew I couldn’t get back to camp that night, so I marched up to the door and rapped as bold as you please.
“I almost fell over backward when the door was opened by one of the prettiest girls you ever saw. She looked at me a minute as if she didn’t know what to make of it, and to tell the truth, fellows, I couldn’t think of anything to say. But her father came to the door just then, and in a few minutes they knew all about my story, though I don’t remember a word I said.
“At any rate, if I was a stranger they took me in, and the goodman of the house dressed me out in some of his clothes. He was ‘a trifle too short, and a shaving too lean’ for me, so that when I was finally dressed I didn’t hardly dare to go downstairs again, for I could hear their voices through the floor, you see, and I knew there was more than one girl there then.
“Finally, I plucked up courage and wentdown, but do you know what those girls did when I came into the room? Well, they tried to be polite and all that, but they were mightily tickled about something, and pretty quick one of them got up and made a rush for the window and made out that she was looking out into the storm; but I could see her put her handkerchief to her face as if she was crying, and then the other three girls went to join her and see the dark, and then one of them said, ‘Tee-hee,’ and before you could say Jack Robinson they were laughing with ‘inextinguishable laughter,’ as our Homer has it.