“Jimmie Dooley is my name, Irelandis my nation, Brasher is my dwellingplace and heaven my expectation.When I am dead and in my graveand all my bones is rotten, this stonewill tell my name when I amquite forgotten.”
“Jimmie Dooley is my name, Irelandis my nation, Brasher is my dwellingplace and heaven my expectation.When I am dead and in my graveand all my bones is rotten, this stonewill tell my name when I amquite forgotten.”
“Jimmie Dooley is my name, Ireland
is my nation, Brasher is my dwelling
place and heaven my expectation.
When I am dead and in my grave
and all my bones is rotten, this stone
will tell my name when I am
quite forgotten.”
“Got it all, Bob?” inquired Ben, soberly.
“Yes.”
“Verbatim?”
“Yes.”
“Literatim?”
“Yes.”
“Punctuatim?”
“Yes.”
“Spellatim?”
“I think so” laughed Bob. “Why? What makes you so particular?”
“I can’t stand it any longer. It’s too pathetic for me.”
“I suppose the folks here feel just the same as they do in the city,” said George, curtly. “I didn’t bring you here to have you poke fun.”
“I’m not poking fun,” said Ben, soberly; “but the exquisite pathos of that poem is too much for my tender feelings. Poor Jimmie! I don’t wonder he’s dead. Do you know the poet, the author of those touching, plaintive lines?”
As the boys broke into a laugh, George turned abruptly away and took his seat in the carriage, an example his companions speedily followed.
When they arrived at the Landing they discovered that there were yet two hours before the little steamer would depart, and in response to George’s suggestion, for his good nature seemed to be restored now, they accepted his invitation and went with him to view some “sturgeon pounds.”
These pounds were pens in the water, near the shore, in which the boys discovered some fish which even put their great muscallonge to shame. These fish were caught, they learned, from a slender pier or framework built out into the rapids. There, men, equipped with long poles, each of which had a hook on the end much like the gaff George had used on the preceding day, took their stand, and as the mighty sturgeon slowly forced their way up the stream and against the current, they were seen by the waiting fishermen, and “hooked.” They were then thrown alive into the pens and kept, with others, until a sufficient number had been obtained, when they were all shipped to Montreal.
Interested as the boys were in the sight, they did not long remain there, and soon after their return to the Landing went on board the steamer, and were ready to depart. Bidding George good-by, and thanking him once more for all the assistance and pleasure he had given them, they were eager, when the boat left the dock, to return to the camp on Pine Tree Island, for which they had now come to cherish almost a feeling of home.
The progress of the little steamer was necessarily much slower now than when the boys had come down the river, moving as she was against the strong current. There was, however, too much of inspiration in the experience to make the young campers feel impatient, and as there were but few passengers besides themselves on board, they took their chairs to a sheltered spot on the upper deck, and the sounds of their merry laughter and shouts soon resounded over the river. They cheered the passing boats, and gave their school cry whenever they approached a camp.
After a time even these measures became tame and failed to satisfy the boys, and Bob, quick to seize his opportunity, said, “I’ll now resume my lectures, with your kind permission.”
“I don’t think our permission will havemuch to do with it,” said Ben. “You’ll go on just the same.”
Bob scowled, but as he knew the boys really were interested, and wanted to learn something more about the early discoverers, he began:—
“When Cartier returned to France after his second voyage, the hardships and losses he had to report were not, of course, very encouraging to the Frenchmen, who wanted him to find a country where the streets of the cities were all paved with gold. But Francis de La Roque, the Lord of Roberval in Picardy, had himself appointed viceroy and lieutenant-general of the new territory, Cartier still being called captain-general and chief pilot of the king’s ships.
“Five vessels were then fitted out, and in May, 1541, Cartier started with two of them and was soon afterward joined by the others. Then all five started across the ocean blue, and three months later landed at Sainte Croix. He began to cruise about, and finally sent two of his ships back to France, though he kept the other three at the mouth of the Red River.
“Cartier then went up to Hochelaga, hoping to be able to come farther up theriver, but the winter was a terrible one, and his men were so discouraged that in the spring, his provisions being exhausted, and the Indians beginning to cut up, he sailed away for France. On the way over he met Roberval, who ordered him to go back again; but Cartier did not see it in that light, so he kept on, and finally got back to France, where he lived and died in peace.”
“Oh, more! more!” said Ben, mockingly.
Bob laughed as he replied, “There was no more, so far as Cartier was concerned. It was three times and out with him.”
“Then he never came as far up the St. Lawrence as we are now?” asked Bert.
“No. Cartier never did. Of course others came, and I’ll tell you about them.”
“It’s a wonderful river,” murmured Jock. “And just think of it, fellows. We’re sailing over the very same river those old chaps did. Just the same, after three hundred years have gone.”
“No, it isn’t the same,” replied Ben.
“Why not, I’d like to know?” demanded Jock.
“Oh, the water keeps running away all the time. They call it the same river, but it’s never the same for any two minutes.The banks are the same, but the river itself is constantly changing.”
“You’re getting it down too fine for me,” said Jock. “And that’s Canada, over there,” he added, pointing to the distant shore as he spoke. “I wonder where they got that name. Do you know, Bob?”
“There are two theories,” replied Bob, quickly. “One is based on the story that Stefano Gomez, a Spaniard, was the first white man to enter the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and that he came in 1525. He died over here somewhere, I believe, so the story can’t be denied. There is an old Spanish tradition that he came into the gulf and landed, and when he didn’t find any gold, or mines, or any of the things for which he was looking, he exclaimed, ‘Aca-nada,’ which means, I’m told, ‘Here is nothing.’ And Canada is said to be derived from that.”
“What’s the other theory? You said there were two, Bob,” said Jock.
“Oh, the other is that Canada is another form of the Indian word, Ka-na-ta, which means a village. I’ve given you both, and you can take your choice.”
“But how did the gulf and the river get their names, Professor?” asked Ben.
“Cartier gave it to them in honor of the saint who was supposed to be the patron of the day when he made his discovery—the 10th of August, you know. I think the saint deserved to have his name given, too, for it is said he was broiled on a gridiron in 253.”
“Good time,” remarked Ben, dryly. “Two forty is better, though.”
“Bob,” demanded Bert, “how do you know all this stuff. I don’t see how one small head can contain all you know.”
“That isn’t original, my friend,” remarked Bob. “You have the idea but not the language of our last text-book in English Lit. How do I know so much? Oh, it comes natural to some people. I know a heap more than I have told you, though. If you want me to, I’ll give you some of it now. We haven’t got to Ogdensburgh yet.”
“Oh, do! do! Lend the charm of your voice to these interesting details you have picked out of some almanac,” said Ben.
“I’ll lend you my voice if you’ll lend me your ears!” rejoined Bob.
“Never!” shouted Ben, clasping those members as he spoke.
“Well, turn the whole length of themtoward me and it’ll do just as well. They’re more becoming to you than they would be to me.”
“Oh, go on with your yarn,” interrupted Bert. “We’ll listen to you till we get to Ogdensburgh. After that, if you dare refer to one of the early discoverers, overboard you go! Doesn’t he, fellows?”
“Hear! Hear!” shouted Ben, sitting quickly erect.
“I shan’t forget,” said Bob, laughing. “You fellows seem to think I’m giving you these facts for the fun of the thing.”
“You are,” said Ben.
“It may be rare sport,” said Bob, “but I don’t see it in just that light. I’m trying to teach you something, so that when you go back to the city you’ll be able to make a half-decent appearance.”
“Nonsense!” protested Ben. “You’ve been cramming up, and are just spreading your knowledge before us, the way Ethan says his peacock gets into the house and spreads his tail in front of the looking-glass and struts around like all possessed. You can’t fool us, Bob.”
“I don’t have to,” said Bob, good-naturedly.
“Quit your fooling and go on with your story, Bob,” said Jock. “We’ll be at Ogdensburgh pretty soon, and then you’re under bonds not to refer to another discoverer there. And I want to know about these things.”
“All right,” said Bob. “Well, the French kept sending somebody over here almost every year after Cartier stopped coming, but nothing of any consequence was done before 1608. Then a Calvinist named DeMonts obtained freedom for himself and his religious sympathizers in the New World, only the Catholic religion was to be established among the natives, and finally Champlain and Pontgrave were sent over here in that year to begin a settlement and look after the trade in furs. They were both sterling men and had had plenty of experience, and no better ones could have been found.
“Champlain reached Tadousac on the 3d of June, and after a month was at Quebec, where Cartier had spent the winter almost three-quarters of a century before. He saw what a fine site there was there for a city, and at once selected the spot as the place for a settlement.
“The next spring, in April, Samuel Champlain,along with two of the Frenchmen, started up the great river. They got along fairly well, and at last turned to the south and went down and discovered the lake which now bears his name, and then went on into the other lake, which, as you know, is Lake George.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that lake,” murmured Ben.
“Five years afterward,” continued Bob, ignoring the interruption, “Champlain succeeded in having four Recollets appointed to begin a mission work among the Indians. To get the favor of the red men, Champlain himself, and a priest named Joseph Le Cavon, went with them to help whip the Iroquois; but the Iroquois weren’t in a mood to be whipped that time, and drove off their enemies and wounded Champlain, just as if he hadn’t come on his merciful errand.”
“Hold on, Bob,” said Jock. “You didn’t tell us whether Champlain found Lake George all named when he got there.”
“It was named,” replied Bob, “though it wasn’t named George. The Indians called it Horicon, and the Frenchmen named it Lake St. Sacrament. Sir William Johnson, afterward, for good and sufficient reasons, changedit to Lake George. But to resume. When Champlain was wounded he had to spend the winter with the Indians; but he made good use of his time and learned a lot about them—their language, customs, and all that sort of thing.
“It was in 1625 when Henri de Levi, Duke de Ventadour—he had purchased the vice-royalty of New France, you see, before this time, for they didn’t mind such little things as selling a kingdom or two, with a world and a few stars thrown in—sent over here Father Lallemant and four other Jesuit priests and laymen. Father Lallemant was a good man and very earnest, and the Recollets, of course, received him and his companions very kindly.
“In the following year three other Jesuit priests were also sent over here, along with some settlers and mechanics, and they soon made the little settlement begin to look something like a town. In 1629 the English happened to come along, and quietly took the place as their own; but there was a treaty made, and they had to stand by it, so the French owned the town again in 1632; and the very next year Champlain was appointed once more as governor of NewFrance. He’d been governor before, you see, and this was only putting him back into his own place. But he didn’t live very long, for, if I recollect aright, he died in December, 1635.”
“What for?” inquired Ben, soberly. “Were the gubernatorial honors too heavy for his shoulders? Perhaps he didn’t like the political methods of the Indians. I wish you’d explain it, Bob.”
“From that time, for a good while, the Jesuit missionaries kept coming over here, and the work they did was something marvellous. They went up the river and kept on out along the lakes, and even down other rivers. They dressed as the Indians did, and ate and lived with them, just to learn their ways and convince the red men that they were their friends. They were tortured sometimes, horribly, but they never flinched. They just kept right on, and you can well believe it wasn’t very long before their priests had a grip on the Indians which wasn’t very small. Every tribe of the Iroquois of New York had its own special missionary, and almost every nation out along the lakes and down the Mississippi had one too; and they made themselves of so muchuse, going with the men even into battle, that they’re not forgotten yet.
“Well, of course, where the missionaries went, there business went too; and it wasn’t long before fur-trading posts were established wherever the Jesuits were. Then, to protect the fur traders, and to keep the English from getting any of the business, soldiers had to be sent along; and so, as Quebec was the head centre of the whole affair, it wasn’t long before there was a regular business all along the St. Lawrence, long before any real settlements were made on its borders, or at least along the lakes.”
“I say, Bob,” interrupted Ben, “did you ever read any of Oliver Wendell Holmes’s books?”
“Yes, I’ve read the ‘Autocrat.’”
“Do you remember about that chap who could talk a lot on some subjects, and didn’t know anything about others?”
“You mean the one who’d read a volume or two in the cyclopædia, and not much besides?”
“Pre-e-cisely! Now I’ve found you out.You’vebeen reading a volume of the cyclopædia, and are giving us its contents.”
“Which volume?” asked Bob.
“The one that has the C’s in it. Cartier, Champlain, Canada, Cavon, Catholic, Cortereal—don’t you see, fellows?” he added, turning triumphantly to his friends. “We’ve found him out! He’s crammed up on his C’s. Now, to prove it, let’s ask him some questions on other subjects. What was the first settlement above Quebec? What soldiers came in here? Who was—who was—a—a—”
“Hello! That’s Ogdensburgh ahead there!” exclaimed Bob, suddenly; and as he spoke he ran quickly to the bow of the steamer, ostensibly to obtain a better view of the town which they were approaching.
The little steamer soon afterward arrived at its dock, and the transfer to the large boat was speedily made. Then, in the eagerness to be first in the dining room and to satisfy the cravings of their appetites, which were already keen, Bob’s lectures and the early discoverers were all forgotten.
Nor did Bob seem to grieve at the apparent disregard, though whether it was his hunger, or his unwillingness to hear the suggestion Ben had made as to the source of his information, which was the cause of it, he did not feel called upon to explain.
At all events, when the boys returned to the deck they were at peace among themselves and with all the world; and as Bob was careful not even to hint at the men who had sailed up the river centuries before this time, no occasion arose in which the explanation of Ben could be taken up again.
Apparently, in spite of the fact that the large steamer was moving against the current, there was no less speed displayed than on the voyage down the stream, for greater efforts were put forth. Bert solemnly called the attention of his companions to the fact, and with no less solemnity urged them to profit by the lesson that greater obstacles only called forth the greater powers of boats and men.
Doubtless his moral lesson was not duly appreciated, for the lads were in no mood for sermons. The constantly changing scene about them, the sweep of the great waters, and the saluting of passing vessels, occupied the most of their time and held their undivided attention.
It was late in the afternoon when at last they perceived Alexandria Bay in the distance, and knew that they had almost arrived at the end of their voyage.
“It looks as if we might have a storm, fellows,” said Jock, pointing as he spoke to some heavy black clouds that could be seen in the distance.
“If it’ll hold off till we get back to camp we shan’t care,” replied Bert, lightly.
They were all so eager to land now thatthey had no disposition to stop and consider even the threatenings of the storm-clouds.
“Hello! There’s Ethan!” exclaimed Jock, as he obtained a glimpse of their boatman on the dock. “Perhaps he has his cat-boat with him. I’m sure I hope he has, for I don’t want to row back to camp, especially if it’s going to rain.”
As soon as they landed, Ethan greeted them, and without waiting to listen to the story of their experiences in the Longue Seaut, he said quickly, “Git aboard my boat, every one o’ ye. It’s goin’ to rain, an’ I want to land ye afore it begins. Git yer skiff an’ I’ll take it in tow, an’ we’ll start right off.”
Jock ran quickly to the place where his skiff had been left, and as he rowed around the corner of the dock to the cat-boat, Bert said, “Where’s Ben? He’ll have to get his canoe too.”
But Ben at first could not be found, and the anger of Ethan waxed strong. “That pesky boy is always the one to bother us. Where do ye s’pose he is?”
“There! there he is!” exclaimed Bob, pointing as he spoke toward a canoe which could be seen out on the river.
The occupant could not be plainly seen, but after watching his movements for a moment they were all satisfied that it was indeed Ben, who, probably in his desire to paddle his own canoe, had slipped away unobserved, and was already well on his way back to camp.
Ethan uttered another exclamation of anger, but as he quickly bade the boys take their places on board his boat, there was no time lost in further investigations, and soon, with the skiff in tow, they were headed down the river. There was, however, but little air stirring, and soon the cat-boat was almost becalmed. The heavy clouds climbed higher and higher in the sky, but the waters of the river were almost as motionless as glass. The sail flapped idly against the mast, and the boat slowly drifted with the current.
Ethan did not speak now, but his evident air of alarm speedily communicated itself to his companions. They glanced nervously at one another, and then at the great black mass which was almost directly over their heads.
“Don’t you think we’d better take the oars, Ethan?” suggested Jock.
Ethan shook his head, but made no other reply. A streak of light gray in the dense blackness of the clouds could now be seen, and as the boatman discovered it, he said, “Take in the sail, boys. It’ll be—”
But Ethan did not complete the sentence, for suddenly the deluge was upon them. In a moment the wind began to blow, and like a startled horse the boat suddenly seemed to leap forward. A roaring sound filled the air, and the trees along the distant shore bent and swayed and tossed their branches wildly, as if they, too, shared in the alarm. The river was quickly covered with white-caps, and the rail of the cat-boat was almost beneath the water.
“Here! here!” shouted Ethan suddenly, endeavoring to make his voice heard above the noise of the storm. “Two of ye hold the tiller while I take in the sail.”
Bob and Jock sprang to do his bidding, but their combined strength was hardly sufficient to hold the boat to its course. Ethan worked his way slowly toward the mast, and after a hard struggle succeeded in lowering the sail, a part of which dragged in the water before he could draw it on board.
At last, succeeding in a measure in hisefforts, he returned to his place in the stern and resumed his labors with the tiller. The fury of the storm had now increased. All on board were soon drenched; but they did not mind the wetting, for a great fear was in their hearts. The roar of the wind was like that of a railway train under full speed. Even the outlines of the shores could not now be seen. Under bare poles the boat sped swiftly forward. Once or twice they caught a glimpse of other luckless men caught as they were in the squall, but they were speedily lost to sight, and the cat-boat darted ahead with ever-increasing speed.
Suddenly Jock discovered that it was no longer rain which was falling upon them, but hail; and even while he looked up in astonishment, the hailstones seemed to increase in size. As they struck the Boys in the face or upon the head they produced a sharp pain, and every one speedily covered his face with his cap and drew his coat up more tightly about his neck.
“Go into the cabin, every one o’ ye!” shouted Ethan; but his voice was drowned by the storm, and no one heard or heeded his cry of warning.
On and on plunged the boat, higher andhigher rose the tossing waves, stronger and stronger became the force of the pelting hailstones. In spite of their fear the boys all looked up as they heard a sudden sound of breaking branches and snapping trees. Just before them through the blinding storm they could see a shore and tossing waters as they fell in waves upon the rocks. A great tree had just fallen, and the sound of the crash it made as it fell upon the smaller trees about it increased the terror in the boat. They were not more than twenty yards distant now, and it seemed as if no power on earth could save them from being dashed upon the projecting rocks. A great mass of earth had been torn up by the roots of the tree which had fallen, and they could see the wall it presented.
Nearer and nearer to the shore sped the swift-flying cat-boat. The boys relaxed their hold upon their caps and coats, and grasped the sides of the boat as they waited for the crash which threatened. Ethan was struggling desperately with the tiller, and doing his utmost to keep his boat away from the rocks, but his efforts were like those of a little child. No one spoke, but the terror each felt was known by all.
Then came a moment of breathless suspense; a low cry escaped the lips of Jock. The boatman rose and threw himself bodily against the tiller, striving by one last desperate effort to keep his boat off the rocks. There was a grating sound from the keel, and then in a moment they swept past the dangerous point and were out in the river again. They had been so close to the rocky shore that they almost could have leaped upon it, but if any one had had it in mind to make the foolhardy attempt, the opportunity was gone before he could use it.
The sense of relief which came at the escape in nowise prevented the boys from knowing that the fury of the squall had not yet spent itself. They could see piles of hailstones on board the boat, and some of them seemed to be almost as large as small eggs. They were pelted upon the head and about the body, and there was no escape or relief. The wind still roared, the seething waters tossed and rose about them, the boat lurched and pitched, and yet all the time was driven swiftly forward under the terrific force of the gale. Other perils might lie before them, and with the thought the boys all peered eagerly ahead,though they could see but a short distance through the blinding storm.
Suddenly a lull came, and as the boys glanced up they could see a broad streak of light in the western sky. The black clouds were scurrying overhead, and the sound of the thunder seemed to be a little farther away. Swiftly as the storm had approached, with almost as great swiftness it departed. The flashes of the vivid lightning could still be seen, but they were farther down the river. The outlines of the distant shores became more and more distinct, and almost before the boys were aware of what was occurring, the blaze of the sun broke through, and the wind and the storm subsided.
“We’re all right now,” said Ethan; and with a sigh of relief the boys turned to look at him.
“Them squalls,” explained the boatman, “are mighty sudden. Ye never know when to expect ’em, or jest what to do when they come. Now, ye see why I told ye not to go far from camp with yer canoes.”
The mention of the canoes instantly recalled their thoughts to the missing Ben.He had recklessly ventured forth in his, and doubtless had been caught in the same storm which had so suddenly swept down upon them.
For a moment no one spoke, and then Jock said tremblingly, “You don’t suppose anything has happened to Ben, do you, Ethan?”
“No knowin’. Mebbe he ran in to some island when the squall broke.”
It was evident, however, that the boatman was no less troubled than they by the thoughts of the absent Ben; but he at once placed the tiller in the hands of the boys and went forward to hoist his sail once more.
The wind had subsided now, and the boisterous waves were rapidly resuming their former state of calm. It was the first experience the boys had had in the sudden squalls which are wont to swoop down upon the St. Lawrence, and ofttimes bring sorrow and destruction in their wake. Ordinarily they subside as rapidly as they rise, and the present instance proved to be no exception to the rule. The river was soon calm, the low sun was shining clear and strong, and only a gentle breeze ruffledthe waters that only a brief time before were tossing like the waves of an angry sea.
Steadily the cat-boat kept on its way, and as it had not been driven very far out of its course, not a long time had elapsed before the party was landed at the dock in front of their camp.
But what a sight met their eyes there! Neither of the tents could be seen, and directly across the path which led down to the shore, a huge tree had fallen. Broken branches strewed the ground, and the signs of the fierceness of the gale were apparent on every side.
Slight heed was given to any of these things, however, so alarmed were the boys over the safety of their missing companion. Poor Ben! Was ever a more luckless mortal born into this world? He was ever the one to meet with mishaps, if mishaps befell; but his peril in the present instance far exceeded all he had experienced before.
“Now, boys,” said Ethan, “you’d better take the skiff and row back up the river. You may find Ben somewhere, and he may need ye, too. While you’re gone I’ll see where the tents have been blown to and try to set things to rights again.”
Without waiting to reply, the three boys quickly freed the skiff which the cat-boat had been towing, and Jock and Bob, each taking a pair of oars, began to row swiftly over the river. They had no definite idea as to just where it was best to go, but they kept on their way back toward Alexandria Bay, hoping that somewhere they would discover Ben paddling to meet them in his canoe. Their strongest hope was that he had landed somewhere before the storm broke, and now that it was gone, would be on his way back to the camp.
They had been gone about a quarter of an hour, when Bert, who was seated in the stern, exclaimed, “There’s a canoe up ahead, fellows, but there’s no one in it.”
His companions stopped rowing for a moment and glanced eagerly behind them. Then with redoubled speed they began to move toward the drifting canoe. Soon they had overhauled it, and a low cry escaped Jock’s lips when he recognized it at once as the one which had belonged to the missing Ben.
The feeling of gloom in the hearts of the boys was reflected in the dusk which now had settled over all. The sun had disappeared, and the blaze in the western sky seemed weird and unnatural. The silence that rested over the river was so intense that it almost seemed as if they could hear it, if such a thing were possible. For a moment the boys looked blankly at one another, but no one seemed willing to give utterance to the fear which evidently possessed them all.
Jock was the first to speak, and as he reached over and grasped the canoe to make it fast to the skiff, he said in a low voice, “This is the worst yet, fellows. I’m almost afraid to go on.”
“We’ll have to go, whether we’re afraid or not,” said Bob.
His decided tone could not conceal hisanxiety, but his suggestion was so manifestly practical that the oars were at once taken up, and, with the little canoe in tow, they resumed their way up the river.
The waters were calm now, so calm that scarcely a ripple could be seen. Lights began to appear in the distant cottages, and the darkness steadily deepened. Still the boys rowed swiftly on, unmindful of the long and wearisome day which had gone, and thinking only of their missing friend. Bert was keeping a careful lookout, though just what he or his companions expected to see was not evident.
“I think, fellows,” said Bert, at last, “you’d better row farther in toward the shore of the islands. The storm came from the west, and if Ben landed anywhere, it would be likely to be on one of the islands. We can go up a mile or two, and then if we don’t see or hear anything we can cut across to the Bay. He may have been picked up by some boat and carried back there, you know.”
The direction of the skiff was quickly changed, for the advice seemed good, though no one replied to Bert’s words, and soon they were skirting the islands. Againand again they stopped and shouted together, but only the echoes along the shore or the calls of the night birds responded.
The slight hope they had cherished was almost gone now. The empty canoe was a constant reminder of their loss, and the longing in their hearts was fast becoming changed to despair. Not even the paddle had been found, and the fear that the canoe had been capsized in the squall, and its occupant thrown into the water, was becoming almost a certainty.
“There’s one thing, fellows,” said Bob, at last, striving somehow to keep up their courage, “and that is, that Ben, though he is the most unlucky fellow in some ways that ever lived, in others is the most lucky. Just think of the scrapes he’s been in since we came down here, and yet he got out of every one. If it had been any one of us, we’d have gone straight to the bottom of the St. Lawrence, but Ben, somehow, manages to come right side up with care, and I’ll not give up yet.”
Bob endeavored to speak confidently, but his words failed to cheer his companions. The lights of Alexandria Bay could now be seen in the distance, and the end of theirattempt to discover the missing Ben had almost come. Failure was to be stamped on them all, they thought; and though they still continued to row, the dejection of all three was becoming more and more apparent.
“We might as well strike across for the Bay, now,” said Jock, at last, pausing as he spoke, and looking sadly above him in the twilight.
“Yes, I think we’d better go over there,” replied Bob. “Of course Ben may have gone back to camp long before this, but as we are so near, I suppose we might as well go on and do what we can.”
They were only about twenty yards from the shore of one of the little islands now, and as they grasped their oars again to carry out Jock’s suggestion, they were startled by a shout that came from a projecting point in advance of them.
They could perceive some one standing there and waving a handkerchief aloft on a stick. The faint sound of his call was sufficient to interest the boys at once, and without uttering a word they began to row swiftly in that direction. Bert was peering eagerly at the figure of the man standing on the rock, and as soon as the soundof the hallo became a little more distinct, he said in a low, intense voice, “I believe it’s Ben, boys. Give him the school cheer, and let’s see.”
The boys stopped, and the school cheer rang out, and then they waited a moment in breathless suspense for the response.
Faintly across the water came the answering cheer, and then, half laughing and half crying, Jock said, “Did you ever see such a fellow in your lives? It’s just as Bob here says. Ben can get into more scrapes, and get out of them too, than any chap that ever lived.”
“Never mind that part of it now,” said Bob, quickly. “Give way, Jock, and let’s go for him. Of all his scrapes this is the worst.”
There was no mistaking the reaction now as the boys swept over the river, making every stroke tell. As they approached the point, they perceived Ben seated on one of the rocks, and leaning upon his paddle as if he was the most unconcerned spectator of their movements. Quickly the skiff was sent ashore, and as Bert leaped out, Ben, who had not stirred from his seat on the rocks, said,—
“I must say, fellows, you have taken your time. I didn’t know but you were going to leave me here all night. I’ve travelled clear around this island three times since I landed, and I haven’t seen a boat or a man. I thought I was Robinson Crusoe for certain, and done into modern English.”
“Oh, Ben,” said Jock, in a trembling voice, “don’t talk that way. You don’t know how frightened we were. We started out to search for you just the minute we got back to camp, and when we found that canoe of yours empty and floating down the river, we didn’t know what had happened—”
“Did you find my canoe?” interrupted Ben, eagerly.
“Yes, yes,” said Jock, laughing in spite of himself.
“Where is it?”
“Right here. We took it in tow.”
“That’s good. The thing got away from me, and I didn’t expect ever to see it again. You see, the wind drove me straight ashore here, and I was mighty glad to get ashore, too. When I grabbed my paddle and jumped out, and then turned around to pick up my canoe, why, it was like theIrishman’s flea—when I put my hand on it, it wasn’t there.”
“What did you do, Ben?” inquired Bert.
“Do? I didn’t do anything. The wind blew so I thought it was going to tear up the very island itself. I hid myself behind the rocks, and waited. When the storm had passed I began to look about to see how I was to get away from my desert island. I travelled around it three times, as I told you, but I couldn’t find any way of getting off, and I’d about made up my mind I’d have to spend the night here, when I discovered three men in a boat, and hailed them.”
“Did you know who we were?”
“No; and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to be taken off.”
“We’ll take you now,” said Jock. “Come along; it’s getting dark.”
“I’ll take my canoe,ifyou please,” said Ben, glibly.
“Ben, you’re not going to paddle back to camp in that cockle-shell to-night?” exclaimed Jock, aghast at the proposal. “I should think you’d had enough of it for one night. Come along and be civilized, andtake your place at the oars in the skiff, like a little man.”
“Here I take my stand. I can do no other,” responded Ben, striking an attitude as he spoke. “If I go back to camp, it’ll be in my light canoe.”
“Let him go on a raft if he wants to,” said Bob, glumly. “We’ve done our part, and it’s his own risk now.”
“Ben, you’ll keep close to us, won’t you?” pleaded Jock.
“Yes, if you’ll keep close to me,” replied Ben. “You’ll have to do your best to keep up, though, I can tell that.”
Lighthearted now, the boys resumed their places in the skiff, Bert taking Jock’s place at the oars, and with Ben in his canoe, which had not suffered any from the storm, started down the river.
Ben was as good as his words, and though the two pairs of oars enabled his friends to make excellent time, they were compelled to exert themselves to the utmost to keep the skiff within sight. As a consequence, when they arrived at the camp, as they did soon afterward, they were thoroughly tired, and ready for the supper which Ethan and Tom had provided.
Ben’s appearance was as welcome to the boatmen as it had been to the boys, and while they were seated at the table he was compelled to relate the story of his adventure again. As Jock perceived that the tents had been restored, he turned to Ethan and said,—
“Did you have any trouble in setting the tents up again?”
“Just a little,” responded Ethan. “One o’ ’em I found up in the top o’ that pine tree over yonder, and t’other one was down on the shore, but we managed to git ’em all right enough. Neow then, I’m a-goin’ to take that canoe back with me to-night. I jest won’t leave it where that Ben can get hold of it. The next time he’ll not be so lucky.”
Even Ben uttered no protest; but when Ethan started for the place where the canoe was kept on the bank, it could nowhere be found. Ben pretended to search with the others; and when all their efforts proved unavailing, Ethan declared testily,—
“The pesky thing’s got afloat again. Well, there’s one comfort, and that is that this boy can’t bother with it. I shouldn’t sleep a wink to-night thinkin’ o’ him, if ’twas left here.”
After the departure of the boatmen Ben demurely entered the woods, and soon returned with the treasured canoe in his arms.
“That’s too bad, Ben,” said Jock. “You know what Ethan said.”
“I’m not going to scare Ethan to-night,” replied Ben, “for I’ve had enough to satisfy me for one day. But you don’t think for a moment that I’m going to give up my work in this thing, do you? Well, I’m not. It’s just got to come to my turn, and that’s all there is to it!”
None of the boys were surprised when they came forth from the tent on the following morning to discover Ben paddling about the river in his canoe. It was true he did not venture very far from shore, the lesson of the previous day evidently not having been entirely lost, and as the rest of the night had restored the spirits of his companions, they were all inclined to look upon his persistence in a spirit of good nature.
Ethan, too, displayed no anger when he arrived and discovered Ben in his customary morning occupation, and, while the boys were seated at the breakfast table, mademany inquiries as to their experiences and success in shooting the Longue Seaut Rapids. His enthusiasm was great when he learned of the capture of the muscallonge, and again and again he referred to his own prophecy concerning the fishing in that part of the St. Lawrence River.
For several days the life in the camp on Pine Tree Island was uneventful, though every day was filled with its own interesting experiences. Ethan contrived to spend more of his time with the boys than he had previously done, and though he did not refer to the perilous experience in the storm, they all understood that that was the motive which controlled him, and, if the truth were known, not one of the boys objected. Though the vividness of that fearful ride in the gale had in a measure departed from their minds, still the memory of it was strong, and even the determined Bob seemed to have profited by the lesson.
One day, in the week which followed, the Clarkes came with their yacht and took the boys with them for a picnic on Chimney Island. The remains of the old French fort were still standing, and as the view of the St. Lawrence from the ruins was onewhich extended for miles up and down the river, they all could readily understand why that spot had been selected by the soldiers of that far-away time. Bob offered to explain the early history to his friends, but as Ben said quickly, when Bob began,—
“There it is again! It’s just as I said. Bob has been reading up one volume of the Cyclopædia. It’s the one with the C’s in it. Cartier, Champlain, Canada, Catholic, Cavon, Cortereal, and now it’s Chimney Island. For one, I’ve had enough.”
The laugh which followed when the meaning of Ben’s words was explained to the party caused even Bob to desist, and changing the subject, he inquired,—
“Have any of you young ladies ever seen Hamlick?”
“Seen what?” said Miss Bessie. “What’s Hamlick? Is it another fish you caught in those wonderful Longue Seaut Rapids?”
“No,” replied Bob. “It’s Ethan’s word for Shakespeare’s play. The ‘young folks’ are going to give it to-morrow evening over at the Corners for the benefit of the public walks. We’re going, all four of us; and I didn’t know but you would like to go, too.”
The proposition was hailed with delight;and when the party broke up in the late afternoon it was agreed that Mr. Clarke was to stop for the boys on the following evening, and that together they were all to go to the Corners and witness the much talked about play of “Hamlick.”
Early in the following evening the yacht stopped at Pine Tree Island, and after our boys had been received on board, proceeded on its way to the Corners, where the entire party landed, and at once started up the village street toward the town hall, where “Hamlick” was to make his long-expected appearance.
It was soon discovered that many others were evidently going to the same place, and along the dusty country roads teams could be seen approaching from almost every direction. “Smart” appearing turnouts, along with others which must have done duty for several generations for the busy folk of the region, were seen, and Bob demurely pointed out what he declared to be the original of the “wonderful one hoss shay.”
When our party climbed the ramblingstairway which led to the room in the third floor of the town hall where Hamlick was to appear, it was an unusual sight upon which they looked. Old people and young were entering the room; mothers with little babes in their arms; the ever-present small boy, whose disposition does not vary materially whether he dwells in country or city; bashful young fellows, who apparently were wondering what they should do with those hands of theirs which, somehow, would protrude too far below the short sleeves of their coats; all these and many more were there.
In the front of the room the platform was hidden from sight by some blue denim curtains hung on wires, which were to be manipulated by some one behind the scenes. Some kerosene lamps were giving a faint light from brackets on the walls, and a huge wood stove stood in one corner of the room where it had done duty for years at the gatherings in the bitter winter days.
There was no usher to show our party the way, but as they perceived that no places had been reserved, and that all were free to go where they chose, they at once turned toward the few remaining seats which were well up in the front of the room and quietlyseated themselves. These seats were benches, across the backs of which narrow strips of board had been nailed, and forced the occupant to maintain an attitude which was anything but comfortable. The whole scene was so strange and unlike anything which any of them had ever seen before, that the novelty banished even the sense of discomfort, and all gazed about them with an air of interest as keen as doubtless that of the good people of the Corners would have been had they been privileged to enter some spacious hall in the great city from which the summer visitors had come.
To add to the interest, Ethan was discovered seated in the end of one of the pews or benches which our friends appropriated, but his appearance was so markedly different from that to which the boys had been accustomed that they had some difficulty in really persuading themselves that it was their boatman before them.
Ethan was dressed in a suit of rusty black broadcloth, which evidently had seen other days if it had not seen better, and his bearing was so solemn that at first the boys fancied that he was conducting himself as he would have done in church.
“Aren’t they almost ready to begin, Ethan?” inquired Jock, after he had presented the sturdy boatman to his friends.
“I s’pose so. They were to begin at seven-thirty sharp,” replied Ethan, solemnly.
“Tom must be excited,” suggested Jock, for want of something else to say.
“I s’pose so.”
It was plain that Ethan considered the occasion too solemn for such trifling questions, and accordingly Jock turned to his other friends, who were not troubled by any such scruples, and was soon talking and laughing with them.
The interest in the scene did not decrease as the moments of waiting passed. Boys entered and lurched heavily into their seats and began to snap the peanuts, with which their pockets had been well supplied, or industriously began to busy themselves with pieces of spruce gum which the present owners had wrested from the trees by their own efforts.
Solemn-faced elderly people entered, and frequently a young mother came, bringing with her a baby which was sleeping in her arms or nodding its head sagely, as withwide-open eyes it looked out upon the assembly.
The interest in the audience was speedily transferred to the stage, from which the curtains now began to be drawn back. Apparently something was wrong in the apparatus, for they “hitched” when about half of the platform appeared in sight, and after a whispered conversation had taken place, in tones so shrill that they could be heard by the entire assembly, a well-grown lad stepped from behind the scenes and adjusted the strings by which the screens were worked.
His appearance was greeted with a shout of delight from the small boys in the audience, as they called him familiarly by his name, and bestowed other signs of their approval upon him. The greeting, however, was not received in the spirit in which it had been given, and the “manager,” after vainly striving for a moment to adjust the workings, speedily retired in confusion. A yank upon the curtains quickly followed, and though a sound as of tearing cloth was heard, the view of the platform was soon unobstructed, and the audience became silent, waiting for the performance to begin.
After a brief interval Bernardo appeared, gazing carefully about him for Francisco, who, too tender-hearted to disappoint his commanding officer, speedily strode forth upon the platform, prepared to do or die.
“Who’s there?” began Bernardo, in a loud stage whisper.
“Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold yourself!” thundered Francisco in reply.
“Long live the King!” responded the officer, as if he were trying to make the people in Alexandria Bay aware of his patriotic feeling.
“Bernardo?” exclaimed Francisco, in apparent surprise, though he had been standing within a few feet of the man all the time.
The conversation continued until Horatio and Marcellus joined them, and at once began to speak. Horatio was evidently master of the situation, but poor Marcellus had an attack of stage fright. When it came his turn to speak he began impulsively,—
“And liegemen to—to—to—to—” but he could go no further. Again he began, in lower and more impressive tones: “A—a—and liegemen to—to—” but the desired word would not come.
“To the Dane,” whispered some one behind the scenes in a penetrating voice which reached to the utmost corners of the room.
“And liegemen to the Dane,” responded Marcellus, boldly.
Apparently he had recovered now, and all went well until the time came when the Ghost was to enter. Whether it was the terrifying dread of the nocturnal visitor, or the evident alarm of the four who were conversing so eagerly upon the stage that produced the trouble which followed, is not known; but no sooner had he glided in with his unearthly tread, and no less unearthly glances, which he cast about the room, than Marcellus, in his most awe-inspiring whisper, began, “Peace! Break thee off; look where it comes again;” and then one of the babies in the room began to scream.
Bernardo boldly continued, “In the same figure, like the king that’s dead.”
“Thou art a scholar,” responded Marcellus. “Speak to it, Horatio.”
But the wailing infant in the front seat was not to be suppressed, and his screams of terror or rage were becoming more and more shrill, and were dividing the attentionand sympathy of the audience and even diverting their gaze from the stage.
Apparently human nature could not endure the strain, and suddenly resuming an upright attitude and speaking in tones marvellously like those of an angry man, the Ghost turned to the audience, and said sharply, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we’ll have to stop the performance till the mother removes that yelling young ’un from this hall.”
Without a protest the young mother rose, and, despite the increased lamentations of her offspring and his vigorous bodily contortions, departed; and at last, when “the infant with no language but a cry,” as Bob afterward described the scene, could no longer be heard, the play was resumed.
No one had appeared to be surprised at the interruption, and Ethan had never once glanced at the boys. Dignified and unmoved he sat watching the stage as if such slight deviations from the words of the “Immortal Shakespeare” were not able to divert his attention, and he had slight sympathy for those who would even look about them to discover whose baby it was that was now creating the disturbance.