The woman went out to interrogate her husband, and Helen returned to her
writing, but in a few minutes Latimer came in again.
"Is them letters you are at?" he asked, as she folded a sheet and
slipped it into her reticule.
"Yes," she replied. "I hope to send them away when the lake opens."
"Your post will be long in going," he said, wagging his head. "It may
take a month to clear the ice off the bay, and there ain't a single
post-office anywheres this side o' Little York, and being as the Yankees
fight well on the lakes, it might be dangerous to send letters that way
even when they was open."
"Letters will keep," replied Helen, serenely, "And the Americans cannot
always have it their own way."
"I didn't say they could; only what you have writ down will be an old
story before you get it off your hands."
"Old stories are said to be the best, you know."
"So I've heerd. It's none of my bizness, anyhow, an' as I tell my old
woman, you can do as you durned please."
He threw back his head and cackled in apology for his rudeness, while
Helen folded her tablets and put on her wraps to go out. The hazy sun
was still an hour high. On the hill she could see her future home, with
walls up and rafter poles in place, and not far from it sounded the
"yo-heave" of the men who, with long pikes, were raising the logs of the
larger building.
Gathering up her skirts to keep them out of the melting snow, Helen
hastened over to the scene. Harold was superintending the men on one
side as she joined him.
"That'll be our new home, sweetheart," he said, nodding toward the
farther building. "How do you like it?"
"Logs all round, it looks queer," was her answer.
"Yes, but the shingles have to go on yet."
"What about doors and windows?"
"They will cut holes in the sides to-day, and put them in afterwards."
"What a ninny I am not to think of it! How hard the men work!"
"Yes; this house, too, has to be up to-night, and made ready for
shingles as well."
"Oh, if the rain would only keep off!"
"Yes, that would be grand. In the meantime we are all doing our best."
Some men were splitting pine logs into slabs and hewing them down for
roof planks, and already they were being laid on the rafters of Helen's
house. Others were preparing shingles, chinking walls and cutting
apertures. Doorways, jamways, chimneys, were all being made. Every one
was busy.
By the next afternoon much had been accomplished. Each man's coat was
off--work was unabated--no rain had fallen--but heavy clouds covered the
sky--and Bateese's prediction seemed likely of fulfilment.
The shingling of Helen's house had been finished. A log fire was burning
on the andirons to dry the dampness and take away the green, while men
were doing their best in many ways to make it habitable.
"Can I have my boxes brought in now?" Helen asked of Harold. "There's
the first drop of rain."
"Yes, if the rubbish can be cleared out of the way."
"Emmiline and I will see to that."
Then Bateese and the soldiers brought over what was personal for Helen's
cottage; while she, her faithful Emmiline and Harold, did the rest.
In the preparations of the officers' house progress had been slower, but
as it was evident that rain would be upon them heavily by night, the
energies of the men were taxed to their utmost. Bit by bit the place was
put in order, and load after load of goods were brought in and piled at
random even before the roof was closed in.
"The shingling must be finished, no matter how it rains," cried Captain
Payne, "and every man shall have an extra ration of grog when it is
done. The officers will occupy this house to-night, no matter what
happens."
The promise of extra liquor, for all were wet, stimulated to greater
exertion, and valiantly the men obeyed orders. By night rain came down
in torrents. Though drenched to the skin, the shinglers continued their
work until the last one was laid, and beneath the sheltering roof of
their new cottage Sir George and his officers gathered together before
the night closed in.
Still, the walls of the barracks were only partly up, and for that night
the men, notwithstanding the rain, were obliged to return to their old
quarters. So with the women in the _Bumble Bee_, Harold and Helen in
their new cottage, the officers in their house, and the men in their old
camp, the night wore on.
By-and-bye the east wind veered to the south. With warmer air and rain
the snow and ice melted rapidly away. But toward morning another change
came. The wind swept to the west and increased to a hurricane; savagely
the frozen surface of the bay broke up, toppling huge waves over each
other in fury, and forcing the ice blocks out to the freer space along
the eastern shore. So mad was the wind, so wild the elements, bursting
free from the icy grip of winter--that the lake at Beausoliel tossed
mountains high in a white-capped sea of foam. The trouble, however, was
not in the distance, but at hand.
During the earlier hours of the night, tired out by their day's work,
the men slept soundly, notwithstanding the tempest. The pine-needle
padding of the roofs of the camp in some measure protected the bunks
from leakage; and, as the soldier heeds not the storm, save when
summoned to duty, on they slept. By-and-bye the wind increased in savage
fury. Stakes loosened, camp poles swayed, and at the earliest dawn the
sentry sounded the alarm. But it was none too soon. The men had scarcely
time to spring to their feet and don their jackets before the crash
came. There were oaths and yells and confusion; clashing of timbers and
popping of heads through the debris; while not a few derisive laughs
rang out above the sound of the screeching wind.
"What a devilish row!" cried Corporal Bond to Hardman, as they fell over
each other in making their exit. "A complete flattener. Pray God, none
o' the boys are killed."
"It beats all," returned Hardman, as a flying stick struck him on the
head and knocked him over. But he was up in a moment, vigorously rubbing
the place. "Jimminy Isaacs! Lucky the women are in the boat," he yelled
out.
"Is it, though?" cried the Corporal, as a wild shout came from the
stormy bay beneath them.
"Ba gosh! Vat's de matter wid de _Bumble Bee_?" yelled Bateese, who,
after crawling from beneath a stack of pine poles, rushed to their side.
There was commotion down there, no doubt, though what it was the
darkness hid from view. Away went Bateese, running with tremendous
strides and followed by others, realizing that possibly the women might
be in danger.
Protected from wind and wave by the island already mentioned, the ice
between the latter and the shore withstood the force of the tempest the
longest. At the northern end of the protected channel lay the _Bumble
Bee_, and while stationary in the ice, the storm failed to rouse the
occupants. The sudden veering of the wind, however, changed the
flattened surface into a boiling cauldron. Tumultuously, the ice, worn
thin by the prolonged thaw, was broken into fragments, and the little
ship, frozen solid at her moorings for the whole of the winter, was
suddenly cast loose upon the waters.
Latimer and his wife were both roused by the lurch of the boat. As an
old seaman, he knew at once what had happened. The rudder, too, was
gone, and he called loudly for assistance. At the same moment the women
screamed, for the boat tossed like a cockle shell beneath them.
"Be easy, now," cried Latimer. "Don't make fools of yourselves! This
ain't the first sail the _Bumble Bee_ ever made."
"If it ain't the first, it's the last," retorted his wife, fiercely.
"Bet your bottom dollar she'll make many another yet. Hello, Bateese!
Ketch this rope when I throw it."
But the distance was too great.
"Hold on, wait a meenit," and Bateese ran to a pile of young beeches
that had been cut as pike poles for building.
"That 'tarnal Frenchman," muttered Latimer. "The rudder's broken, and
we'll drift out of reach before he's back again."
But Bateese knew better.
"Tie loop on rope," he yelled as he hurried back. "Den we catch heem wid
pole."
"Here's one for ye," and with tremendous effort Latimer threw out the
line again. As it uncoiled the end fell between fragments of ice ten
feet from the shore.
"Dere, I tole you. Him no reach de bank, but nevare min', we catch heem
all de same." And stretching out to his utmost he hooked the fork of the
beech into the open end of the cable and drew it in. Being taut, there
was barely enough to reach the shore.
"Give us more rope," shouted Bond. Another yard was paid out.
"Not another inch to spare," cried Latimer.
But the men had got hold of it and were pulling with all their might.
Still, the force of the current was a match for them, and it was not
until reinforced that they succeeded in drawing the boat in and lashing
it to a tree.
Necessity for self-control was now over, and Bateese sprung excitedly on
to the _Bumble Bee_.
"Oh, ma Emmiline. Mon cher ami!" Throwing his arms about his wife: "Mine
sweetheart--vive ma reine."
"Oui, oui, Bateese!" she replied, the tears running on each side down
her face, "but don't be so fooleesh."
The Englishmen were not so demonstrative. Hardman extended his hand to
help his wife to terra firma, she vowing that she would "never sleep on
that old thing again"; while Bond chaffed his wife good-naturedly for
"rasin' such a din in the fo'castle of the bloomin' boat."
By this time it was daylight. The bugle sounded the men to mess, and the
day promising to be fine, orders were given to push the barracks for the
men, and to occupy them the coming night. All of which by diligent
effort they were able to accomplish.
Having followed our heroine and the officers and soldiers of the two
companies of the 100th through their long and arduous march, locating
them finally at Penetang, and watching with interest their efforts at
the establishment of a fort, we must bid them adieu for a time and
return to the east in order to record other incidents which have an
important bearing upon our story.