Transcriber's Note:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=.
Accentuation and spelling in French quotations has not been corrected.
Page 11: Illustration Index;
Page 11: '10. The local Small-boy'. Caption reads '10. The Local
Small Boy'. Not changed.
Page 11: '32. Wahu ei'. This illustration has been moved from Page
104 to Page 103.
Page 11: '50. Down the Rapids 171'. Should read 174. Repaired.
Page 11: '51. No Ruins in America (Ruskin) 174'. Should read 170.
Page 11: '52. Canadian Loaf, etc 171'. Illustration title reads:
'Two Loaves--a Contrast'. Not changed.
Page 11: '57. and 58'. These two entries reversed in original.
Repaired.
Page 25: 'modern canoeing dates'. Double quotation mark added.
'"modern canoeing dates'.
Page 87: [Footnote 3:] The author has crossed out "Cook", "Cherub"
and "Becky Sharp" and added above "Commodore", "Becky Sharp" and
"Cherub" respectively.
By JOHN HABBERTON.
I. OTHER PEOPLE'S CHILDREN.
By the author of "Helen's Babies," $1 25
II. BUDGE AND TODDIE. An Illustrated
Edition of "Other People's Children," 1 75
III. THE SCRIPTURE CLUB OF
VALLEY REST; or, Sketches of
Everybody's Neighbors, 1 00
IV. THE BARTON EXPERIMENT, 1 00
_G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, Publishers,_
_New York_.
[Illustration: The Cook Jibes.]
CANOEING IN KANUCKIA
OR
HAPS AND MISHAPS
AFLOAT AND ASHORE
OF
THE STATESMAN, THE EDITOR, THE ARTIST, AND THE SCRIBBLER
RECORDED BY
THE COMMODORE AND THE COOK
(C. L. NORTON AND JOHN HABBERTON)
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
182 FIFTH AVENUE
1878.
COPYRIGHT BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, 1873.
DEDICATION.
THIS
VOLUME
IS
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF
KING CANUTE,
WHO TOOK
A
ROYAL DUCKING
WITH AN EQUANIMITY WHICH FAIRLY ENTITLES
HIM TO RECOGNITION
BY
THE CANOE CLUB.
PREFACE.
Melancholy as the admission must necessarily be to persons with
aspirations toward literary Art, the authors are forced to acknowledge
that most of the incidents recounted therein actually occurred during
a canoeing cruise to the Northward, in which they were participants;
that the localities described have a geographical existence, and that
the persons introduced and the experiences recorded are, with trifling
exceptions, true to the life. They frankly admit that they might not
have been so truthful had they suffered from lack of incident, but
their perplexities have arisen from too much good material instead of
too little. Departures from strict veracity have been made solely on
the ground of good fellowship.
The authors being blessed with ordinary human perception, it is
not strange that they fully realize their own superiority to their
companions in point of virtue, manliness, good-seamanship, personal
appearance, adaptability, etc., etc. They have thought it simply
honorable, therefore, to separate individual traits and experiences,
each by themselves, and redistribute them without prejudice or
partiality among the entire quartette.
As the effect of this generosity has been to cause some doubt on the
part of each member of the expedition as to his own personal identity,
it is certain that no one of them can be successfully reconstructed by
any outsider. How unalloyed a blessing the public thus enjoys, is not
for the self-renouncing authors to point out in detail.
* * * * *
P. S. BY THE COOK. It has been found impracticable to prevent the
Commodore from causing to be inserted in the following pages certain
efforts of his own which he is pleased to denominate "Sketches." He is
apparently actuated by the hope that they will pass for professional
work. The real Artist of the expedition, however, being solicitous
regarding his own reputation, wishes it distinctly understood that he
is responsible only for those illustrations which are signed by him in
full, and has deputed the Cook to warn the public to this effect.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 15
I.
GETTING UNDER WAY 21
II.
COOKS AND COFFEE POTS AND SEAMANSHIP 38
III.
THE COOK STUDIES NAVIGATION 49
IV.
THE WRECK OF THE ROCHEFORT 68
V.
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 80
VI.
MY NATIVE LAND FAREWELL 88
VII.
GARRISON LIFE 111
VIII.
THE BEGINNING OF ACADIA 129
IX.
AREAS OF RAIN 145
X.
ACADIA 166
XI.
SEVERAL OTHER DAYS 181
XII.
A CHANGE OF SCENE 206
XIII.
SWIFT WATER 212
XIV.
MORE RAPIDS 223
XV.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END 229
APPENDIX 249
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. The Cook Jibes 2
2. The Authors 20
3. Mlle. Rochefort at home 22
4. Chrysalis and Chrysalid 23
5. The Twins 24
6. Kayak Birch, Rob Roy 26
7. Under full sail--Chrysalid 28
8. Close hauled. Red Laker 30
9. The Quartette 32
10. The local Small-boy 33
11. Coffee Pot before 43
12. Coffee Pot after 44
13. A Sporhungan 46
14. The Sanctuary 48
15. The Cook selects a Boom 50
16. Gosh 57
17. The Vice's Boom toggle 58
18. The Commodore's Sprit 59
19. Island Camp 61
20. A Vigorous Pull 63
21. A little too vigorous 65
22. Aquatic Leap frog 66
23. "His ship she was a wrack" 69
24. The Cook's Tent 77,78
25. Green grow the rushes 83
26. "But the Consul's brow was sad" 89
27. The United States Garrison 93
28. The Purser on British Soil 94
29. A Canoe Seat 99
30. The Picturesque afar 101
31. The Picturesque anear 102
32. Wahu ei 103
33. Supper Table 107
34. An unknown Fortress 112
35. The British Garrison 115
36. The Sally Port 116
37. The Vampire Bat 118
38. The Commandant 120
39. The Commandant's Lady 122
40. The Dock 133
41. Under the Elms 139
42. The Enchantress 142
43. Boat, Aristocratic 146
44. Boat, Plebeian 146
45. The Commodore Weather-bound 147
46. Aux Armes Citoyennes 153
47. Alone with his Conscience 159
48. The Typical Church 161
49. Water Front 168
50. Down the Rapids 174
51. No Ruins in America (Ruskin) 170
52. Canadian Loaf, etc. 171
53. A Quiet Cove 177
54. A Charming Landscape 186
55. A shock to the Commodore's Nerves 188
56. Use Laundry Soap and be Happy 205
57. In the Second Rapids 208
58. Down the Race 210
59. The Vice sits for his Portrait 218
60. Comparative Coffee Cups 226
INTRODUCTORY.
"Go see her?--certainly I will!" said the Artist.
"So will I!" exclaimed the Scribbler, jumping to his feet and
rearranging his neck-tie; "if she is half as beautiful as you say, I'd
go every day to see her, even were the trip twice the score of miles
that it is."
"And I," said the Editor, replacing in his vest-pocket the
folding-scissors which he nervously fingered by force of professional
habit.
"'Tis done, then," said the Statesman, "she will be at my house
to-morrow evening and the winter through, but she is particularly
handsome and graceful just now, and there's no time like the present,
you know. Dine with me to-morrow evening: I'll give you a tip-top
spread, but when you see _her_ you'll forget it all."
"We will come!" shouted the Artist, the Scribbler and the Editor in
chorus, and when twenty-four hours later the trio fulfilled their
promise, they admitted that the half had not been told them. They
exhibited however, none of that unseemly jealousy which would naturally
be expected from a trio of admirers at sight of an almost phenomenal
beauty, for the object of their admiration was a canoe, and accepted
their attentions with an impartiality which would have been the envy
of any society queen. She occupied the study of the Statesman, and
covered almost as much space as if she were a lady with a train of the
first magnitude; she was in every line the embodiment of grace, and
her beauty was not entirely independent of paint and other cosmetics.
But here the parallel ceased. In visiting a canoe the visitor enjoys
certain liberties which are not admissible during an ordinary evening
call. A gentleman may speak in most enthusiastic praise of a canoe,
and right to her face, without being suspected of a desire to flirt;
he may criticise freely without seeming unmannerly; he may even talk
admiringly of other canoes without disturbing the outward or inward
complacency of his fair entertainer. He may even unlock his wits with a
good cigar without provoking a cough from the fair being, and without
compelling her to send her finer adornments to the bleachery next day,
or expose them on the family clothes-line, to the purifying breezes of
heaven. One may look fixedly by the hour at a beautiful canoe without
being guilty of ungentlemanly staring, and may thus call up all those
finer sentiments which far transcend the powers of expression, and may
thus elevate his own nature to a degree which is unattainable under
the restrictions of a fashionable call. He may without offence or even
discourtesy, touch her, though if he be a man of true character he can
not do so without a struggle with natural timidity, and without a new
sense of his own awkwardness.
The quartette gazed, and smoked, until the fair outline before them
became veiled in the soft haze which so enhances the glories of a
perfect form and a rich complexion. They talked, they mused, they
talked again; the Artist, the Scribbler and the Editor talked of
their own special darlings of the same genus. They mused again, then
they fell once more to admiring. The one blot upon the perfection of
the being before them was that her sole guardian had christened her
"Rochefort," but the Statesman, like statesmen in general, had his
weaknesses, and if men cannot be tenderly enduring of the weaknesses
of their friends, what statesman can live? At length the Rochefort's
protector broke silence by saying,
"Can you fellows gaze upon her, and talk of her rivals, and then refuse
to go on a cruise this summer?"
"Not I!" exclaimed the Editor.
"Refuse?" exclaimed the Scribbler, and then he betrayed his Hibernian
ancestry by adding, "I'd go alone, for the sake of having her with me."
"And I know just where to go," said the Artist. "I know of a
picturesque lake whose outlet is a placid river flowing through an
Acadia like that which Longfellow has pictured, and breaking at last
into wild rapids down which we can run like salmon in the fall."
"Is Evangeline still there?" asked the Statesman, with symptoms of
lively interest.
"She is every where," replied the Artist.
"Why," said the Statesman, examining his mental memoranda, "she died
two centuries ago."
"She is perennial," answered the Artist, and the Statesman inwardly
cursed his own literal perceptives.
"Let's take our sentiment when we are there," suggested the Editor;
"this is the hour for action."
The conversation which ensued need not be detailed here. It would
consume so much ink and paper as materially to raise the price of these
staples. It is sufficient to say that the quartette silenced forever
the calumnious statement that only ladies talk two or three at a time,
and that the necessary supplies decided upon for the trip exceeded in
bulk the cargo of that most capacious vessel, the Mayflower.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Authors.]
CANOEING IN KANUCKIA.
I.
GETTING UNDER WAY.
All night the Statesman, the Editor, the Artist and the Scribbler had
been rumbling northward in a sleeping car, and as day dawned the steady
and quickened clank of wheels told that they were on a down grade
toward the Lake, and nearing the point where vacation was really to
begin. They had turned into their respective berths somewhere south of
Albany; they awoke and looked down from a precipitous hillside into the
clear Lake. Presently the train slowed and in another minute they were
questioning the station-master about their canoes, which had preceded
them as freight some days before.
"No, can't wait till after breakfast. Must see them now."
So the station-master rather reluctantly unlocked his freight room and
there in a row side by side lay the "Red Lakers" and the "Chrysalids,"
for all the world like two pairs of twins tucked in a big bed together.
For the station-master--bless him!--had thoughtfully spread a
tarpaulin over them so that only their darling noses were in sight.
[Illustration: Mlle. Rochefort at home.]
It should here be explained that the terms "Red Lake" and "Chrysalid"
designate certain models of canoes, the first being named for the
locality where the canoes are built, while the appropriateness of the
second must be evident from the accompanying sketch.
* * * * *
Let the _Expeditionis Personæ_ now be introduced.
[Illustration: Chrysalis and Chrysalid.]
Behold the BECKY SHARP (flagship) and the CHERUB, commanded
respectively by the Editor and the Scribbler, and constituting the
"First Division." Behold also the "ROCHEFORT" and the "ARETHUSELA"[1]
forming the Second Division, and commanded by the Statesman and the
Artist.
[Illustration: The Twins.]
Over the meeting between each man and his canoe a veil is delicately
drawn. Even the station-master considerately stepped out upon the
platform during the few moments when each metaphorically made his canoe
put out its tongue and answer questions as to its moral and physical
well-being. The interview was satisfactory to all save the Statesman,
who detected several minute scratches on the deck of the Rochefort and
declared that palpable demoralization had resulted from her enforced
association with Red Lakers.
The Artist having volunteered to stay by the boats while his companions
breakfasted at the neighboring tavern, was straightway beset by a
number of wayfarers who demanded full accounts of the canoes and of
canoeing in general. The Artist had been in the lecture field, and as
the spirit was strong upon him, he gave the assembled multitude (about
a dozen in all) a comprehensive account of the art. No reporter was
present, but his remarks are believed to have been about as follows:
"In the civilized acceptation of the term, gentlemen," (here the six
small boys who composed a fraction of the audience punched one another
in the ribs,) "modern canoeing dates back only a few years,--some
fifteen in England and half as many in America. Its acknowledged
progenitor is Mr. John Macgregor, an English barrister to whom was
vouchsafed the brilliant idea of crossing the canoe of the North
American Indian with the Esquimaux Kayak, for purposes of civilized
recreation, the product being a hybrid known as the Rob Roy model.
(Here the speaker seized the station-master's chalk and drew rapidly
upon the wall in illustration of his meaning.) Although the canoe
exists among all savage nations, it reached its greatest perfection for
inland and coast wise navigation among the North American Indians. The
'birch,' as it is familiarly called, is so nearly perfect for use on
forest streams that the Hudson's Bay Company, after various experiments
with wood and iron, settled down, years ago, to its almost exclusive
use for their vast transportation service extending throughout the
British American Possessions. The Kayak, built as it is of a light
frame with skin stretched over it, has less weight and more strength
than the birch, and as it is all covered over excepting a man-hole
amidships, it is evidently the more seaworthy of the two. It has,
however, no carrying capacity to speak of, beyond its crew of one."
[Illustration: Kayak--Birch--Rob-Roy.]
"A different craft from either of these is required for the use of the
civilized voyager. He wants a boat which will not, like the birch,
leak if it happens to touch bottom. He wants one which will retain its
buoyancy even when full of water; which at a pinch he can carry alone
across a portage; which is roomy enough to sleep in, large enough to
carry stores and equipments for a reasonable number of days, staunch
and seaworthy in any weather when it is pleasant to be on the water,
and readily obedient to his hand under sail or paddle.
"No doubt Mr. Macgregor drew his first inspiration from the two
barbarian models referred to. He designed a boat known as the
'Rob-Roy,' which was easy to paddle, which could be slept in, and in
which he made many long cruises. It was, however, decidedly faulty in
many particulars, being wet and uncomfortable in a sea-way, owing to
its lack of 'sheer;' it was also of small sailing capacity. In smooth
water, the 'Rob-Roy' has its advantages, but for general purposes the
'Nautilus' model is decidedly its superior. This was designed by Mr.
Baden Powell, another Englishman, who improved on Mr. Macgregor's model
by giving his boat greater 'bearings,' that is, a broader and flatter
bottom, that of the original Rob Roy being nearly semi-circular, and by
raising her lines at stem and stern so that it was nearly impossible
to drive her nose under in a sea-way. This made her very difficult to
manage under paddle with the wind abeam, so in subsequent plans the
sheer was considerably reduced, and the change proved to be a decided
improvement.
[Illustration: Under Full Sail--Chrysalid.]
"The 'Chrysalids' (here the speaker indicated the Arethusela and the
Rochefort) are variations of the Nautilus type. You perceive at a
glance their great superiority in every particular over the 'Red Laker'
(pointing to the Cherub and the Becky Sharp) which lie beside them,
and which are merely elaborate copies of the Indian birch made of wood
and rigged for cruising. I will draw for you a Chrysalid under sail."
(The Artist turned again to his extemporized black-board and with a few
rapid strokes produced the sketch on page 28.)
Meanwhile the local population had dropped in one by one, until he
had a respectable audience, and the Scribbler, who had finished his
breakfast and drawn near, began to consider the expediency of taking up
a collection.
"You see how ship-shape she is in all respects, (applause, the Artist
bowing,) I will now, in order that my fellow voyagers may not accuse
me of partiality, show you also a Red Laker under sail." Again the
station-master's chalk was in requisition, and presently a sketch
something like this adorned the wall. As the Artist was proceeding,
a youth near the door, who, the Artist vows, had been bribed by the
Scribbler, checked him with, "I say, mister, that there Red Laker makes
the best looking picter of the two, don't it?"
[Illustration: Close Hauled Red Laker.]
The Artist had not compared his illustrations, and on
glancing at them, was obliged to explain that certain peculiarities
of outline assuredly did give a false impression in this
instance:--"However," he went on easily, resuming the imperturbable
manner which had become habitual with him in the desk, "as I was about
to say, having thus become Anglicized, it was merely a question of
time how soon the modern and improved canoe should be re-naturalized
in America. It was introduced in 1872 by Mr. W. L. Alden, founder and
senior member of the New York Canoe Club, an association to which the
boats before you belong, and which now has a fleet of about thirty
canoes, and a somewhat larger number of active and honorary members."
The Artist ceased and the Scribbler led off in a round of applause,
which was however, but feebly seconded.
Breakfast over, the quartette donned their blue flannels and sauntered
down to the shore, followed by a curious throng of the inhabitants. (N.
B. The throng of inhabitants is seen at the right.)
The Lake, which at an early hour had been placid as a anglican sermon,
was, by the time the fleet was ready to start, breaking furiously
against the wharf before a northerly breeze and the mariners were glad
to launch and stow their canoes under the lee of the railway bridge,
and the critical supervision of the local small-boy.
[Illustration: The Quartette.]
For six months the four comrades had made preparations for the
cruise, but the knowledge which worketh experience worked also
calamity, for the stores which were unloaded from steamboats and
express cars on the shore of the lake, would have justified each
captain of a canoe in chartering a steamer of moderate dimensions
as a tender. As such a course would have tended to the destruction
of the picturesqueness of the squadron under sail, it was given up
without a murmur, so the quartette, each man for himself, proceeded
to the exasperating duty of deciding what he best could spare and
return. The Statesman decided against carrying a tent, a tin pail, a
couple of hundred weight of canned goods, a life-preserver, a Bible
and a looking-glass which he had brought with him, but retained a
double-barrelled gun, a twenty-pound bag of duck-shot and a volume of
Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy."
[Illustration: The Local Small Boy.]
"If your boat springs a leak, no earthly power can save her, with such
a cargo," said the Editor.
"I'll keep the shot where I can drop it overboard in such case,"
briskly replied the Statesman.
"What good will that do?" asked the Editor, "if the Tupper remains on
board?"
"The Tupper will make a capital anchor, though," suggested the
Artist, as he reluctantly laid upon a heap, to be returned, a field
easel, a camp-stool, a medicine-chest, a set of Shakespeare in three
volumes, and a demijohn, the latter, by some deplorable oversight,
having arrived empty. The Scribbler carefully inspected two bulky
portmanteaus, extracted therefrom a single change of underclothing, a
box of cigars, a tooth-brush and a comb, and returned the bags with
their contents. The Editor concluded that perhaps he might be safe in
Acadia without the copy of Webster's Dictionary which he had brought
thus far in several thicknesses of rubber cloth, and a mental survey
of the proposed route convinced him that he might dispense with his
faithful scissors and paste-pot, inasmuch as no newspaper was published
on either the Lake or the River, but he stowed in his boat a gold
headed-cane and a horse-pistol, explaining, as he did so,
"These are the interviewer's only faithful friends."
The individual property thus rejected, with the superfluous stores
which had been purchased _en bloc_ by the quartette, threatened for
a little while to cause a "corner" in freight cars, but a threat to
charter several steamers which were idle upon the Lake brought the
railway agent to his senses, and gave his Company an excuse to put upon
Wall Street a story of sudden increase of gross earnings. The rejected
cargoes were stowed, and then the Editor, calling his companions apart
from the immense crowd of gazers and listeners, said,
"Gentlemen, by virtue of long experience as a fighting editor, I
hereby assume command of this expedition, and propose to be obeyed
and respected accordingly. I detail the Statesman as Vice-commodore,
commanding the Second Division."
"Vice," murmured the Artist, "what an ideal title for a Statesman!"
The Commodore continued, "The Artist I appoint Purser--"
"What delicious sarcasm!" interrupted the newly appointed Vice; "the
idea of an Artist taking care of money! Judas and his bag are nowhere."
"And the Scribbler," resumed the Commodore, "will be Cook, a position
to which his experience in concocting literary hash most richly
entitles him. During the cruise all family, baptismal and social names
will be dropped, and the members of the expedition will be known only
by their nautical titles. Is every one ready to embark?"
"Ready!" replied the Vice, the Purser and the Cook in chorus; the
paddles were seized, and the Commodore was giving the command "Shove
off!" when the Vice exclaimed,
"Gracious! how could I have forgotten it?" Then he ran to the pile of
rejected material and rescued an immense brown paper parcel containing
something which seemed to be instinct with every angle and line known
to the student of conic sections. Hurriedly stowing it away in his
forward compartment, he shoved his boat from the beach.
"What is it?" shouted the fleet.
"It was a present to me from a constituent," roared he, at the top of
his lungs, the wind whisking away his words. "That's what it is."
This was accepted as a diplomatic and statesmanlike way of saying "None
of your business," so the rest held their peace, and gave themselves to
the serious work of making headway against the sea.
'Tis ever thus! Never have any of the Four started on a cruise without
having at the very beginning to tax their as yet unaccustomed muscles
by paddling straight in the teeth of an adverse gale. Of course the
canoes are at their heaviest and must be expected to leak more or less
after a fortnight's baking in a box-car. So when all are ready the
command paddles round through the draw, points toward a headland three
miles off dead to windward, and doggedly settles down to its work. It
takes nearly two hours to cover the distance, and the Chrysalids have
had to bail at frequent intervals under the protecting care of Red
Lakers. The headland is reached at last, however, and then comes the
bath for which all have been longing. If any future explorer finds an
unaccountable deposit of cinders and scoriæ off that point he may
ascribe them, if he likes, to prehistoric volcanic convulsions, but the
four voyagers know better.
It was now noon, and a substantial luncheon was followed by a long
siesta under the cedars, while lungs accustomed to inhale the
de-oxidized atmosphere of the city filled themselves with the first
draughts of ozone from the great paradise of spruce which stretches
almost unbroken from the Canada line to the Arctic circle. Grand
mountain forms rose against the sky, the city was far away; they were
free!
The sun lacked but three hours of setting, when the squadron shook off
the delicious languor that succeeded its unwonted exertions, bailed out
the Chrysalids, now thoroughly soaked, and in a condition which their
owners were pleased to consider "tight," wiped up with a sponge the
few drops that had penetrated the seams of the Red Lakers, and paddled
merrily away toward an island blue in the afternoon haze, on which it
had been determined to camp over Sunday. The lake was by this time
ashamed of the boisterous welcome it had given to the fleet, and was
undergoing a burnishing process preparatory to serving as a mirror for
the sunset. By dusk camp was made in a lean-to left by some considerate
predecessors. The canoes were anchored in the lee of a shingly point,
excepting the Rochefort, which her commander carefully, and for some
inscrutable parliamentary reason, anchored to windward, and by nine
o'clock all, with one exception, were rolled in their blankets, and
sound asleep.
[Footnote 1: The artist begs the authors to explain that this name
is the result of a compromise between the friends of two domestic
cats "Arabella" and "Methusela," neither of whom would consent to
have the boat named exclusively after the other.]
II.
COOKS AND COFFEE POTS AND SEAMANSHIP.
As is the case in all well regulated families, the Cook was the first
person to greet the morning of the second day. He not only did so, but
he greeted it in its extreme infancy, an instant after his own watch,
had it been a repeater, would have struck midnight, and from this
moment onward he manifested the liveliest interest in the growth of the
new day. His impatience could scarcely be attributable to a desire to
see the sun rise, for at home the Cook habitually rose at dawn, and had
already an unequalled collection of sunrises in his mental portfolio.
In truth, the Cook was very cold. He had smiled pityingly as he saw
his companions retire each under a pair of woolen blankets, while
he himself stretched freely upon his rubber sheet, with no covering
whatever. Woolen blankets in July, when at midday the thermometer
stood at ninety degrees in the shade!--the Cook perspired anew at
the thought, and chuckled over the superior good luck which had led
him to forget his blankets when he left New York, thereby materially
reducing the bulk of his equipment. Woolen blankets might be necessary
to the city existence of the Statesman, the Editor and the Artist, for
each of the gentlemen represented professions which are notoriously
cold-blooded, but as for the Scribbler--well, all scribblers come early
in life to regard blankets as rarely attainable luxuries, and to depend
for warmth upon their own inner man.
But on this particular occasion the inner man of the Cook failed to
respond to the demand made upon it. The Cook would have encouraged
the inner man had he known where the expeditionary brandy was kept,
but no racking of memory elicited the information desired. He scraped
carefully among the ashes of his evening fire, hoping that some coals
might have remained alive to kindle a new one, but the fire had been
of wood too small to leave coals, and the Cook's matches were wet. He
might have had dry matches, brandy--yes, and a share in the blankets
themselves, all in an instant, had he but awakened either of his
brother officers. But the Cook's pride exceeded in greatness even his
discomfort, so he sought consolation in his own reflections, as men
are always possessed to do at just such times, when their reflections
are in the most shocking condition imaginable. The Cook paced the
sand, hugged himself, and tried to believe that there had been no
such day as yesterday, and that he had never left a blanket in New
York. Then he tried to draw his rubber blanket noiselessly from the
tent, to throw over his shoulders, but one side of the Purser rested
upon its extreme edge, and the Purser was of the conventional English
ponderosity. Then the Cook tried to revive his spirits with a song,
sung softly between his teeth, but these last named gateways of sound
were trembling so that the song itself became sadly demoralized.
The Cook had once written a convincing essay on "The Power of the
Imagination, as Exemplified by Physical Facts," and recalling this,
he soliloquized "Physician, heal thyself!" Honestly he endeavored to
obey the injunction, by imagining himself burrowing in a whole bale of
Mackinaw blankets, as he had once done in the far west when smitten by
an ague, but the warmth was as imperceptible in the former case as in
the latter.
The night wore on, to the extent of two or three thousand hours, and
reduced the chilling Cook at last to a single desire:--he wished that
before he froze to death he might have a thermometer, a pencil and
paper, and record for the benefit of coming canoeists this terrible
temperature--if, indeed, the thermometer could indicate it before the
mercury itself would freeze.
Then came that mysterious hour of the night in which night, itself
still regnant, trembles at the prospect of its own dissolution. It was
the hour in which sick men who are foredoomed to die generally accept
the inevitable: it was also the hour in which the Commodore, in his
home capacity of Editor, always left the office of the "Daily Tocsin,"
and walked home with a sedative cigar for company. The force of habit
being strong in the Commodore, he rustled uneasily under his blankets,
and finally emerged from the tent, filling a pipe as he came.
"Just the man!" exclaimed the Cook. "_I_ want to smoke, but I hadn't
the heart to awake any one to beg a dry match."
Both pipes lighted, the Cook remarked,
"D-d-don't you think it would be more cheerful to smoke by a f-f-fire?"
And the Commodore, with a very perceptible flavor of irony in his
tones, replied,
"I d-d-don't know but I d-d-do."
Five minutes sufficed in which to make a roaring fire: then the
Cook scraped up a ridge of sand a few feet from the blaze, allowed
it to heat, stretched himself against it and was asleep in an
instant. An experienced seaman, however, when in a position of grave
responsibility, never allows himself entire freedom from care. Hence
in the present instance the sailor-like instincts acquired by the
Commodore during long years of sedentary life, caused him some anxiety
as he once more lay down in the tent. The wind had freshened from the
southward, and he deemed it his duty to arouse the Vice whose canoe,
as has been stated, was anchored off a lee shore while the rest were
securely sheltered behind a point. The reply elicited by his appeal
was somnolent rather than respectful, and the Commodore resolving
upon disciplinary measures in the morning, once more arose and sought
the beach. Professional instinct had not been at fault. There was
the Rochefort full of water, rolling heavily in the trough of the
sea, and banging her cedar broadside against the stony shore. With
that devotion to the service characteristic of the true sailor, the
commanding officer laid aside at once his trousers and the dignity
of his station, and rescued, at the risk of wetting his remaining
garment, the vessel which the inexperience of a subordinate had
imperiled. In this connection it may be well to remark that a stone
which weighs twelve pounds out of the water weighs only about seven
beneath its surface. Ignorance of this simple mechanical principle led
a well-meaning and occasionally meritorious officer into the error of
using such a stone for an anchor.
Still the Cook slept when the Commodore returned from his labor of
love, and crept shiveringly into his blankets.
The hours passed, the sun arose and beat upon the Cook's face, and
still he slept. By the time the occupants of the tent awoke the sun had
performed his toilet so thoroughly that not a dewdrop remained visible.
But still the Cook slept, and when the Vice saw him he took in the
situation at a glance, and remarked:
"Methinks I remember a cruise in which the Alderman was temporarily
without blankets."
The Vice performed his ablutions, shaved himself, eyed the fire, walked
impatiently around the Cook, and finally exclaimed:
"Boys, I'm starving, but it's too bad to rouse that tired wretch. I'll
take his place this morning. He does well enough as a cook, but he has
some silly notions that I'd like to reason him out of. He always cooks
with hot coals; now I propose to show him that a bright blaze is just
as useful, and far sooner made ready. Besides I am the proud owner of a
utensil which is destined to revolutionize the art of coffee-making."
The others were fain to acquiesce in this arrangement, but the Purser,
with characteristic prudence, put some water to boil in the regular
way. The Statesman meanwhile burrowed among his stores and shortly
appeared bearing the brown paper parcel which had excited curiosity
at the beginning of the voyage. Tearing off the paper he exhibited a
structure of the general appearance depicted.
[Illustration: The Vice's Coffee Pot before.]
"Here," said he, rapidly resolving it into its component parts, "is the
receptacle for the coffee. And you fill this part--no, this one--with
water. Then you put it on the fire. As soon as it boils you turn it
bottom up. Let's see--no, it was bottom up before; you turn it right
side up and there you are. Coffee strained, not boiled." This last with
a contemptuous glance at the sleeping cook.
[Illustration: The Vice's Coffee Pot after.]
The Vice piled wood upon the fire, and while it blazed up fiercely he
hastily filled the wonderful coffee-pot half full of water, and set
it in the midst of the flames. Five minutes later the Cook awoke from
a dream of hearing a tin peddler's wagon upset on a stone pavement.
Rubbing his eyes he beheld the Vice, with a long hooked stick, rescuing
various pieces of tin from the fire, and dropping them upon a boulder
near by.[2] The flame had resolved the wonderful coffee-pot into its
dozen or more original fragments, and as the Vice made a final dive for
the spoutless, handleless, topless vessel, the Cook drawled:
"Some people cook over coals, and some prefer a blaze."
"Why," spluttered the Vice, as he blew upon a burned
finger, "the Alderman always made coffee over a blaze."
"Then he did it in a coffee-pot with a bail which hooked on, instead
of being fastened by solder. And besides he suspended it over the fire
after this fashion."
The Vice walked away to his boat in disgust, while the rest seated
themselves about the unprofessional breakfast which had been made
ready. Presently he sauntered boldly among them with what he was
pleased to term a coffee-cup in hand, looking rather red in the face,
but sturdily demanding his breakfast.
"Some of that potted salmon, Purser. Pass us the bread, Commodore. I
say, Cook, isn't that coffee ready yet? Commodore, this thing won't
work. If fellows are going to shirk their share of the drudgery, the
service will go to the dogs. What I want is my coffee, and I want it
NOW, do you hear, Cook?"
But the Cook was magnanimous, for he had a coffee-pot of his own, and
though the Vice contended that the coffee made therein had not the
aroma peculiar to that made in the one which he had loved, and lost, he
revealed the hollowness of his plea, (or his stomach) by drinking twice
as much as any one else did.
The Flag officer deemed the moment a fitting one to administer, firmly
but kindly, a merited rebuke to the subordinate whose heedlessness had
on the preceding night imperilled the safety of a valuable vessel.
On being asked if he had anything to say in his own defence, the
disgraced officer replied with unblushing effrontery that he was warm
and comfortable when the Commodore waked him; he was sleepy, and he
knew the Commodore would get up and do what had to be done anyhow, and
he didn't want to get up in the cold and--
[Illustration: A Sporhungan.]
Here the Commodore broke in with an authoritative "Silence, Sir,"
but as the rest of the fleet went off in convulsions of irreverent
laughter, he thought it best to let the matter drop.
Saturday is a good day to begin a canoe-cruise. The unwonted exercise
induces weariness which the first night in camp does not wholly remove,
so that a day of rest and a second night of more refreshing sleep, are
usually acceptable to all. Opposite is what the voyagers looked at from
their camp, throughout that peaceful Sunday.
At this camp too, the regular details were permanently and formally
arranged. The Scribbler having confirmed the Commodore's judgment, and
evinced a decided genius for cookery, consented to serve permanently
as _chef_, the rest taking turns on successive days as foragers,
woodcutters, and dish-washers.
[Footnote 2: In order to protect themselves against prosecution for
libel the authors would state that the coffee-pot in question is an
admirable one under proper conditions. Such conditions, however,
are not afforded by an open fire of driftwood.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Sanctuary.]
III.
THE COOK STUDIES NAVIGATION.
As the squadron turned out and took its matutinal swim, soon after
sunrise, the lake was dimpled by a favorable breeze, and after
breakfast orders were issued to make sail.
"I've got to make a spar first, Commodore," exclaimed the Cook, "my
main boom is gone, or hasn't come, I don't know which."
"Find another at once," said the commanding officer, and the Cook
seized the hatchet, and started into the timber, returning presently
with an elm pole weighing twenty pounds, nearly half the weight of his
boat, his original boom having been a piece of bamboo weighing a scant
half-pound. By dint of hard work with hatchet and knife, he worked this
log into a makeshift for a boom.
"I wonder," remarked the Cook, as he dropped his knife for a moment,
and caressed the blistered palms of his hands, "why all you fellows
insist on having decks. I don't wonder that you two Chrysalids,"
referring to the Vice and the Purser, whose boats were of that famous
model, "I don't wonder that you two Chrysalids do it, for the builder
of your boats stupidly decked them before you bought them, but the
Commodore, who, like me, was sensible enough to buy a Red Lake boat,
wasn't satisfied to leave it free and open as he found it, but has gone
and stretched rubber-cloth over it fore and aft. It's as bad as sailing
in a coffin, to sail in any of them."
[Illustration: The Cook selects a Boom. (Below is the one that was
lost.)]
"I'd as lieve sail in a coffin as in a bath-tub," replied the Vice,
who, having commanded a blockade-runner during the late unpleasantness,
had a natural fondness for tight decks and plenty of them.
"A well-covered bath-tub," remarked the Commodore, "is fully as
seaworthy as a mahogany-topped coffin, and far less suggestive of
canoeing on the Styx. But for a cover of some sort, I confess an
affection. It keeps things dry; if a man capsizes--"
"A canoeist has no business to capsize," interrupted the Cook, who had
learned canoeing on a Western river, and in a "dug out," which could
only be turned over by the united efforts of at least two men, "and a
canoeist has no right to have 'things' lying so loosely as to drop out."
At length the squadron set sail. The wind had freshened, and the white
caps were as numerous and agitated as in a large female seminary during
a night alarm of fire. The Commodore, the Vice and the Purser were
all experienced sailors, so they shortened sail, but the Cook, having
never handled a boat under sail before, possessed his soul of the
nautical bliss that comes of ignorance. Shorten sail? He would show
those fellows what a fearless sailor and a good boat could do, when
the wind was disposed to aid them. The Cook experimented nervously for
a few moments to learn where the sail should really be to catch the
most wind, but when he learned he made full use of his knowledge, and
his boat, the Cherub, seemed literally to fly. It passed the Becky
Sharp, (the flagship) so rapidly that the Cook had not time to study
the Commodore's face long enough to know how that official liked it; it
passed the Rochefort, causing the Vice to scowl as if the unoffending
Cherub were a member of the party which the whilom statesman hated;
it threw for an instant the shadow of its great white mainsail on the
Arethusela, darkening the blonde complexion and golden locks of the
Artist-Purser.
Then the Cook began to enjoy his boat and himself. A pistol which he
had in his pocket to be ready for a shot at some passing water-bird,
chafed him somewhat, and he laid it in the bottom of the boat, where
it would be equally handy and less troublesome. He had heard that a
canoeist should always be barefooted, so he kicked off his shoes. He
pitied his comrades who sat upon the hard bottoms of their boats as
they sailed, while he sat upon the many folds of a large tent. All the
inner lines of his beautiful canoe were before his eye, instead of
being hidden by decks, as those of his companions were--if, indeed,
there were any beautiful lines any where about their boats.
The Cook was happy; he fastened the sheet of his mainsail to a cleat,
softly whistling, as he did so, "A Life on the Ocean Wave," neither
thinking nor caring that the ocean was really several hundred miles
away. He was astonished and delighted that sailing was so easy an art
to acquire, but pshaw--sailors, like poets, are born, not made. Had not
one of his ancestors sailed with Drake when that hero interfered with
the sailing directions that had been delivered to the Spanish Armada?
What might he not have achieved himself, had cruel fate not ordained
that ink should be his only fluid element? Just here the Cherub made
such astonishing speed that the Cook determined roughly to "time" his
boat, so he estimated a mile of distance by the trees upon the shore,
opened his watch and laid it in the bottom of the boat, before his
eyes.
But Solomon said that pride must have a fall, and when there is any
unpleasant saying of Scripture to be fulfilled, a conceited canoeist
is as good as any one else that can be selected for the purpose.
The squadron was approaching a point beyond which its course would
be changed. The Commodore shouted "Ready about!" and the Cook's
self-confidence disappeared as rapidly as if it had been the conscience
of a congressman after an interview with a "subsidy" lobbyist. "Jibe!"
shouted the Commodore. The Cook, almost in despair, looked astern, to
see what the others did. He saw their masts straighten, their sails
flap irresolutely for a moment, and then fill on the opposite side. How
was it done? Accident came to the Cook's rescue: a wretched steersman
at best, he had almost forgotten his helm as he looked astern, and an
unintentional turn of the wrist of his steering hand turned the boat's
head from the wind. Around came the new boom; the Cook had never before
seen a boom come around on his own boat, and he had no idea of how
close the same would come to the plane occupied by his own head. But
the time occupied by an industrious boom in jibing is not sufficient
for prolonged meditation, and while the Cook was wondering what to do,
the boom attended faithfully to its own business. The elasticity of a
green elm log is an unknown quantity; the Cook's dome of thought was
equally inelastic, so the Cook soon heard a heavy thud, as when one
throws a mighty stone at a well-laden chestnut tree. Then the Cook
heard a splash, and he was not allowed to remain in doubt as to the
object which caused it. All the terrible stories he had heard about men
who had been carried down by the sails and rigging of capsizing boats
came hurrying into his mind, and he swam so vigorously to escape a
similar fate, that his boat had time to turn leisurely over and adjust
itself to its new condition before he dared to pause in his mad career.
(_See Frontispiece._)
Then the Cook swam to his boat, and resting an elbow upon her
keel, gazed pensively around him. Something that seemed to be a
peculiarly-shaped dark fish, a little way below the surface in front
of him, proved to be the slowly sinking form of one of his shoes,
going to join its mate. A black bundle, consisting of most of the
Cook's personal effects wrapped in a rubber-blanket, was rescued by
the Commodore just as it seemed discouraged by the difficulty it
experienced in floating. The Cook's hat, one of the paddles, a covered
tin pail containing butter, a worthless bit or two of board, and sundry
other articles of little value, were picked up by other members of the
expedition, but the indisposition of watches, pistols, and even wet
tents to wander aimlessly about on the bosom of a lake is known to all
students of comparative specific gravities. The Cook groped for the
painter of his own boat; his other hand he rested upon the stern of
the flagship, and thus the demoralized couple reached the shore. The
remainder of the squadron had already disembarked, and the Purser made
haste to extend the hospitalities of a private flask, but he robbed
the draught of its flavor by asking, as he passed it,
"Shall I explain to you why canoes are usually decked?"
And the Cook was so absorbed in contemplation of his bare feet, that
he did not even look up. At length he inquired as to the depth of the
lake; the Vice obligingly paddled to the scene of the disaster, took
soundings, and reported fifty feet. To go through fifty feet of water
to cover two feet not over dry was not to be thought of, but what hope
was there of replacing lost shoes in a wilderness--even when Acadia was
reached, the natives probably made and wore only wooden sabots.
The overturned boat was righted, and the Cook emptied his portmonnaie
and laid his money on a sheltered rock to dry, while he should change
his clothing and restore his boat. Then the Commodore, consulting a
chart, discovered that there was a village only ten miles distant
on the border of the lake, and it was large enough to justify a
hope of shoes: the squadron should put in there. The delighted Cook
proposed an immediate start, particularly as a force of small boys was
approaching. The village was reached, the Cook found a pair of shoes,
but on attempting to pay for them he remembered having left his money
on a stone to dry. And that stone was ten miles away, it could only be
reached by paddling against a head wind, and when last seen the ground
containing the stone was occupied in force by boys! The Cook, as he
walked back to his boat, was in a savage frame of mind, and wanted to
hurt somebody or something, but no one would laugh at him, or offer
sympathy. Suddenly his eye fell upon the extempore boom; a moment later
and that faithful spar which had done only its honest duty, sank deeply
in the lake. The Cook's credit was good, however, and he succeeded in
borrowing from the Statesman enough money to pay for the shoes and a
blanket, and buy a bamboo fishing-pole from a casual youth who angled
on the adjacent wharf. This was speedily converted into a boom of
proper size and weight.