“She looked at me a minute, as if she didn’t know what to make of it.”
“She looked at me a minute, as if she didn’t know what to make of it.”
“At last one of them turned to me, and I was glad to see her blush, for she ought to have been ashamed of herself, and I think she was, and she said, ‘You must excuse us, Mr. Dallett. We are ashamed of ourselves, but really we couldn’t help it. If you will come over here with me you’ll see for yourself what it is that troubles us.’ Well, I went over and she stood me up in front of a mirror and what do you suppose I saw, fellows? There was a chap looking at me from that mirror, and he was a little pee-culiar I must admit. The coat he had on was aboutthree sizes too small for him. His trousers were about four inches above the tops of his shoes, and he looked as if he was mostly hands and feet.
“Well, I laughed. I couldn’t help it, and we had a good time, after all. You see, Miss Bessie had three of her classmates with her spending the vacation, and they’re a lively lot, I can tell you. I had a good time, and this morning, clothed in my right mind and also in my proper garb, they brought me back to camp in their steam-yacht.”
It was the middle of the afternoon before Ben’s story was ended, and after they had given vent to their delight over the safe return of their friend, Ethan said, “Ye don’t want me to stay any longer to-day, do ye?”
“No, Ethan. You can go home. Come over early to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow’s Sunday,” said Ethan, soberly.
“You don’t mean it?” exclaimed Jock. “I’m ashamed to say I’d actually forgotten even the days of the week.”
“I’ll come over and take ye all to church,” suggested Ethan.
“We’ll go to church, but you needn’t come for us,” said Ben, quickly.
“Ye can’t go then, for I thought I’d take yer canoes back with me. I don’t want to leave ye in any more danger.”
“No, no. You’re not going to take the canoes,” protested Ben. “We’re going to master them, now. I’ll never give up in the world.”
Ethan hesitated, and then under protest finally yielded. He explained that they could attend service at the Corners, at Alexandria Bay, or the “Park,” as they preferred.
“We’ll go to the Bay,” said Ben, quickly, so quickly that the boys all laughed, thinking that they understood his motive.
“’Twill be better for ye to go there,” said Ethan, soberly; but he had no idea of the trouble which his suggestion brought on the young campers on the following day.
Sunday morning dawned clear and beautiful. When Ethan came over to the camp to prepare breakfast, the river lay like a sheet of glass before the vision of the boys. The twittering of the birds was the only sound to break in upon the stillness. The summer sunshine covered all things in its softened light, and as far as the eye could see the hush of a solemn silence seemed to have driven away all other effects. Even Ethan’s manner was more subdued than on other days, and when our boys obeyed his call to breakfast, they also were in a measure under the spell of the perfect summer day.
Sentiment did not interfere with appetite, however, and ample justice was done to the boatman’s labors; and though he referred to his desire, when he was ready to depart for home, to carry the boys himself to theBay to attend service, his offer was once more refused.
About an hour before the time when the service was to be held, the boys placed the two canoes in the water again, and with Jock and Bob in one, and their two friends in the other, they began to paddle. The light little crafts sped swiftly over the water, and keeping well together, not long afterward began to approach Alexandria Bay.
To them all it seemed like a novel way of attending church, but they soon discovered that they were not the only ones to come in that manner. Sailboats and skiffs, canoes and steam-yachts, could be seen in various directions, and though these were not numerous, it was evident that they were all bent on an errand similar to their own.
The boys were paddling more slowly now, as they came near the dock, and the two canoes were within a few yards of each other. Not an accident had occurred, and the confidence of the young campers had been largely increased by their success. They halted a moment to determine where was the best place to land, when Benglanced up at an approaching yacht, and discovered his friends who had welcomed him to their cottage when he had escaped from the storm. His own presence was discovered by them at the same moment, and the girls crowded together near the rail, waving their handkerchiefs and calling to him, as they perceived that he had seen them.
Eager to return the salutation, Ben took his paddle in one hand, and with the other tried politely to lift his cap. But alas for human efforts! His movement suddenly destroyed the equilibrium of the treacherous canoe, and as it tipped dangerously to one side, Bert, who was taken unaware by the movement, strove to restore the balance; but unfortunately he leaned to the same side to which Ben turned, and in a moment the canoe was capsized, and the occupants sent speedily into the water.
A cry of alarm and dismay escaped the lips of the girls on the yacht, and the few men standing at the time upon the dock echoed it. Startled by the shout, Jock glanced up, and to his consternation discovered his friends struggling in the water. In his efforts to turn about his own canoe, hetoo destroyed its balance, and instantly both he and Bob were also thrown into the river.
The second accident increased the confusion and alarm, both on the yacht and on the dock; but in a moment two skiffs were manned, the struggling lads were drawn from the water, and the canoes as speedily seized and restored.
When it was seen that the boys were all safely landed, the yacht came in alongside the dock, and as the girls sprang lightly from the boat and beheld the dripping, woe-begone lads before them, they burst into a hearty laugh, in which the boys themselves, in spite of their confusion, were compelled to join.
“Good morning, Mr. Dallett,” said Miss Bessie, to Ben. “What made you go into the water? Did you think we wouldn’t recognize you unless you came before us in wet clothes?”
Ben laughed, and presented his friends to the young ladies and then to Miss Bessie’s father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. The last named expressed her sympathy for the boys in their accident, and suggested that the yacht should be used to carry them back to their camp.
“I don’t believe they want to go back, unless Mr. Dallett wants to get that suit of papa’s he wore the other night,” said Miss Bessie, mischievously. “That would make a good go-to-meeting suit for him.”
Ben laughingly declared that he preferred his present garments, but the offer of Mrs. Clarke to the free use of the yacht was declined, and, waiting only until the party had disappeared up the street on their way to the church, the boys speedily reëmbarked, and began to paddle swiftly back toward the camp on Pine Tree Island.
“I say, fellows,” said Ben, eagerly, as they landed, “let’s dress up and go back again. We’ll get there in time for the benediction.”
“It’s more than that you need,” said Bert, glumly. “Tipping two canoes over in one morning ought to be enough to satisfy you.”
“Ben’s right,” said Jock, quickly. “It’ll be all the better to go back now. We don’t want to give up, do we? We started out to go to church, and I say let’s go. We’ll have to be quick about it, though, to get in even for the benediction.”
The proposal was agreed to, and hastily changing their clothing they resumed their places in the canoes, and soon afterwardlanded at the dock at Alexandria Bay. Then they walked swiftly up the street to the little church, but were chagrined to find that they were too late even for the final part of the service. The congregation had already been dismissed, and as the boys approached the building they discovered the people just beginning to depart.
Their friends soon perceived them and expressed their surprise at their return, which Ben hastened to explain had been brought about by their desire to accomplish that which they had set out to do in the beginning. “They were not going to be floored,” he declared, “by any such little thing as the upsetting of a canoe.”
As they walked down to the dock, Mr. Clarke said to Jock, “I received a letter from your father, yesterday.”
“Did you?” replied Jock, eagerly. “I didn’t know that you knew him.”
“Oh, yes, we’ve had business relations for years. He’s a good man.”
“You’re not the only one to hold that opinion,” said the boy, with a laugh.
“No, I am aware of that. He wrote and requested me to keep an eye on you. From what I saw this morning, I’m afraidI ought to keep two eyes in the direction of your camp, instead of one.”
Jock laughed, and his cheeks flushed slightly as he heard the laugh echoed by the girls, but he protested that such an accident as that which had occurred was not to be considered in a serious light.
“Not that, perhaps,” replied Mr. Clarke, “but the one your friend had the other night was serious enough. It was a narrow escape he had.”
“Yes, we were all badly frightened.”
“I’m not going to scold you, for I doubt not you’ll learn by your mistakes. Still I should advise you not to take many chances with canoes on this river. What with the swift current and the squalls which come, no man knows when or how, it’s hardly safe for one who is not an expert.”
“I know that, and we shall be careful.”
“That’s right. Now Mrs. Clarke would be pleased, I know, to have you go back home with us and dine there to-day; or if it is not convenient to-day, then some other day will do as well,” he added, as he saw that Jock hesitated.
“I thank you, Mr. Clarke, and I am sure all the boys will be glad to come, but Ethanwill come over to get our dinner for us to-day, and there’s no way of getting word to him.”
“Very well; then come some other day. You’ll let us carry you back to your camp in our yacht, won’t you? It’s directly in our way.”
The invitation was accepted, and the canoes taken in tow. Upon the invitation of the boys the party all landed at the dock and went up to the camp together. There everything was of interest, particularly to the girls, who wanted to understand just the uses of all the various camp belongings.
Doubtless very clear explanations were given, for at last when they returned to the yacht they all expressed themselves as delighted with what they had seen, and the boys were glad to renew the promise Jock had given that the invitation to dine at “The Rocks,” the name by which Mr. Clarke called his cottage, would be accepted soon.
Not long afterward, Ethan appeared, and as he began his preparations for dinner, he said,—
“I hear ye had trouble over to the bay to-day.”
“Who told you?” said Ben, quickly.
“I don’ know as I just remember. Everybody was talkin’ of it, though. I warned ye. Yer pa can’t say I was responsible.”
“You aren’t responsible, Ethan,” said Jock, quickly; “’twas Ben.”
“How?” inquired Ethan, stopping short in his occupation, with the frying-pan in his hand.
“He got light-headed and destroyed our balance. The centre of gravity fell outside the base, and as a natural consequence what took place naturally occurred.”
“Was that it?” said Ethan, slowly. “I heard ye capsized.”
After dinner the boys stretched themselves upon the bank, and in the cool shade began to talk over the experiences of the morning. At last even that topic ceased to interest them, and for a time they were silent.
“This is a great river,” remarked Ben, at last, breaking in upon the stillness, and looking out over the water, which was sparkling under the rays of the sun.
“So it is,” replied Bob, lazily. “That was an original remark, my friend. I’dlike to know just how many times it’s been said since the first white man saw the river.”
“Bob’s going to tell us about Carter,” said Bert, solemnly.
“I know of no Carter. Cartier discovered the river, if he’s the one you have in what you are pleased to call your mind.”
“I stand corrected,” replied Bert. “Go on with your Carter or Cartier.”
“I don’t know that there’s much to tell. Jacques Cartier was a Frenchman who lived about four hundred years ago. Just think of it, fellows; four hundred years, almost, since the first white man saw the river St. Lawrence.”
“Did you say he lives here now?” inquired Ben, solemnly.
Bob gave him a look of scorn and then went on with his story. “Francis I. fitted him out with two ships of sixty tons each, and with a crew of a hundred and twenty men he set sail from St. Malo, April 20, 1534. They say it was only twenty days later when he reached the east coast of Newfoundland.”
“They say?” interrupted Ben. “Who are ‘they’?”
“The historians, and other fellows. He sailed north, and finally planted a cross on the coast of Labrador near Rock Bay.”
“What did he plant it for?”
“Then he went south,” continued Bob, without giving any heed to the interruption, “and came down the west coast of Newfoundland until finally he was driven by the unfavorable winds toward the Magdalen Islands. He soon started out again, and, still sailing west, landed at last at the mouth of the Miramichi, and with some of his men began to explore the bay of Chaleur; but pretty soon afterward he set sail with his ships—”
“Did he take his men with him?” interrupted Ben.
“And sailed north and landed in the bay of Gaspé. He thought the bay was the mouth of a large river, so he landed and remained there a little while before he started on again.”
“He was a wise man,” said Ben. “Now if he’d remained there after he’d started on, that would have been another matter. But to remain there before he left the place,—ah, that’s the man for me, every time.”
Even Bob laughed good-naturedly at the interruption, and then resumed his story.
“He had some dealings with the Indians there at the bay of Gaspé, and one of the chiefs was so taken with Cartier that he gave him permission to take his two sons back to France with him on the condition that he would bring them back in the following year.”
“Whose two sons? Cartier’s?” inquired Bert.
“No, the Indian chief’s. Of course the Frenchman promised; but before he left he planted another wooden cross there, and put on it a shield with the arms of the French king, and the words,Vive le roi de France.”
“How the king must have felt to have his arms left there,” murmured Bert.
“Cartier soon after set sail, and after doubling the point of Anticosti found himself in a channel and sailed a little way up what was really a branch of the St. Lawrence, though he didn’t know then, of course, that there was any such river.”
“He’d found the St. Lawrence and didn’t know it?” inquired Jock.
“Yes.”
“He was like some men I know,” said Bert. “He knew more than he thought he did.”
“Some men think they know more than they do,” replied Bob, soberly. “Well, Cartier knew the winter was coming on, so he decided to go home. He sailed out through the straits of Belle Isle, and finally arrived at St. Malo, September 5, 1534. The king was mightily pleased with the trip, and promised to send him again in the next year.”
“Then, as I understand it,” said Jock, “Cartier didn’t really sail up the river in 1534. He only found a little piece of it, and didn’t know what it was he had discovered.”
“That’s it. He’d discovered it, but didn’t know it.”
“Poor fellow!” murmured Ben. “And, Bob, did he die?”
“You’ll find out,” said Bob, “when I tell you the rest of it.”
“What! is there more to follow?”
“Yes, it’s ‘to be continued in our next.’”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve all this,” said Ben, “but I suppose I’ll haveto put up with it. When’s the next instalment due?”
“Not till after we’ve finished the other thing we’re to do to-morrow.”
“What other thing?”
“Oh, that’s a secret between Jock and me,” was Bob’s reply, as he rose from the bank and started toward the camp, an example which all of his companions at once followed.
With the coming of the morning the little brass cannon in the camp on Pine Tree Island woke the echoes, and likewise the boys, who had not left their tent when Jock had gone forth to greet the sunrise. There was no sleep to be had, however, after the summons, and soon all, except Bob, were dressed and waiting for the coming of Ethan.
That worthy was soon discovered, though he and Tom came in the sailboat instead of the skiff which they used on ordinary occasions, and the sight recalled to Ben the “secret” which had been referred to on the preceding evening.
“What’s to be done to-day, Jock?” inquired Bert, as he stopped to watch the approaching craft which was speeding swiftly toward them under the strong breeze.
“You’ll have to wait till Ethan comesand tells us,” answered Jock. “It’s never safe to reckon without your host, you know.”
Ethan and Tom soon landed, and questions of the future were soon ignored in the immediate prospect of breakfast. Bob also had to be aroused, and as that was a task which required the combined efforts of his friends, by the time it was successfully accomplished breakfast was waiting, and all speedily seated themselves before the rude little table.
“I’m thinkin’,” said Ethan, “that it would be a good day for a trip down the river. The wind’s good this mornin’, and if you boys want to try it, I don’t know as we’ll find a better day.”
“That’s the thing,” said Ben, enthusiastically. “How far down do you go, Ethan?”
“Oh, that’ll depend,” replied the boatman, who was usually as averse to giving a decided expression of his opinion as any lawyer might have been. “We can go as far as we want to, if not farther, and then if we haven’t gone far enough we can go farther, I take it.”
“Precisely,” laughed Bert. “Thank you, Ethan.”
“Ye haven’t anything to thank me for,” replied the boatman, soberly. “I was jest givin’ you my opinion, that’s all.”
“That’s what I was grateful for,” said Bert. “Ethan, do the people down here ever laugh?”
“Laugh? I s’pose so. I don’t jest know what ye mean.”
“Oh, nothing much; but I’ve noticed how sober everybody was. We’ve seen a good many, but I don’t believe I ever heard one of them give a real good hearty laugh. I didn’t know but they’d forgotten how.”
“I guess they don’t spend no time grinnin’, if that’s what ye mean,” replied Ethan, evidently stirred by the apparent reflection upon the people of the region. “I don’t know as they have the regulation snicker some o’ the city folks puts on. I’ve sometimes suspicioned that they put on that grin o’ theirs first thing in the mornin’, along with their clothes. They say, ‘how de do,’ ‘how de do,’ an’ smile an’ smile jest as if they’d got to do it, same’s as they’d take a dose o’ pickery. I don’t see no sense in it, for my part.”
“There’s comes a big steamer!” exclaimed Ben, suddenly pointing up theriver as he spoke. “Good-by, fellows! I’m off!”
“It’s a liner,” said Ethan, soberly, pausing to look at the boat, which was larger than any other on the St. Lawrence, and which was leaving a long trail of thick black smoke behind it as it approached.
“What’s a liner?” inquired Bert.
“Don’t ye know what a liner is? It’s a line boat.”
“But what is a line boat, Ethan?” persisted Bert.
“It’s a boat that goes regularly to Montreal,” said Tom. “That’s what pa means. It gets along here purty early in the morning.”
“What’s that young un up to now?” exclaimed Ethan, abruptly. The boys all turned at his words, and saw that Ben had run down to the bank and launched one of the canoes. He leaped on board and, steadying himself carefully, was already paddling out upon the river as if he had gone to meet the huge steamer.
“He’s goin’ to take the breakers, the pesky little reptile,” said Ethan, evidently annoyed by the recklessness of Ben. “I should think he’d had enough o’ canoein’ in rough water for one day.”
Ben, however, was too far out by this time to be recalled; and as the boatman probably thought all attempts to summon him would be useless, he wisely held his peace and stood upon the bank with the boys watching the movements of the reckless lad. The great steamer came steadily and swiftly forward, and Ben almost as swiftly advanced to meet it. He was plying his paddle rapidly, and the canoe almost seemed to leap over the water. A long line of rolling waves were upturned by the steamer in its course, and stretched away like a furrow left by a ploughman.
Ben rested a moment as the great vessel came abreast of him and then, quickly dipping his paddle deep into the water, sent the light canoe straight for the tossing waves. No one on the bank spoke as they breathlessly watched their companion, and it was evident that they all expected to see him overturned in the boisterous water.
Soon Ben could be seen as he entered the wake of the steamer, the canoe was lifted high for a moment and then disappeared from sight. Again it rose and seemed almost to stand upright, but it rode the wave successfully and again went downinto the trough of the sea. So up and down, tossed like a leaf on the stream, the little canoe held to its course, and it soon became apparent that Ben was master of the situation.
“He done it,” remarked Ethan, forcefully if not grammatically, and a sigh of relief escaped from his companions as they perceived that Ben was safe.
Jock quickly turned, and the brass cannon belched forth its salute to the passing vessel. The delight of the boys was great when they saw a little cloud of steam shoot upward from the steamer and the heavy whistle acknowledged the salutation. Some of the passengers on the deck waved their handkerchiefs, and not to be outdone Bert seized the tablecloth from the table, from which the dishes already had been cleared, and waved it in response to the salutes from the deck.
There was another cloud of fluttering handkerchiefs waved at them from the deck, and then the great steamer passed on its way to the largest of Canadian cities.
Ben by this time had returned to the camp, and as he landed and lifted thecanoe to its place on the bank, Ethan said sharply to him:—
“That was a foolish risk to take, boy. What did ye do it for?”
“Oh, I wanted to see how it seemed to take those breakers,” was the reply. “Besides, I thought it was a good time to put my ability to the test.”
“Ye haven’t got no ability,” replied Ethan, gruffly. “It was a foolish trick; and if ye’d been spilled and got drowned, I’d had the blame of it.”
“I knew you were close by, Ethan,” protested Ben. “I couldn’t drown when you were in camp. I just had to do it, you see, for I wasn’t going to let that canoe get the better of me. I’m going to learn how to manage one while I’m here if I get tipped over a dozen times.”
“Ye ought to be careful, though,” said Ethan, evidently mollified by Ben’s words of praise. “I didn’t believe a city fellow would have so much grit.”
“You don’t know us yet,” replied Ben, with a laugh.
Ethan said nothing more, and at once gave his attention to fitting out the sailboat. This task was soon completed, andthe eager boys at once took their places on board.
“Have you got everything we shall want?” inquired Jock, before they set sail.
“I don’t know whether I’ve got everything ye want, but I’ve got everything ye need,” said Ethan.
“Got those ‘p’is’n things’?” inquired Ben, soberly.
“Yes, I’ve got the pies an’ things,” replied Ethan, shortly. “Now, if ye’ve got no further speeches to make, we’ll cast off.”
The boat was soon free from the dock, and, as the sail filled, it began to move swiftly over the river. There was a strong breeze, and aided by the swift current the boat drew rapidly away from the island. Ethan held the tiller, and when, after he had satisfied himself that nothing had been neglected, he at last took his seat, and gazed about him with a smile of contentment upon his sunburned face.
“This is something like it, boys!” exclaimed Ben, as he looked about him over the great river.
The wooded islands, the glistening waters of the river, the strong breeze, and, above all, the swift motion of the boat, lent anadditional delight to those who were on board.
Camps, not unlike their own, were passed; cottages, on the piazzas of which groups of people could be seen; the beautiful St. Lawrence skiffs, in which were men starting forth on an errand like that which had taken our boys a few days before to Goose Bay, were noted, and all were enthusiastically greeted. Occasionally some beautiful steam-yacht would meet them on its way up the river, and in response to their hail would toot forth its salute. Altogether, the scene and experience were so novel and inspiring that the boys all felt the exhilaration, and their delight was unbounded.
“Do ye see that island over there?” inquired Ethan, pointing as he spoke to one which lay between them and the shore.
The boys all glanced in the direction, and then the boatman said, “They had a fracas there in the Civil War with the bounty jumpers.”
“Bounty jumpers? What are they?” said Ben, innocently.
Ethan gave him a look which was almost one of contempt, and then said, “I thought you was goin’ to college.”
“I am,” said Ben; “but I don’t go because I know it all, but because I don’t. If I knew as much as you do, Ethan, perhaps I shouldn’t go.”
“Ye don’t know much for a fact,” replied Ethan, soberly. “I s’pose ye’ll be studyin’ Latin and Greek and lots o’ such ’tarnal nonsense when ye git there. If there was a six-year-old boy ’round here that didn’t know what a bounty jumper was, I’d send him to the ’sylum, I would, for a fact. Have ye found out how many teeth a cow has on her upper jaw yet?”
“Not yet,” laughed Ben, good-naturedly. “What’s that got to do with bounty jumpers?”
“A bounty jumper,” began Ethan, ignoring the question, “was a man what jumped his bounty.”
“How far did he jump? What made him jump, anyway, Ethan?” said Bob.
“He jumped straight into Canada, and then he jumped back again.”
“Was he any relation to the wise man who jumped into the bramble bush? Ever hear that story, Ethan? It’s a good one. Jock knows it, and he’ll tell it to you if you want him to,” said Bob.
“Tell us about the bounty jumpers,” interrupted Jock, quickly.
“Well,” began Ethan, slowly, “you know, they was a-offerin’ a bounty of a thousand dollars to every man who’d enlist.”
“When?” interrupted Bob. “Was it during the War of 1812?”
“No. ’Twas in the secesh war, that’s when it was.”
“You weren’t here when the War of 1812 broke out, were you, Ethan?” inquired Bob, soberly.
Ignoring the laugh which followed, Ethan went on: “They wanted men putty bad in the Civil War, and so they offered a thousand dollars to every one who’d enlist. Well, lots enlisted; and then, after they’d got their money, they’d leave the army and put straight for this river, and git over into Canada. Then they’d cross over the border somewhere, and enlist somewhere else, take another thousand dollars and light out for Canada again. ’Twas a payin’ job in those days; paid better’n drivin’ a horse-car down to the city. There were regular ‘bounty brokers,’ as they were called, to help these rascals, and finally the government sent some provost marshals up here to look outfor these fellows, and one of the liveliest tilts happened right by that island.
“There was a camp o’ the jumpers on that island, and they had come to be as bold as ye please. There was so many on ’em that they felt pretty secure like, and besides, the wife o’ one o’ the men lived in a little house right on the shore. She used to go to school with me an’ your pa,” he added, turning to Jock as he spoke, “and he’d know her name in a minute if I should tell ye what it was. Well, she used to come out and wave a white cloth at the camp, and then her husband, or some other fellow, would come ashore an’ get what she cooked up for ’em.
“One of the marshals found out the trick an’ he made up his mind he’d get some o’ these fellows; so one day he came down to the house, and as he wasn’t dressed up like a soldier, jest wore ordinary clothes like yours or mine,” he explained as he glanced at the boys, not one of whom changed the expression upon his face as he was addressed, “and so, though the woman was pretty suspicious, she didn’t think he was on the lookout. Pretty quick she went out o’ the house and waved the cloth, for sheprobably thought the men were gettin’ hungry, and then a boat left the camp, and when it came pretty close to the shore the marshal, who was a-peekin’ out o’ the window, saw the very man he wanted most of all—this woman’s husband.
“He waited till the boat was close in, and then he rushed out and yelled to the man to give himself up, and to strengthen his argument pulled out a pistol. The man was scared like at first, but the woman wasn’t a mite, an’ she jest yelled out, ‘Don’t ye do it, Bill; don’t ye do it.’ At that the marshal began to make his pistol pop, an’ he fired all six o’ the cartridges, an’ never once touched the man or the boat, either.”
“Is every man hereabouts as good a shot as that?” drawled Bob.
“I’m thinkin’ they shoot as well as they do anywhere,” replied Ethan.
“Well, some o’ the marshal’s friends came up, an’ they went into the house to make themselves to home. They waited all night, an’ a neighbor came in an’ told them the jumpers was fixin’ to come ashore and shoot every one of ’em. Jest then they heard a drum an’ fife over in the camp, and they fixed up the house to stand a siege.They barricaded the doors and windows, and waited for deserters, an’ likewise for the mornin’.
“The mornin’ came, but the jumpers didn’t; an’ as the camp was too strong to be attacked, the marshal an’ his friends cleared out afore noon and left the region. But that scrape happened right over there by that island. I could tell ye a whole lot more o’ stories o’ the jumpers, but I’ve got to look out for this boat now, or ye’ll all be goin’ down to the bottom instead of down the river.”
As Ethan spoke, he quickly rose and began to give some sharp directions to Tom. Apparently they were needed, for the boat was moving with wonderful speed now. As the boys looked over into the river they could see that the swiftness of the current had greatly increased. The waters ran like those in a mill-race, and it almost seemed as if the boat had been lifted by some unseen and mighty hand, and thrown forward with incredible swiftness. No one, save Ethan, spoke, and the white faces of the boys indicated that the alarm which they thought their boatman had displayed was shared by them all.
On either side the boys could see great eddies in the stream, in which the water whirled as if it were twisted about on some unseen axis. The boat itself was moving swiftly, and as it was swept onward by the current, they of course could not fully perceive the motion of the river. The experience was a novel one, and the alarm of the boys was but natural.
Their confidence was in a measure restored when they saw that Ethan apparently was not frightened, and as he noticed them watching intently a whirling eddy off to their right, he laughed and said,—
“That’s a pretty good twister, isn’t it, boys?”
“Yes,” replied Bert. “What would happen to us if we should be caught in it?”
“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”
As the boys looked up in surprise, he continued, “There’s a mighty sight o’ differencebetween the eddy and the current, let me tell you. Some folks mistake one for the other in more ways than one, I’m thinkin’. In my paper, which comes reg’lar every Friday, I sometimes read the most alarmin’ articles. I suppose the men that write them think they’re all true enough, an’ they really are afraid the country is goin’ to the dogs. When I read ’em I confess I’m a bit skeered at times; for what with the strikes an’ riots an’ all sorts o’ things that happen, it does look like as if it was goin’ to be a bit of a blow; but I look out o’ the window o’ my house, an’ I see the great river a-hurryin’ on as if it was all the while afraid it would be late, or wouldn’t get there on time. But I see more’n the current, for I see some big eddies, too. They whirl an’ boil as if there was a big fire down below, an’ when I see ’em I always think that some folks can’t tell the difference between a eddy and the stream. Then I make up my mind that that’s what’s the trouble with those newspaper fellows. They’ve seen a eddy and mistook it for the current: an’ all the time the great stream is a-goin’ on jist as smooth and swift as ye please. This river is a great teacher, in my opinion.”
Ethan’s quaint words served to quiet the fears of the boys, though doubtless they failed to appreciate the deeper philosophy which lay beneath them. At all events, they soon perceived that the river was calmer now, and that the boat was not moving at the speed it had had a few minutes before.
“That must have been one of the rapids, wasn’t it, Ethan?” inquired Jock.
“Rapids? I rather guess not. That spot’s no more like the rapids than a milk pail’s like a mill-pond. No, sir! When ye strike the rapids, ye’ll know it. It’s most like slidin’ down hill on water.”
“But how do the boats come up the river, then?” queried Ben. “They do come up, for I see them every day. I shouldn’t think they could get through the rapids, if they’re like what you say they are.”
“No more they don’t.”
As the boys looked blankly at him, Ethan laughed and said, “They come up the canal. Course they can’t get through the rapids.”
“I didn’t know there was a canal,” said Ben.
“Humph,” grunted the boatman; but it was evident that his opinion of their knowledgewas but slight, in spite of the fact that they had endeavored to impress him with the entrance into college they had all gained.
“Are we going down to the rapids to-day?” inquired Bert.
“To-day? Well, I guess not,” said Ethan, decidedly. “How far down the river d’ye think them rapids be?”
“I didn’t know,” protested Bert, hastily. “I only asked for information.”
“We’ll go down there some time, but we’ll have to make a two or three day trip of it. Even this boat o’ mine, and she’s no laggard, I’d have ye understand, couldn’t make it in a day. But we’re goin’ down there. There’s fishin’ below the Longue Seaut that leaves Goose Bay and Eel Bay and all the spots among the islands in the shade.”
“What do they catch?” inquired Bob.
“Fish.”
“Oh!” And Bob lapsed into silence once more.
Indeed, it was becoming more and more difficult to deal with Ethan; and his estimate of their knowledge, or rather their lack of it, was so apparent that they beganto feel as if they were the embodiment of the city greenhorns he had so contemptuously referred to when they had first entered camp.
For a time there was silence on board, and the boys all gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour. In the distance were the shores, and in various places the farmers could be seen at their work. The farmhouses, low and quaint, appeared here and there, and the cottages, though less numerous than among the Thousand Islands, were still much in evidence. Perched on some high bluff along the shore, or built in groups in some grove, they continually presented a spectacle of life far different from that which was to be seen in the towns or cities.
To Ethan their coming was the most natural thing in the world, for where could another such region be found as that along the borders of the majestic St. Lawrence? The only thing against which he rebelled was the price paid for the spot on which some cottage had been erected, and as they passed the summer homes he frequently referred to the amount of money which had been paid for the lots.
“That’s where Tod Church lives,” he explained, pointing as he spoke to a low farmhouse on the shore, near which stood several modest cottages.
“Is that so?” replied Bob seriously, as if the abode of Tod was a matter of intense interest to him. “Was he in the War of 1812 too?”
“No; he wasn’t. Tod’s a young man. He’s only fifty-nine, jest three months younger’n I be. But Tod’s got rich!”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed the serious Bob. “How did the aforesaid Tod acquire his wealth?”
“He didn’t do nuthin’, an’ yet he’s well off, Tod is. Some folks is born lucky. That’s all the difference there is between folks, in my opinion. Some has luck for ’em and some has it agin ’em.”
“And Tod had it with him, did he?” inquired Bob.
“He did that. His father left him well fixed, for Tod had the house and fifty acres o’ land all clear. And now he’s gone an’ sold some lots up there on that bluff where he couldn’t raise nothin’, and he’s got two thousan’ dollars in clean money for ’em. Neow if that isn’t luck, then I don’t knowwhat luck is,” said Ethan, impressively. “He jest works when he feels like it, and when he doesn’t, he doesn’t. Jest takes his ease and comes an’ goes when an’ where he pleases, an’ doesn’t ask no odds of nobody.”
“Fortunate youth!” murmured Bob; and again silence came upon the party.
For an hour more they sped on before the breeze, which still continued strong. The sun was high in the heavens, and across the bright blue of the sky occasional masses of silver-colored clouds passed. It was a perfect summer day, and the deep peace which rested over all things seemed to include the boys in its embrace. The boat was handled perfectly by Ethan and Tom, and it must have required men made of different material from that in our boys not to feel the keen delight of living amidst such surroundings. The rush and roar of the city were things impossible to be imagined, and even the grind of the closing days in school, and the prospect of the hard work in college, were all vague and meaningless.
“What’s that place ahead, Ethan?” suddenly exclaimed Jock, sitting erect ashe spoke, and pointing to a place of considerable size to their left.
“Brockville.”
“Why don’t we stop there and get dinner?”
“I’ve got something for ye to eat aboard the boat.”
“I know that; but we’ll want it all on our way back.”
“It’ll cost ye four shillin’ apiece for your dinner if ye go to the hotel, though I know another place where ye can get it for three shillin’; but I’m not sure the place is bein’ run now.”
“Never mind the cost, Ethan,” said Jock, recklessly. “We’re out for a time of it, and even such extravagance can be put up with once in a lifetime.”
“Jest as you say,” replied Ethan, though it was evident that he felt in a measure responsible for the expenditures of the lads under his care.
The dock was soon gained, and as Ethan made his boat fast, the light-hearted boys leaped ashore. “Come on, Ethan! Come on, Tom,” said Jock. “We’ll go up to the hotel and get our dinner.”
“Who? Me!” exclaimed the boatman in surprise.
“Yes, you. You and Tom too. Come on, both of you.”
“No,” said Ethan, shaking his head decidedly. “I ain’t a-goin’ to pay no four shillin’ for a dinner when I’ve got enough to eat aboard my boat.”
“Well, let Tom come, anyway,” urged Jock, perceiving that Ethan was not willing to accept the invitation. “We should be glad to have both of you come, and we’ll stand treat for the dinners.”
Ethan was about to refuse permission for Tom to accompany the boys, but perceiving the look of intense desire upon his son’s face, and as Jock increased his solicitations, he relented, and together the boys started up the street.
It was nearly two hours later when they returned, and as Ethan perceived them, he said, “I hope ye got yer money’s worth, boys.”
“It wasn’t our fault if we didn’t,” laughed Jock. “Now, Ethan, we want to look about the place a little. Will you come with us?”
“I s’pose I’d better, or ye’ll git lost,” replied the boatman; and soon afterward the little party was walking about the town, which, in its architecture and life, presentedmany contrasts to that with which they were more familiar.
When they approached the public buildings, Ethan related the story of the rescue which a party of American soldiers had made there in the War of 1812. It seemed that a considerable body of prisoners had been secured by the British, and confined in the jail at Brockville, or Elizabethtown, as the place was known in the earlier days. Their friends on the other side of the river had assembled for their rescue, and crossed the ice one dark night and fell upon the guard, and at last secured the release of their fellows. Ethan told the story with many quaint additions of his own, and we may be sure his young friends were deeply interested.
“Thisisa great country,” said Ben, when Ethan ceased. “It’s historic ground from one end of the river to the other.”
“I s’pose so,” remarked Ethan, quietly, “though I don’t take much interest in such things. Folks is queer. They call it hist’ry when a lot o’ men git up with guns and shoot at one another; but when they are peaceable like, and just ’tend to their farms an’ mind their own business, then itisn’t any hist’ry at all. I’ve seen a crowd gather in a minit up at the bay or Clayton around a man what’s drunk, but when a man is sober and decent they don’t pay no ’tention to him at all. It seems to me this ‘hist’ry’ you’re talkin’ about is a good deal like that.”
“Perhaps it is,” admitted Ben. “I hadn’t thought of it before.”
On their way back to the boat Ethan stopped to make a few purchases, and carefully stowed the packages on board when they set sail.
“We’ll go a bit farther down the river,” he said, as he headed the boat down the stream. “We’ve time enough.”
“Ethan, what have you got in those bundles?” inquired Ben.
“Some things my wife wanted me to git. Can buy ’em cheaper over here.”
“But they’ll cost you as much after you’ve paid the duty, won’t they?”
“Duty? Duty? Who’s a-goin’ to pay any duty, I’d like to know?” replied Ethan, sharply.
“Why, I thought everybody had to pay that when they bought things in Canada.”
“Well, I’m not goin’ to. I’d like to knowwhy I can’t buy things in Brockville if I take a notion, ’specially when they’re cheaper.”
“But I thought everybody up here believed in a high tariff, and voted for it.”
“So they do. We ain’t a-goin’ to have them come over into our country and compete with us! Not much!”
“How can you buy over there and not pay duty, then?”
“Hey? What’s that ye say? Ye act as if ye thought I’d been stealin’. Most everybody does it, an’ I guess it’s all fair enough. Did you pay duty for that dinner ye et up to the hotel? Ye brought some things away inside o’ ye, an’ I brought some outside o’ me. Tell me the difference, will ye?”
“Ben ought to have paid,” laughed Bob. “When a man buys food by the wholesale, he ought to pay duty, I’m sure.”
Ethan said no more, and as the boys were not disposed to dispute the strange ethics in which he evidently believed, the party once more became silent.
An hour later Ethan sighted a steam-yacht coming up the river, and in response to his hail it stopped and took the boat in tow. This made the returning voyage easy, and added to the novelty as well; and justbefore dusk the line was cast off, and the boat was headed for the camp, where soon after the boys arrived safely.
“I’ll get ye some supper now,” said Ethan, as he and Tom at once began their preparations for the evening meal.
“Good for you, Ethan!” said Ben. “All the ‘p’is’n things’ you had on board have been long since exhausted.”
“So I noticed. I wonder sometimes if there’s anything that will fill ye up.”
“Your supper will, I’m sure.”
“I’ll try it, though I’m doubtful,” replied the boatman, grimly.
A little later he left the tent and approached the boys, holding something in his hands. “Somebody’s been here while we’ve been gone,” he said. “They’ve left a letter and their tickets.”
Jock received the note and the “tickets,” as Ethan called the visiting cards, and tearing open the missive he read it and then said: “Mr. and Mrs. Clarke have been here, fellows. They have left an invitation for us. Keep still and I’ll read it.”
He read the letter aloud, and in a moment his friends were as interested in the contents as he himself had been.
The note extended a cordial invitation to the boys to dine at “The Rocks” on the following day, and Mr. Clarke offered to send his yacht to convey them to his island. The dinner was to be in the middle of the day, in accordance with the custom of the region, and as that fact left the afternoon practically free, all the party were eager to accept. Perhaps it was not merely the expected pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, or of enjoying a trip in his yacht, which was acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful and fleet on the entire river, which moved them; but if other inducements, not referred to in the note of invitation, did appear, no one mentioned them.
After supper, when Ethan prepared to depart from the camp, Tom said, “I thinkI’ll wait a little while, pa. I’ll come home in a couple of hours.”
“All right, son,” responded Ethan. “I think ye’d better take one o’ the canoes when ye start, and leave the skiff with the boys. It’ll be safer like, ye see, if they take it into their heads to go out on the river.”
Ben made a wry face at the implied slight on their ability to use the canoes, but no one spoke, and the boatman soon departed.
“I wanted you to hear me speak my piece again, if you would,” said Tom, when his father had gone. “I know I don’t do it very well, and as you have had so much better advantages than I have, I’d like to have you help me, if you will.”
Before any one could reply, Bert made a sudden dart from the camp-fire and was speedily followed by Jock. “What’s the matter with those boys?” inquired Tom, innocently, as he glanced up at the departing lads.
“I don’t think they feel very well,” replied Bob, soberly.
“They don’t? Do you want me to go over to the bay and get a doctor? It won’t take an hour.”
“No physician can reach the seat of their trouble,” said Ben, solemnly. “It’s deeper than any human skill can go.”
“You don’t mean it! Perhaps I’d better wait and not ask you to hear me speak my piece to-night.”
“Oh, that won’t make any difference. Ben, here, is perfectly willing to hear you. In fact, he enjoys it; and while you are speaking, I’ll go and look up the other fellows, and see what I can do to help them.”
Bob’s evident desire to escape was all unnoticed by the unsuspecting Tom, and as soon as he was left alone with Ben, he began to speak. For a half-hour or more the camp resounded with, “Tew be or not tew be-e-e,” but no one returned to disturb the orator until the practice had been ended.
Then, as the three lads came back, Tom said, “I’m sorry, boys, that you don’t feel well. I told Bob I’d go over to the bay for a doctor, but he said you didn’t want any.”
“No physician in Alexandria Bay could prescribe for those boys when they get an attack of self-abasement. It’s a serious matter.”
“There’s one thing about it,” said Jock,“and that is, that Bob, here, isn’t likely to catch it.”
Tom, evidently, did not appreciate the point, but he nevertheless accepted Jock’s invitation to remain, and stretched himself on the grass before the roaring camp-fire with the others.
“I was about to remark the other evening, when my irreverent friend interrupted me,” began Bob, “that Cartier came back here.”
“Bob, are you going on with that yarn?” demanded Ben.
“No yarn about it. I’m going to help you fellows to see the point for once in your lives.”
“You mean you’re going to try to make a point some one can see,” retorted Ben. “Well, wake me up when you come to the point. Life’s too short to spend it in trying to understand Bob’s stuff. If he ever comes to a point, let me know;” and Ben rolled over upon the grass, and covering his face with his hat, pretended to be sleeping.
“Go on with your Cartier,” said Bert. “I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve all this, but if we’ve got to have it, then the sooner it’s done the better.”
“Cartier,” began Bob, giving the name a peculiar emphasis to expose Bert’s ignorance, “made a great stir when he got back to St. Malo,—that was in September, 1534, as I said,—and the king was tickled most of all. He immediately promised to fit out a new expedition, and a lot of the young nobles and swells wanted to join. Cartier was the rage, you see, and even the children cried for him; and as for the ladies, why, even brass buttons didn’t count along with Jakie’s commission as ‘captain and pilot of the king.’
“About the middle of the next May everything was ready, and Cartier and his men went up to the cathedral together, and special services were held for them, and the bishop gave them his blessing. Having looked after that part of it, Cartier then took his men aboard his squadron and set sail. He had three vessels this time, though I don’t just recall the names of them.”
“La Grande Hermione,La Petite Hermione, andL’Emérillon,” suggested Tom, who had been listening attentively.
“Thank you,” replied Bob, somewhat confused, to the evident delight of his companions. “Those were the names. Well,they hadn’t been out on the ocean sailing very long before they were separated by the storms, but after a rough passage they finally came together in the straits of Belle Isle.”
“At the inlet of Blanc Sablon,” suggested Tom.
A laugh greeted his words; but though Tom’s face flushed, he soon perceived that he was not the cause of the merriment, and though he could not understand Bob’s momentary confusion, he, too, joined in the good-natured laughter.
“On the last day of July they sailed to the westward and started up the St. Lawrence. It was the first day of September when Cartier found the mouth of the Saguenay, and the fourteenth when he came to a little river about thirty miles from Quebec, which he named the Sainte Croix. The next day an Indian came to see him—”
“Hold on, Bob, isn’t that enough?” inquired Bert, in apparent despair.
“The Indian was an Algonquin chief with a funny name—”
“Donnacona,” suggested Tom, mildly.
Again a loud laugh greeted his word, and the abashed Tom subsided.
“That’s right; that’s what it was,” said Bob, quickly. “Thank you, Tom. Well, Cartier had the two Indians with him whom he had taken to France, and so he could hold a powwow with this Algonquin, but I haven’t time to tell you what they talked about.”
“Oh, yes. Please tell us,” pleaded Bert, in mock eagerness.
“No, I can’t stop—”
“You’re right. You can’t tell, and you can’t stop, either, till you’re run down.”
“As a result of the interview, Cartier left two of his vessels there, and, taking theL’Emérillon, he sailed up the river as far as Lake St. Peter, but he found a bar there—”
“What?” exclaimed Bert, sitting suddenly erect.
“A bar. That’s what I said.”
“Was he looking for a bar all this time? Didn’t they have any farther down the river? I’m ashamed of Carter. I didn’t believe he was that kind of a man.”
“This was a sand bar,” laughed Bob, “and blocked his way, so he left the ship’s crew there—”
“The ship’s screw?” interrupted Bert.“Now I know you’re giving us a fairy tale. Ships didn’t have any screws then. They hadn’t been invented. Even side-wheelers weren’t known then.”
“I didn’t say ship’s screw. I said ship’s crew. Can’t you understand plain English?”
“That’s what I said, too, the ship’s screw. Didn’t I, fellows?” appealed Bert, turning to his companions.
“There’s a big difference between a ship’s screw and a ship’s crew.”
“Perhaps you can see it, but I can’t. A ship’s screw is a ship’s screw, and that’s all there is to it,” protested Bert, solemnly.
“All right; have it your own way,” said Bob. “Cartier left his behind him, anyway, and with three of his men took a little boat and came on up the river, and on October 2d arrived at Montreal, which he called Mount Royal.”
“What did he call it that for? Why didn’t he call it what the people there called it? I believe in calling things by their right names, I do.”
“It had an Indian name which I don’t at this moment recall—”
“Ask Tom,” suggested Bert.
“Hochelaga,” said Tom, in response to the appeal.
“What did you say, Tom?” inquired Bert, soberly.
“Hochelaga,” laughed Tom.
“Oh! Then that was the place where the bar you spoke of was, was it, Bob? Pardon me. Pray resume your fascinating disquisition, as improbable as it is flighty. You were about to describe your Carter when he and his followers stopped on the bar, a course of action of which I highly disapprove. That’s one thing I like about this river, it’s all wool and a yard wide. A safe place for children and no temptations to speak of—unless a canoe is one for Ben.”
“A yard wide?” interrupted Tom. “The St. Lawrence a yard wide! Why, it’s three-quarters of a mile wide up here at Cape Vincent, where it leaves the lake, and on the other side of Quebec it’s ten and twenty and even thirty miles wide, and at Cape Gaspé it’s all of a hundred miles wide.”
Again the boys broke into a hearty laugh, in which Tom was compelled to join, although he did not understand just what it was he was laughing at; but the goodnature of them all was so apparent that he did not suspect that he was the cause of their enjoyment.
“Cartier stayed only three days at Montreal—” resumed Bob.
“Didn’t he like the Hochelaga?” interrupted the irrepressible Bert.
“Keep still, Bert,” pleaded Jock, laughingly. “I want to hear about this.”
“I would I were as this one is!” drawled Bert, pointing to Ben as he spoke, who was now soundly sleeping and apparently doing his utmost to emphasize the adverb as much as he did the verb.
“Cartier left after three days,” began Bob once more, “and went back to the mouth of the Sainte Croix, and there he passed the winter. And a terrible winter it was, too. The men weren’t used to such awful cold, and they suffered from the scurvy so much that when the spring came twenty-five of them were dead, and only a very few of the hundred and ten who were alive were free from disease. His men had been so reduced in numbers that Cartier decided to take only two of his vessels back to France with him and so left thePetite Hermionethere.”
“That’s a likely story,” said Bert. “Left the ship behind him?”
“Yes, that’s what he did.”
“It may be so, my friend, but I don’t believe it.”
“It is true,” said Tom. “They found the old boat in the mud there in 1848,—the very ship that Cartier left more than three hundred years before.”
“Oh, of course, ifyousay so I’ll believe it,” replied Bert.
“He first took possession of the land,” said Bob, “by setting up a cross bearing the arms of France and a Latin inscription,Franciscus primus, Dei gratia Francorum rex, regnat.”
“I’ve read about that inscription, but I don’t know how to read Latin,” said Tom, eagerly. “What does it mean?”
“Ask Bert,” suggested Bob.
“Jock’ll tell you,” said Bert, quickly.
“Bob knows it, and he’ll tell you,” protested Jock, hastily.
“Cartier stole Donnacona and nine other Indian chiefs and sailed away for France, where he arrived about the middle of July, 1536. And that’s the end of chapter two,” Bob added, as he rose from his seat.
Tom now departed for home, and as the boys began to prepare for the night, Bob stopped for a moment before the prostrate figure of Ben, who was still sleeping soundly on the ground before the camp-fire.
“I was never treated thusly in all my experience as a lecturer,” said Bob. “I’ll fix that fellow. I’ll show him he mustn’t spoil my speeches with his hilarious snorings.”
Running into the tent Bob speedily returned with several short pieces of rope, in each of which he made a slip noose. Then he carefully adjusted one to the sleeping lad’s right hand, and without disturbing him, made the rope fast to the nearest tree. In a similar manner he treated the other hand and then the two feet, and last of all the head of the still unconscious Ben.
“Now, I’d like to wake him up,” said Bob, regarding his work with much satisfaction. “He won’t go to sleep again when I’m lecturing, I fancy. If he moves his right hand he’ll make himself all the more secure, and if he tries to stir his other hand or his feet he’ll be still worse off. Next time he’ll see the point, I’m thinking.”
The boys were soon ready for bed and still Ben slept on. The camp-fire flickered andburned low, the long shadows ceased, and even the waiting boys at last closed their eyes and slept.
How long they had been sleeping they did not know, but they were suddenly awakened by a yell that startled them all. Quickly sitting up, the boys at first could not determine what it was that had so alarmed them.
In a moment, however, the yell was repeated, louder and longer than before.
“It’s Ben,” said Bob, quickly. “I’ll go out and ascertain whether he can see the point.”
As he turned to rush into the open air, he was startled by the sounds which came from the roof of the tent in which they had been sleeping. Something was moving about on it, and to the alarm of the boys it sounded very much like the snarl of a wild beast. Evidently it was something large, too, and in a moment all three darted forth from the tent into the darkness, just as there came another yell from the prostrate Ben, even more piercing than those which had preceded it.