CAPTAIN JOE'S NIGHT VISIT
"I really would like to know," Case observed, "whether those fellows
are real wreckers, or whether they have been waiting there for the
_Rambler_ to come back down the river. You know the story was printed
that we were coming back to look up the lost channel."
"I don't know of any way of finding out unless we go to shore," Alex
suggested, looking very much as if he would like to pay a visit to the
blaze. "We might learn something of importance," he added rather
coaxingly. "Suppose we do go and see."
"If you try to leave this boat to-night," Clay declared, "I'll tie you
up with one of the anchor cables. We haven't got any time to waste
hunting for you. So you stay on board the boat."
Alex did not exactly like the idea of going quietly to bed, but he was
finally induced to do so.
"Now," said Captain Joe, as he stood alone on deck with Clay, "suppose
we shove over to the other shore. Those fellows are wreckers, there is
no doubt of that, and there is no sense in our mixing with them. If we
stay here, they'll prowl around the _Rambler_ all night, and the
bulldog will bark and the bear will growl, and it will be like
sleeping in a boiler shop. What do you say to that?"
"That suits me exactly," Clay answered.
"Then I'll tell you what we'll do. From the point where we tie
to-night, we'll pass down the river on the north side. That will bring
us in behind Cartier island, and we can push up the west river instead
of the east one, which seemed to be the center of activity when you
were there."
"That's another good suggestion," Clay agreed.
"The west river," the old captain went on, "is a small stream in
comparison with the other. There's a funny thing about it that I never
could understand. I was in there once, landing supplies for a
surveying party and it seemed to me then that that stream never grew
to any size until it came within a mile or so of the isthmus which
connects the peninsula with the main shore."
"Then there must be some tributary of good size there," said Clay.
"That's just the point," the captain went on. "There isn't any
tributary of good size there. The peninsula is very narrow and slopes
steeply to the west. In fact, the river to the east is several feet
higher than the one on the west. That's one reason why I think there
never was any channel through there."
"That is true," Clay answered. "You see, a channel through there,
running at the rate the incline would naturally call for, would cut a
hole through that neck of land about as wide as one of the main
rivers. Why, it would drain the big river and turn all the water into
the small stream. At least, it looks that way to me."
"Oh, I don't know about that," the captain answered, "there's a lot of
water in that east river. Still, there's no channel there and never
was so far as I can understand. Now, what I can't understand is, how
this west river gets so big all at once. There may be a creek running
in at the other side, but if there is, I never found it."
"You seem to understand that district pretty well," Clay laughed.
"Didn't I tell you I knew the whole St. Lawrence river south, north,
and bottom?" demanded the captain. "Why, when I took that load of
provisions in for the surveyors, there were Indians enough along the
shore to give a city a population as large as Chicago's. And there
were bears, and wolves, and deer, and beaver, and all sorts of wild
creatures in the woods--thick as berries in a swamp."
During this conversation the two had been watching the shore where the
light had sprung up. With a night glass they could see figures passing
in front of the blaze, but the beacon, if such it was, soon died down
to embers, and nothing more was heard from the shore.
They both listened for the sound of oars in the river, but none came.
The tide was running in and the current was running out, with the
result that great ranks of waves lay across the wide river like
winnows in a field of grain. The wind blew sweeping up from the gulf,
opposing the current, and, taken altogether, it was as dangerous and
uncertain a night on the river as one could well imagine.
The _Rambler_ danced and bobbed about frightfully, drawing at her
anchor and seeming to lunge forward in the waste of water. However,
she was a staunch little craft, and the boys were used to her capers
on the waves, and so paid little attention.
"They wouldn't dare to venture out in a boat to-night," was Clay's
comment. "Besides," he added, "they know now that we are suspicious
and watchful, and, unless I am greatly in error, we will hear no more
of them."
"Shall we go across now?" asked the captain.
"I'm ready if you think we can make it."
The captain chuckled again and his shoulders shook.
"Make it?" he repeated. "Of course we can make it."
"The tide and the wind are fighting the current," Clay suggested, "and
all we'll have to do will be to fight the waves."
It was rather rough getting to the north shore, but the trip was made
without accident, except that Jule was thrown from his bunk and
Captain Joe, the dog, and Teddy protested against the storm in ways
best known to bulldogs and bears. Jule merely rubbed his eyes and
crawled back into his bunk.
They found a place to anchor where the _Rambler_ would be protected
during the night by a finger of rock running out into the river. All
along the shore to the north was a heavy forest. The trees swayed and
creaked in the wind, and now and then a crash from the interior told
of the falling of some monarch of the forest which had doubtless
withstood the storms of the St. Lawrence valley for hundreds of years.
It was a wild night on the river and on the land, but the boys slept
peacefully until morning. As for Captain Joe, he declared that it
reminded him so much of old nights on the banks of Newfoundland that
he wanted to sit up and refresh his recollection of those adventurous
times.
Clay rather suspected that the old captain was too apprehensive of
evil from the wreckers, or accidents from the storm, to go to bed, but
he let him have his way, and the hardy old fellow seemed as bright and
active as ever in the morning. He even declined to go to the cabin for
rest when the boys insisted that he ought to do so.
"We'll get rest enough when we get down to the west river," the
captain smiled. "I can sleep in the woods."
"That's just where we won't get any rest," Jule urged.
"Huh," murmured Alex. "That's where I get my rest! The natives were so
afraid that I'd tire myself walking around that they trussed me up
like a hen. I'd just like to get a hold of some of those outlaws.
They're the limit--the worst I ever encountered."
"What did they do to you?" asked Captain Joe.
"Do to me?" repeated Alex. "Why, they had a stew, or a boiled dinner,
or something, cooking in a tin pail over a fire, and they wouldn't
give me a thing to eat. And that is the height of meanness!"
As if repenting of the violence of the day before, and trying to make
restitution for the many blows at the sad old world, the weather that
morning was all that could have been desired. The air was clear and
sweet after its bath of rain, and the leaves of the forest sparkled
and rustled like jewels as the sun shone upon their moist surfaces.
The boys made good time that day, although they did not feel inclined
to hurry. Alex took the canoe out in the forenoon and caught half a
dozen fish which he cleaned for dinner. The boy wanted to go ashore
and prepare the dinner a la Indian again, but the others insisted that
they really wanted a fish dinner, so the catch was baked in the oven
of the coal stove. The boys claim to this day that Alex consumed half
of the fish that he caught, but of course Alex disputes this.
At sundown they anchored the _Rambler_ within four or five miles of
the west river, in a little bay which ran into the mainland almost
behind the westward extension of Cartier island.
No lights were shown on the boat, supper having been prepared in the
dark, and the boys sat along the deck fighting mosquitoes and
listening to the calls of the wild creatures in the woods.
The point they had selected for their anchorage was directly west of
Point aux Outardes, and when the moon rose the boys naturally turned
their eyes in that direction. Although the point was fully four miles
away, a rocky promontory could be seen standing sharply out against
the dark line of the forest.
"Captain," Alex said, as they sat back of the gunwale on the prow, "I
wish you'd take this glass and see what you can discover on that
point."
Captain Joe took the glass into his hand and held it for a long time,
swinging it back and forth over the shore to the north, and over the
river line of Cartier island. Then he handed it back to Alex.
"I'll tell you," he said slowly, "there's a campfire over on the
point, and there are many people around it. At least I see figures
moving back and forth."
"Perhaps that is a base of supplies for the fellows who are trying to
find the lost channel in order to beat Fontenelle to the charter and
the family jewels," Clay suggested.
"It doesn't seem as if they would camp in so conspicuous a place."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Case said, "they have nothing to fear
from officers or wreckers. They are only hunting for a lost treasure,
which any one may find who is lucky enough to get to it."
"Let's go and call on them," suggested Alex.
"I prefer to live a little longer," Case laughed.
"Aw, come on, they won't hurt us," Alex argued, "I'm going."
The boys laughed at the idea and Alex said no more about the proposed
excursion, but Clay suggested to Captain Joe after the others were in
their bunks:
"We must watch that little rascal, or he'll get up in the night and
run over there. He's always doing tricks of that kind, and some time
he'll get into serious trouble."
Captain Joe pretended to regard the situation as very serious, and
said that he would see that Alex didn't get away from the boat that
night. With this Clay seemed contented. The old captain insisted on
keeping watch again that night, but if the boys had been about the
deck they would have seen very little of him, for all that.
As soon as the others were asleep, the captain untied the tow line of
the canoe, stepped softly into it, and paddled away in the direction
of the north shore. So far as possible he kept the bulk of the
_Rambler_ between himself and the point where the light had been seen.
Reaching the margin of the bay, he turned to the east and paddled
straight to the mouth of the west river. After an hour of steady work,
he reached a point a little east and directly north of Point aux
Outardes. Nothing could be seen of the fire or the figures about it
from the north, and the captain boldly crossed the arm of the bay
stretching in behind Cartier island. In half an hour he was on the
island itself, and separated only by a few rods of mingled rocks and
bushes from the point.
Advancing cautiously to the south he came within view of the blaze and
within hearing of much of the conversation going on there.
The night hours passed slowly. The moon swung to the south and off to
the west, and the shadows lay long in the forest before the old
captain moved from his point of observation. Then with a chuckle he
crept back to his canoe, and long before the boys were out of their
bunks he was fishing over the gunwale of the _Rambler_ in the most
innocent manner imaginable. The old fellow chuckled as he dropped his
line.
"That bay stretching in behind the peninsula," he mused, "looks to me
just as it did a good many years ago. No improvements seem to have
been made there notwithstanding the work of the surveyors, and the
country is just as desolate as it was then. If I had had a little more
time I might have paddled up to the mouth of the west river and looked
over the situation there, but daylight showed too soon."
"What's that you're muttering about?" asked Alex clapping a hand on
the old captain's arm. "You must be talking in your sleep."
"Not that any one knows of," chuckled the old captain. "I was only
saying that from here the country looks exactly as it used to."
"And my stomach feels exactly as it used to," Alex declared. "You
catch the fish, and I'll cook 'em, and we'll tumble the boys out for
breakfast. They're sleeping too long, anyway."
This program was followed to the letter, and before noon the _Rambler_
lay up the west river about a mile from the bay creeping in behind
Cartier island. At first no one left the boat, however.
"Do you remember what the chief of police said about Fontenelle's boat
and a lot of perfectly good provisions lying on the bottom of the
river?" asked Clay as the boys lounged on deck.
"Indeed I do," replied Case. "I've been thinking it would be a fine
thing if we could find that boat."
"I have found it!" Clay exclaimed.
"Yes, you have!" Case said, doubtfully.
"Sure, I have," Clay went on. "When we swung in past Point aux
Outarde, you were all watching the point to see what had become of the
men who camped there last night, while I was searching the bay on the
north side looking for some signs of the wreck of the _Cartier_."
"And you found it, did you?" Case cried excitedly.
"Sure, I found it," Clay declared. "It lays bottom down in about
fifteen feet of water, with the top of the cabin showing plainly."