other little cotton-tails scampering off to their burrows in wild
affright, he fastened his long claws in the back of his unfortunate
disturber, and, without even stopping to say grace, made a dinner off
him on the spot.
That was a red-letter day in the owl's calendar. Thenceforth he
revelled in rabbit for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and, had he been a
very greedy owl, might have kept his discovery of a rabbit bonanza all
to himself; but he didn't. With a splendid unselfishness which some
bipeds without feathers might advantageously imitate, he had no sooner
recruited his strength than off he posted to the mainland to spread the
good news.
Four days later he came back, but not alone this time. Bearing him
company were his brothers, his sisters, his cousins, his uncles, and his
aunts, in such numbers that ere the summer ended there was not a
solitary bunny left upon the island!
Since then the place has been restocked, and there having been no return
of the owls, the rabbits, despite the fact that great numbers of them
are killed for food, have so multiplied as to become a positive
nuisance, and the experience of Australia being in view, the
advisability of their extermination is seriously considered.
Besides the rabbits, there have been, at different times, the following
animals upon Sable Island--namely, the black fox, white bear, walrus,
and seals; wild horses, cattle, and swine; rats, cats, and dogs. That
makes quite a long list. Of course so small and bare an island could
never have held them all at once.
Now they are all gone except the rabbits, the horses, of which several
hundreds still scamper wild over the sand dunes, and the seals, which
come every year to introduce their shiny little whelps into the world,
and to grow fat on the fish hurled continually upon the beach by the
tireless breakers.
It is a great many years since the black fox, white bear, and walrus
were last seen upon the island. Too much money could be made out of
them when dead for the fishermen, who knew of their presence, to let
them live long; and so with powder and shot and steel they were
ruthlessly exterminated. The beautiful skins of the black fox, worth
one hundred golden crowns each, went principally to France, where they
were made up into splendid robes for royalty.
Just how the wild horses and cattle found their way to Sable Island is
not positively known.
They were first heard of in those early days when ships loaded with
cattle, grain, and farming utensils were coming over in little fleets
from Europe to help to settle America. In all likelihood some of these
vessels got cast away on the island--for it has ever been a dreadful
place for wrecks--and in some way the animals managed to scramble safe
ashore, and thus the place became populated.
The wild cattle disappeared early in the century; but the horses, or
rather ponies, are still there, and very interesting creatures they are.
Winter and summer they are out on the sand in all weathers. Indeed,
they scorn to go under cover even in the wildest storms; and although
shelters have been built for them, they will not deign to enter them.
Another curious thing about them is that they are never seen to lie
down, and apparently go to sleep standing.
There are now about four hundred of these ponies, divided into troops,
each under the charge and control of an old stallion, whose shaggy,
unkempt mane and tail sweep the ground as he stands sentinel over his
numerous family.
They belong to the Dominion Government, and it has been usual to cull
out some forty or fifty of the best of them each year and send them up
to Halifax, where they command good prices.
They are stanch, sturdy little animals, and very serviceable when
properly broken. In my boyhood days I rejoiced in the possession of a
fine bay that, barring a provoking habit of pitching an unwary rider
over his head, was a great source of enjoyment.
The manner of catching the ponies is for a number of mounted men to
surround a band and drive it into a corral in which a tame pony has been
placed as a decoy. This is often a very exciting experience: the
cracking of whips, shouting of men, neighing of ponies, combine with the
plunging of the frightened captives and the gallant charges of the
enraged stallions to make up a scene not readily forgotten.
Once safely corraled, the best males are picked out and lassoed, and the
rest turned loose to breathe the salt air of freedom once more.
As the breed has been observed to be degenerating greatly of late years,
means have been taken to improve it, and it is probable that ere long
Sable Island ponies will be more desirable than ever.
A very amusing thing in connection with animal life on Sable Island is
the story of the rats, cats, and dogs.
First of all were the rats, who are reputed to be very clever about
deserting sinking ships, and who here found plenty of opportunity to
show their cleverness, for wrecks are always happening. They thus
became so plentiful that they threatened to eat the human inhabitants
out of house and home. Indeed, they did make them do without bread for
three whole months upon one occasion.
This state of things, of course, could not be tolerated. A large number
of cats were accordingly imported, and they soon cleared the premises of
the rapacious rodents. But it was not long ere the pussies in their turn
grew so numerous, wild, and fierce as to become a source of serious
trouble. A small army of dogs was therefore brought upon the scene, and
they made short work of the cats, thus rounding out a very curious
cycle.
Did space permit I could tell something about the seals, and their very
quaint and attractive ways and manners. But perhaps enough has been
already written to convince readers that however lonely, barren, and
insignificant Sable Island may seem, it has an interesting story of its
own which is well worth the telling.
*THE BORE OF MINAS BASIN.*
Upon the side of one of the rounded hills that rise up gently from the
wonderful sea of verdure which Longfellow, without ever looking upon it
for himself, immortalized in his "Evangeline," Acacia Villa nestled
cozily in the midst of many trees. Long lines of poplars stood
sentinel-like up and down the house front, and marked out the garden
boundaries, furnishing abundant supplies of "peppers" for the boys in
spring-time; and, better still, a whole regiment of apple and pear trees
marshalled itself at the back, filling the hearts (and mouths) of both
young and old with delight in the autumn, when the boughs bent so
temptingly beneath their burden of fruitage. There could hardly be a
more attractive location for a boarding-school; and seeing what
comfortable quarters Mr. Thomson provided, and how thoroughly he
understood the business of teaching, it was no wonder that boys came not
only from all parts of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, but even from the
United States, to be grounded in classics, mathematics, and literature
under his direction.
The last boarder left Acacia Villa long ago, but twenty years back its
dormitories were filled to their utmost capacity with lads of all ages
and sizes, and the whole neighbourhood felt the stirring influence of
twoscore lively, hearty, noisy boys in its midst. For nearly ten months
out of the year the school was like a hive of bees in honey-time--the
term beginning in September and finishing in June. It was coming on
toward midsummer now, and excitement ran high throughout the school; for
while the drones were looking forward longingly to the holidays which
would release them from all horrid lesson-learning for a couple of
months, the workers were even more eagerly expecting the final
examinations, when books, bats, balls, knives, and other things dear to
the schoolboy's heart, were offered by wise Mr. Thomson to the boys who
came out ahead in the different branches of study. The two boys
strolling down toward the river this fine summer afternoon were good
representatives of the two classes--Frank Hamilton being one of the
brightest and most ambitious, as Tom Peters, or "Buntie" in the saucy
slang of his schoolmates, was one of the dullest and least aspiring in
the school. Yet, somehow or other, they had been great chums ever since
they came by the same coach to the Villa two years before. One could
easily understand that lazy, good-natured "Buntie" should find much to
admire and love in handsome, manly, clever Frank, who was indeed a born
leader; but just what Frank found in Tom to make him so fond of him
puzzled everybody, from Mr. Thomson down. In whatever lay the secret,
the fact was clear that the boys loved each other like brothers; and the
master, who delighted in classical allusions, used to greet them as
Damon and Pythias when he encountered them together. They were
discussing the approaching examinations, and speculating as to the
prizes Mr. Thomson would offer this year.
"No apples for me on that tree," said Tom; adding with rather a rueful
smile, "If Mr. Thomson would only offer a prize for the most lickings
and impositions, I guess I'd run the best chance for it."
"Never mind, old boy," said Frank, consolingly. "You weren't cut out
for a scholar, that's clear; but you'll come out all right at something
else, and perhaps make a bigger name than even 'Yankee' himself,
although it wouldn't do to let him hear you say so."
"I'm 'fraid I'd have a poor sight to beat Yankee at anything," answered
Tom. "But say, Frank, how do you feel about giving him the go-by for
the Starr prize? It 'ud break my heart if you didn't come out first."
"Well, to tell the truth, Buntie, I don't feel any too cocky about it.
Yankee's a tough customer to beat," replied Frank. "But, hush! he's
coming right behind us. Must be going down to the river too, though it's
more like him to stick in his room and grind."
And as a tall, slight, dark-faced lad of about sixteen went past them
without exchange of greetings, the two friends stopped talking and went
on in silence.
"Yankee" was the nickname given to one of the American boys at the
school. He had been thus distinguished because both in face and figure
he bore some resemblance to the typical Uncle Sam, being longer, leaner,
and sallower than any of his companions. He was of a quiet, reserved
disposition, and had few friends. Indeed, he did not seem to desire
many, but kept very much to himself, so that a lot of the boys disliked
him. Yet, on the other hand, others respected although they might not
love him; for not only did he divide with Frank Hamilton, whom they all
worshipped, the highest honours in scholarship, but once, when scarlet
fever broke out and seized upon six of the smallest boys before they
could escape to their homes, "Yankee," or, to give him his proper name,
Emory Haynes, although he had never had the fever himself, stayed with
Mr. Thomson through many anxious weeks, and watched night after night by
the sufferers' bedsides, showing such tact and devotion as a nurse that
the doctor said at least two of the boys would never have been saved
from death had it not been for his help.
Walking with a rapid, almost impatient step that was characteristic of
him, Emory Haynes passed the two friends, all three directing their
course toward the Gaspereaux River, which cuts a wide red gash through
the Grand Pre before adding its turbid torrent to the tossing waters of
Minas Basin.
"If Yankee beats me for the Starr prize, it will be the biggest
disappointment of my life," continued Frank. "It's not every day that a
fellow can get hold of five pounds in bright big gold pieces; and father
has promised if I win it to chip in as much more and buy me a splendid
boat."
"O Frank, you're sure to get it. Yankee works like a slave, to be sure,
but he hasn't half as good a head on him," answered Tom confidently.
"I'm not by any means certain of that, Tom. Just see how easily he gets
through his mathematics. He's sure to beat me on that, and I'll have to
make up for it by beating him in classics. Anyhow, it is no use
worrying about it now. Let's hurry up and have a dip."
So dropping the subject, the two boys ran off at a rate that soon
brought them to the river bank.
Here a lovely picture awaited them. From their feet the red banks of
clay and sand stretched hundreds of yards away (for the tide was out),
until they were lapped by the river, now shrunk into a narrow, sluggish
stream. To right and left and beyond the river the wide, level marsh
lands, redeemed from the water by the patient toil of the Acadians, were
waist-deep in verdure that swayed in long lines of light and shadow
before the summer breeze. Not far off began the great dikes that sweep
clear round the outer edge of the Grand Pre, the only elevation on all
that vast plain, and now waving to their summits with "dusty-blossomed
grass." Behind them the hills rose gently in fold upon fold, their
broad shoulders flecked with frequent patches of golden grain or the
dark foliage of the orchards; while over all rose a glorious summer sun
that seemed to thrill the whole landscape with life and warmth and
glory.
But the boys had no eyes for all this beauty. They were far more
concerned about the tide, and felt inclined to resent very warmly the
fact that it should be out just when they wanted to have a swim.
"What a fraud!" exclaimed Frank. "'Pon my word, I believe the old tide
is twice as much out as it is in; now isn't it, Buntie?"
"It is, sure's you're born," assented Tom. "There's nothing for it, I
suppose, but to wait;" and so saying, he threw himself down in the long
grass, his friend immediately following his example.
Twenty yards away Emory Haynes was already seated with his face turned
riverward, apparently lost in deep thought.
"Wonder what Yankee's thinking about?" remarked Tom. "Puzzling out some
of those confounded problems he does so easily, perhaps," he added
feelingly, for he had had some humiliating experiences of his own
inability to get over the _Pons Asinorum_ safely, or to explain why _a_
was equal to _x_ under certain perplexing circumstances.
"More probably planning what he'll do with that five pounds," said
Frank, half petulantly. "I guess it's more likely to go into books than
into a boat if he gets hold of it."
"But he isn't going to get hold of it," objected Tom; and then, without
giving Frank a chance to reply, he burst out, "Oh, I say, Frank, suppose
instead of waiting here we go down to meet the bore and have a race back
with it."
[Illustration: "THEY SAW THEIR COMPANION EMBEDDED NEARLY TO THE WAIST IN
A QUICKSAND."]
Frank hesitated a moment before answering, for what Tom proposed was a
very rash thing to do. What is known as the "bore" is the big wave
produced by the onrush of water in a place where the tides rise forty,
fifty, or even sixty feet, according to the time of year. The Bay of
Fundy, of which Minas Basin is a branch, is famous for these wonderful
tides, and the movements of the water make a sight well worth watching.
The two boys had often looked on with lively interest as the returning
flood rushed eagerly up the channel and over the flats, until in an
incredibly short time what had been a waste of red mud was transformed
into a broad expanse of turbid water.
"Rather a risky business, Tom, but I don't mind trying it. I'm in the
humour for almost anything to-day; so come along."
And without more ado the boys doffed their boots and stockings, rolled
up their trousers, and set out for the water's edge. Emory Haynes
watched them in silence until they had gone about fifty yards. Then, as
if divining their foolish design, he called after them,--
"Frank--Tom--where are you going to?"
"Going to meet the bore. Don't you want to come?" Frank shouted back.
"Come along, Yankee, if you're not afraid," he added, in a half scornful
tone.
Not the words, but the tone in which they were uttered, brought an angry
flush out on Emory's sallow cheeks, and without stopping to think of the
folly of the thing, he too flung off his boots and started after the
others.
"Blessed if Yankee isn't coming, after all," said Tom, under his breath,
to Frank. "The chap's got plenty of grit in him."
Side by side, but in silence--for somehow or other they felt ill at
ease--the three boys picked their way carefully over the slippery mud
and soft sand, keeping a sharp look-out for the sink-holes or
quicksands, in which they might easily sink to their waists, or even
deeper, at one plunge. Hardly had they reached the edge of the channel
when Frank, who had been gazing down intently toward the Basin, called
out,--
"There it comes, fellows. Doesn't it look grand?"
A good way off still, but drawing nearer with astonishing speed, a wall
of dark foam-topped water came rushing up the channel and over the
thirsty flats. It was several feet in height, and behind it followed
the whole vast volume of the tide.
The three lads had never been so close to the bore before, and they
stood still and silent watching the grand sight until a shout from Emory
broke the spell.
"Now then, boys, let's run for it."
As fast as their feet could carry them they sped over the treacherous
greasy flats, leaping the gaping gullies, turning aside from the
suspicious spots, and steering straight for the place where they had
left their shoes. Frank and Tom were both famous runners, and soon
outstripped Emory; in fact, they were more than half-way to the bank,
when a sharp cry of alarm made them stop and turn to see what was the
matter. One glance was enough to tell them. Twenty yards behind they
saw their companion embedded nearly to the waist in a quicksand, from
which he was madly struggling to extricate himself, while his efforts
seemed only to sink him the deeper. His situation was one of extreme
peril. The bore had somewhat spent its force, but still advanced
steadily. Unless Emory was rescued without delay, he would be buried
beneath its pitiless flood.
For one brief instant Frank hesitated, and Tom, as usual, waited for him
to lead. Thoughts of the personal risk, the small chance of succeeding,
and even--though ever after the mere recollection of it made his cheek
burn with shame--of the advantage it would be to have his rival out of
the way, throbbed through his brain. But it was only for an instant;
and then with a shout of "Keep cool, Yankee; we're coming!" he grasped
Tom's arm, and together they sprang to the rescue. Running with all
their might, they reached their imperilled schoolmate just a second
before the bore did, and standing on either side the treacherous spot
were able to each seize a hand, and with one tremendous effort draw him
out of its deadly embrace ere the great wave came sweeping down upon
them, tumbling them over like nine-pins into the midst of its muddy
surges. Fortunately, however, all three were good swimmers, and they
had only to allow the water to work its will with them, for after a
little tossing about it landed them safely on a sand-bank, whence they
could easily wade ashore.
Emory did not say much to his rescuers. It was not his way. But no one
could mistake the depth of feeling expressed in the few words,--
"Frank, you've saved my life, and I'll never forget it."
Two weeks later the examinations came off, and amid the applause of the
school Frank Hamilton was declared winner of the Starr prize, Emory
Haynes being only just a few points behind him. Mr. Thomson was very
well pleased at the result; but there was one thing that puzzled him a
good deal--Emory, who was by far the best mathematical scholar in the
school, had somehow or other done by no means so well in that branch as
usual. In fact, he had actually left several not over-difficult
questions altogether unanswered, and this more than anything else had
lost him the prize. Mr. Thomson mentioned the matter to Frank Hamilton,
at the same time expressing his surprise.
"I'm not surprised," said Frank, as something that looked very like
tears welled up in his eyes. "When I saved Yankee's life he said he'd
never forget it. That's how he kept his word."
Mr. Thomson needed no further explanation.
*THE GAME OF RINK HOCKEY.*
The part performed by Canada in making contributions to the list of the
world's amusements has been by no means slight. Lacrosse and canoeing
for the warm bright days of summer, snow-shoeing and tobogganing for the
crisp cold nights of winter, these make up a quartette of healthy,
hearty sports, the superiors of which, in their appropriate season, any
other country might safely be challenged to show. But apparently this
ambitious colony is not content with the laurels already won, and in the
bringing of the game of rink hockey to perfection would add another to
her garland; for this fine game, as played in the Canadian cities
to-day, is, without question, a distinctly home product.
Not that hockey is native to the soil in the same sense as lacrosse. In
a simpler form, and under different names, it has long existed in
England; but the difference between the game as played there on the
green and played in Canada on the ice, is as great as that between an
old-fashioned game of rounders and a professional game of base-ball.
The most ancient account of hockey is to be found in that dear,
delightful old book, Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes of the People of
England," where it figures under the name of "bandy ball,"--what is now
called the hockey stick being then known as the "bandy;" and there is
attached to the description a comical little woodcut representing two
boys in short frocks, each wielding bandies almost as big as themselves,
playing with a ball half the size of their heads.
As first played in Canada, hockey went by various names, some of which
were apparently merely local--hurley, shinny, rickets, and so forth, It
was played only upon the ice in winter-time, and there was not much
pretence to rules, each player taking part as best he knew how. No
effort toward systematizing the game appears to have been made until the
year 1875, when the members of the Montreal Football Club, in search of
some lively athletic amusement for the long winter months, recognized in
hockey the very thing they wanted.
At first the rules adopted for the regulation of the game were modelled
upon those of the English Hockey Association. But as the game
developed, many changes were found necessary in adapting it to the
requirements of a rink, and the rules now used by the Amateur Hockey
Association of Canada are in the main original with it.
Starting from Montreal, the game has made its way to Halifax and St.
John on the east, and to Ottawa and Toronto on the west, and from the
enthusiasm with which it has been taken up at these cities, it actually
threatens to displace tobogganing and snow-shoeing in the affections of
the young men.
Let me now try to give my readers some idea of the game and the way in
which it is played. Please picture to yourselves a skating-rink with an
ice surface one hundred and fifty feet in length by seventy-five feet in
width. At either end, close to the platform, are the goals, consisting
of two slender poles placed six feet apart, and standing four feet high,
with small red flags at their peaks. Such is the field of battle, and
upon it the players take their places. They are dressed much as they
would be for football, except that their feet are shod with skates of a
peculiar make, the heel projecting more than in an ordinary skate, in
order to guard against getting a nasty fall when heeling up suddenly.
Each player is armed with a hockey stick, as to the size of which the
only rule is that it shall not be more than three inches wide at any
part. A good stick should be made of a single piece of ash, bent, not
sawed, into the proper curve, of the length and weight the player finds
to suit him best. The bone of contention between the contending sides
is called the puck, and is a circular piece of vulcanized rubber one
inch thick all through, and three inches in diameter. It is slightly
elastic, and will rebound from the board sides of the rink if sent
violently against them; a fact which enables an expert player to evade
an opponent charging down to wrest it from him, as by striking the puck
against the boards, and picking it up again on the rebound, he can keep
on his way unchecked.