who had been strongly stimulated by the exhibition of spirit in which
the Cook had indulged. By this time there had gathered about the
squadron quite a crowd. It was, however, a crowd of great conservatism;
each man seemed to have in his pocket a valuable something, which
required the unremitting contact of his hands, as well as something in
his mouth which would escape were he to part his lips. Occasionally,
however, one would release a hand long enough to test the weight of
the Vice's canoe, which was the only one that had been drawn entirely
out of the water, and as each of the sixty odd men present did this at
least once, gravely uttering, as he did so, the monosyllable "Gosh!"
the Vice was extremely delighted. The expletive recalled the days of
his innocent youth.
[Illustration: Gosh.]
"It is plain to see," said he, "that living right on the edge of
monarchical institutions as they do, these poor fellows have never
before seen a boat of any lightness and grace."
"Don't forget, please," remarked the Cook, "that my canoe, which is
lighter and faster than yours, was made in Canada."
Having repaired damages, the squadron proceeded, paddling side by side
along the shore in search of favorable camping ground.
[Illustration: The Vice's Boom Toggle.]
"How does the Alderman toggle his boom, Vice?" asked the Purser, who
during the day had his own private troubles with that important spar,
and was beginning to have some misgivings as to rig.
"Same as I do mine, with a brass collar for the mast, and a screw and
bolt arrangement to make the boom fast. See?" And the Vice exhibited
his boom where it was attached to the mast.
"That's just like mine," said the Purser, "and I don't altogether
like it. I believe simple jaws and lashing, such as you see on any
sail-boat, are more convenient."
[Illustration: The Commodore's Sprit.]
"No true canoeist will sacrifice style, merely for convenience,"
replied the Vice sententiously. "Now, there is more style about a
Chrysalid than about a Red Laker, and that more than compensates
for their inferior speed, and carrying capacity, and so on. Every
man should have his boom rigged in the most complicated manner. Now
look at the Cook, and the Commodore. See their booms, (The Commodore
accommodatingly held up the foot of his mast for inspection,) or
sprits rather. They are not properly booms. Now, that rubber band
passed through a ring, and over a cross-head or a notch on the end
of the sprit, undoubtedly keeps a light sail flatter than any other
contrivance I know of, but there's nothing ship-shape about it.
'Twouldn't be allowed for a moment in the navy. You want something
that it takes some skill to manage."
"Thanks," said the Purser, "I see the thing in its true light now," and
he went to work when camp was reached and fitted jaws to his boom, and
even threatened to adopt the leg-of-mutton sprit-sail before he went
cruising again.
"I don't see," commented the Cook, "why the india-rubber arrangement
should not be adapted to a boom as well as a sprit. It only requires a
little ingenuity, and would keep the sail quite as flat as does your
present rig."
Rounding a promontory the fleet sighted a wooded island three-quarters
of a mile from shore, and as such an island is for several reasons
preferable to the main land for camping, they made for it at once and
found it all that their fancy had painted. The fleet with one exception
was hauled upon the beach, but the Vice, anxious to retrieve his
reputation for seamanship, made fast the painter of the Rochefort to a
stone which he could hardly lift and hove her short under the lee of
the point. The flag-officer silently noticed these preparations, but
said nothing, resolved not to interfere again between the Rochefort and
her commander.
Here again it was found that former generations of campers-out had
sojourned, leaving their lean-to, scientifically constructed of poles
and bark, standing for the accommodation of posterity. As the sun sank
black bass began to break the glassy surface of the lake in search of
their evening meal.
[Illustration: Island Camp.]
"Would that the Alderman were here," remarked the Vice, as he watched
the circles widen on the water, and heard the inspiriting splash as the
fish flashed up in the sun's rays, "he would catch us a string of bass
and show the cook how to fry them, in less than half an hour."
But the Commodore had been putting his rod together, and having in the
course of the day killed a large bull-frog, he now lashed a portion
of its hind leg to a hook with fine thread and quietly launching the
flagship, stood up in her amidships and made a cast as far out toward
the feeding ground as possible. A vigorous pull rewarded his effort and
almost as soon as the Alderman could have done it he had two thumping
bass and a good sized chub, or dace, which the Purser and Vice cleaned
and the Cook fried to a turn for supper.
"The Alderman would not have stood up in his boat to catch these fish,"
said the Vice with a crisp "second cut from the tail" on his plate,
"that kind of thing isn't regular."
"No; it would be decidedly irregular in some boats," remarked the Cook.
"I'll bet you cigars for the crowd--my choice ones, that I've preserved
carefully in my water-tight,--that I can throw a line from a Chrysalid."
"Done."
[Illustration: A Vigorous Pull.]
The Arethusela had nothing aboard, so the Vice borrowed her and
the Commodore's rod, and pushed out a few yards from the beach. Then
rising gingerly to his feet he made one or two gentle casts with great
circumspection and was about to claim his wager, but thinking to
perfect his claim, made a third cast, which was a thought too vigorous.
(_Result shown on page 65._)
The flag ship was still afloat, and the Commodore being anxious about
his rod, sprang aboard and pushed off to the rescue, but the Vice
sternly waved him back.
"You may take your rod, if you like," said he, "though I could manage
that too well enough, but I'll show you another point of superiority in
a Chrysalid."
The Commodore took the rod and backed off to a respectful distance.
The Arethusela had righted herself instantly after discharging her
occupant, and floated full of water, but still buoyant from the air in
her large water-tight compartments. The Vice picked up his paddle, and
put it aboard and then swam to the stern, which he grasped with both
hands, and managed by a sudden and judicious effort to mount.
Then, hitching carefully along, leap-frog fashion, he was soon seated
amidships, bailing the water out with his hat, the canoe still floating
with considerable buoyancy.
"That is well done," was the general verdict. "A Chrysalid's
water-tights are more efficient than those of a Red Laker provided she
has any to bless herself withal."
[Illustration: A little too Vigorous.]
"I want to take a bath," said the Commodore, "before turning in, and as
a long enough time has now passed since supper to reasonably warrant
exemption from congestion, I think I will test my water-tights if the
Vice will permit me so to denominate the bags which serve in that
capacity on board the flag ship. At any rate, I will prove to you that
I can climb aboard a Red Laker without upsetting. I take precautions,
you see, against wetting my toggery."
[Illustration: Aquatic Leap-frog.]
So saying the Commodore stripped, embarked, and when in deep water
jumped overboard, climbing on board just as the Vice had done, and with
about the same ease. Then he sat on the gunwale and upset his boat,
filling her with water. She floated, but by no means so buoyantly as
had the Arethusela, and the task of climbing on board was somewhat more
critical as the power of flotation was so much less. However, the water
being perfectly smooth, it was accomplished, and it is probable that
the Commodore could have bailed her out without going ashore, if he had
given time enough to the operation, and darkness had not come on. As it
was, he prudently and laboriously paddled the water-logged flag ship
ashore, where all hands performed their evening toilettes, and sat
down around the camp fire to enjoy cigars, which the Vice had promptly
handed over to the Cook, remarking that he did so under protest and
stipulating that no precedent should thereby be established: "For,"
said he, "I laid a wager that I could throw a line while standing in
the boat, and no fair-minded man can say I didn't do it."
With the moan of a rising gale in their ears, the members of the
expedition soon dropped off to sleep.
[Illustration]
IV.
THE WRECK OF THE ROCHEFORT.
At dawn the Purser arose and woke the camp with the blood-curdling cry,
"The Rochefort is gone!" The rest, as soon as they could rub their
eyes open, scanned the lake to leeward, but no trace of the missing
canoe could be seen. The sky was grey with low driving clouds and the
lake repeated the sombre hue, save when it broke into white before the
southerly gale.
With ill concealed reluctance the Commodore offered to lend his darling
Becky to the bereaved Statesman, who protested that the loss of an
election was as nothing in comparison with his present affliction. It
must be admitted, too, that his remarks as to going in a Red Laker to
the rescue of a Chrysalid, were not altogether gracious. However, the
Purser volunteered to go with him in search of the runaway, each man
following one side of the lake which was here only about two miles
wide. Under the shortest possible sail, then, they set out, each
standing across the wind at first, so as to close in with the shore and
then follow it down with the wind astern. They went merrily off riding
the white caps like ducks, and turning to follow the dark wooded shores
to the North.
Presently the Purser was observed to broach to, and after a short time
he went ashore, unshipped his mast and proceeded under paddle. It
subsequently transpired that the sea wrenched off one of the "gudgeons"
which held the rudder, and he was thereupon disabled for sailing
purposes. The wind, however, was dead astern, and he progressed almost
as easily and as fast as if he had not lost his helm.
[Illustration: "His Ship she was a-wrack."]
Meanwhile the Vice proceeded, anxiously scanning the coast, and at
length had the pleasure of discovering the runaway some three miles
down the lake, full of water, and with the sea, in dear old Robinson
Crusoe's immortal words, "making a clean breach over her." That she was
not stove into match-wood speaks well for her builder's workmanship.
She had carried her anchor with her all the way, having been hove so
short that she gradually worked off the steep beach as the wind and
sea rose, and had not even cable enough out to anchor her off the lee
shore on which she finally brought up.
As the Vice approached her, the buoyant Red-Laker rising cork-like
with him on the white capped waves, he could not but be struck by the
ship-shape appearance of the wreck. As has been intimated, the Vice is
distinguished for elaboration of equipment, and he had anchored his
canoe the night before with her sails beautifully furled, and every
strand of her multitudinous running rigging exactly in position. Now
she looked for all the world like a miniature frigate cast away on a
rocky coast, and the solitary spectator half expected to discover a
crew of pigmies clinging to her hatch-combings, as he drew near.
The first thing to be done however, was to signal the Purser, who was
coasting the opposite shore. To beach his borrowed boat with such a
sea running, and where there was not any beach but boulders, was a
problem which might easily have floored the greatest statesman, but the
Commodore is glad to certify, that the task was accomplished with due
regard for the welfare of the flagship, and this while the Vice's own
beloved Rochefort was perhaps banging herself to pieces on the boulders.
By dint of firing his revolver and waving his dandy, unshipped for the
purpose, he succeeded in attracting the Purser's attention, and saw
him change his course. This done, he waded to the stranded Rochefort,
expecting to find her hopelessly broken amidships, but on getting
her off the rocks, she floated as well as ever, showing that her
compartments were still uninjured; so, anchoring her in waist-deep
water, with her head to the sea, the Vice proceeded to bail.
Why this amber hue of the water? Alas, the Vice carried the coffee
of the fleet and it was not in a water-tight box. Why this slight
saccharine quality? Alas again, the Vice carried the expeditionary
sugar. The coffee did not prove a total loss. Persistent boiling
extracted from it a passable beverage, which served until a market town
was reached, but the sugar was past redemption.
By the time the Purser had reached the scene of disaster the wreck was
pumped dry, and careful inspection showed that she was wholly uninjured
save as regards a few bruises. So the Vice unshipped her masts, and
rightly judging that the Becky Sharp would be the easiest to tow, made
fast her painter, and started on the long paddle against the wind back
to camp.
To the rest of the fleet this escapade argued poor seamanship on the
part of the Vice, but to him it only proved the moral obliquity of his
boat. In order to shield his own reputation, he ruthlessly alleged
against her the most abominable nautical crimes, and would never trust
her alone thereafter, unless she was tied to a large tree or a huge
boulder.
The Purser, meanwhile, noting the shoreward trend of the waves,
instituted a successful search for his lost rudder, which he found
ashore in a quiet cove. On returning to camp, he and the Vice admitted
that there are certain advantages connected with a steering oar, which
do not belong to a rudder, and each resolved thereafter to carry a
suitable row-lock, so as not to be entirely disabled for sailing in
case of accidents. Nevertheless, while a rudder holds, it is certainly
more convenient than a paddle to steer with, but at the same time it
necessitates an awkward amount of stern-post, which renders the boat
hard to turn, and has usually to be shipped and unshipped in changing
from sail to paddle. For this reason the Vice is accustomed to remark,
that it is always well to have another fellow at hand in a Red-Laker
to render aid in emergencies. Of course it was necessary to dry the
Rochefort before proceeding, and it was afternoon before the Purser had
repaired his steering gear, and everything was in readiness. There is
always enough to do however, so all hands busied themselves in sundry
tinkerings until after dinner, when, as the sky had cleared and the
wind had somewhat moderated, the order was given to make sail, and the
pretty island was speedily left behind, the fleet skimming along the
wooded shore like a flock of white sea gulls.
Now whatever advantages a Chrysalid may possess over and above
a Red-Laker, she is nowhere in point of speed on a free wind.
Consequently the first division invariably ran away from the second,
and was obliged every little while to lie by and wait for it to come
up. After his first experience in jibing, the Cook had been content
for awhile to trust to a spruce breeze, and indeed there had been since
his overturn no favoring wind until now. He soon acquired commendable
skill in laying a straight course. He no longer zig-zagged over the
lake as at first. Evidently, however, something weighed upon his mind,
for as with his companion boat he entered a bay to wait for the second
division:
"Commodore," said he.
"Well?"
"I say, what _is_ tacking anyhow?"
"Why it's working to windward."
"Yes, I know, but how do you do it?"
"O, I see. You don't understand the theory of sailing a boat. Well, I
must own you're a plucky one. And you've done mighty well too."
Then the Commodore made his companion lie to, while the flagship worked
past him to windward by short tacks. The Cook with his usual aptitude
soon caught the idea and satisfactorily put it in practice. Then,
as the breeze was moderate, there followed lessons in "jibing" and
"wearing," with explanations of the circumstances under which each was
necessary.
By the time the second division rounded the point, the Cook's spirits
had risen, and he began once more to prate of his piratical ancestry
who knew no home but the ocean.
"What were you two benighted Red Lakers doing in the bay this side of
Black Point?" asked the Vice as the party sat by the fire that evening.
"Merely a little discussion as to merits of rig, and the best way of
handling a boat, with practical illustrations," said the Cook, who
clung frantically to the remnant of his reputation for seamanship, and
trusted to the Commodore's magnanimity not to expose him.
"O, that was it, eh? And what conclusions did you reach with your Red
Lake monstrosities?"
"We had plenty of time to reach any conclusions, and have them
illustrated and published, and sell a dozen editions before you came
along," retorted the Cook.
"We were trying experiments," said the Commodore adroitly, "in going
about, and we concluded that the best way was to come up into the wind
as sharp as you like, hauling in a little on the dandy sheet to help,
and then as soon as the mainsail shivers, give her one or two strokes
with the paddle, let go your dandy sheet, hold your boom over till the
mainsail fills, and her head falls off, shift your paddle to the lee
side and there you are."
"Yes," said the Vice, who is a devoted adherent of a "sliding gunter"
rig with full boom and gaff, standing lug, dandy, jib and flying jib,
as distinguished from the two leg-of-mutton sails carried by the Red
Lakers. "Yes, there you are indeed with your steering paddle and other
unseamanlike contrivances. Now let me show you how a Chrysalid goes
about. We will suppose this log to be the canoe."
"Parallel exact, so far," broke in the Cook, "Go ahead." Taking no
notice of the interruption the Vice proceeded, seating himself astride
the log.
"We will suppose the canoe to be under full sail on the port tack,
with everything drawing. Order is given 'ready about,' crew spring
to stations. Helmsman gives her a good full, passes port tiller-rope
over his shoulder, takes it in his teeth and has his paddle handy.
Let go flying jib halyards, and in with your down haul. Let go main
sheet, and if you get a chance, haul in a little on the dandy. Round
with your helm. When the mainsail begins to shiver, top your boom or
lift it clear while she swings. If she don't come round, help her
with your paddle. Let go dandy sheet if you hauled in on it. Let go
topping lift, slack away weather jib sheet as soon as she is pointed
on starboard tack. Bowse in flying jib halyards, letting mainsail take
care of itself, make all fast, haul in main sheet, and there you are
all ship-shape."
"And hull down astern of the Red Lakers," added the Commodore.
During this explanation the Vice had, after his own enthusiastic
fashion, gone through all the motions, as he described them, and when
he appealed to his auditors to know if it was not a far more artistic
performance than that which the Commodore described, no one had a word
to say.
"Just tell us, Vice," said the Cook, "how many ropes have you to attend
to?"
"O there are only a few," responded the Vice, curiously enough not
seeing the trap into which he was falling, "There are the dandy
halyards, sheet and brail, that's three, main halyards--peak and
throat--sheet, brail, and topmast halyards, that's seven, jib halyards,
down haul, outhaul and sheets, that's twelve. Flying jib ditto ditto,
that's seventeen. Tiller ropes and painter, that's all, total twenty.
Oh, yes, and there's the signal halyards, that's twenty-two, or
twenty-three if you have a pair on your topmast."
"He does get ahead of us, that's a fact, Commodore," drawled the Cook.
"Now I can only make out two halyards, two sheets and a painter, five
in all, unless I count my fish-line, and he has twenty-three. I give it
up."
"Yes," said the Vice musingly, "when you are in a Chrysalid canoe,
properly rigged, you have a sense of completeness, not to be attained
elsewhere." Then suddenly changing the subject:
"I thought," said he, as he helped himself to an eighth slice of toast,
"that I was lucky when the Cook kindly volunteered to carry my tent
as a seat, and thus relieve my boat from a certain amount of weight,
but now I am wondering under what cover this expedition will sleep
tonight." It so happened that the expedition had not yet felt the loss
of their tent, having at the different camps chanced upon lean-tos and
other adequate substitutes.
"When you lack information on any matter connected with canoeing,"
said the Cook, "come to me." The Cook emptied his third cup (pint) of
coffee, unrolled a pack in his boat, and displayed a piece of stout
sheeting, five yards long and two and three-quarter yards wide, with
four rope loops at each end for tent pins, and a row of button-holes, a
foot apart, along each edge. He also displayed two triangular pieces of
the same material, at the bases of each of which were three loops for
pins, and along the other two sides a row of buttons.
[Illustration: The Cook's Tent.]
"Button these together properly," said he, "set the whole affair up
on poles, and cross pole, or across a rope strung tightly between two
trees, and you have a larger and better ventilated tent than the one I
left in the lake; it won't weigh half as much, either. Except in very
cold weather or driving rain, the end pieces will not be necessary.
Indeed, it can be set over a canoe, so as to cover all the open portion
of the boat."
[Illustration: The Cook's Tent.]
The whole supper table gazed admiringly, until the Commodore asked,
"Why have the holes, instead of the buttons, on the main piece?"
"So that you may affix the ends either from the inside or outside. The
latter is the easier way, but occasionally the wind blowing from the
front, will come in very freely between the fastenings outside, so that
the canoeist who drops asleep with a head full of pleasant dreams, will
awake with a head full of neuralgia."
"And if it rains, what is to prevent this tent from leaking like a
sieve, and distributing shower baths impartially among the clean and
the unclean?"
"Two things--a steep pitch or a neat coat of oil," said the Cook.
"The water-proof of the pudding is in the eating," remarked the
Commodore, who had begun to yawn. "Set the tent at once."
The tent was set on a line between two trees, the front remaining open,
and half an hour later there lay within it four men who were beginning
fully to realize how delicious weariness may become, when it is earned
by the body instead of the brain. With sand for mattresses, and a
rubber blanket each for sheets, they slept more soundly than they had
ever done at home upon springs and between linen. The only visitations
they experienced were heavenly ones. Venus glided past the open front,
but saw no one there over whom her fastidious gaze cared to linger.
Saturn peeped suspiciously in, but passed on contentedly, assured that
in the presence of such sound sleepers his rings were as safe as if
they were Indian Rings at Washington. Mars glared in with his great
red face, but the quartette had been all day on the water, under an
unfamiliar sun, so there were four fiery faces to Mars' one, and the
blazing old fellow went off in a huff and got behind a little cloud to
hide his mortification.
V.
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW.
If the reader has watched with any interest, the development of what
may perhaps without offence be termed canoebial character, he must have
been pained to observe that however fair minded the average canoeist
maybe in other respects, neither his judgment nor his statements can
be trusted where his own boat is concerned. Of this fact each member
of the expedition became convinced in the course of the first day
out, and the authors deem it their duty to warn the public against
indiscriminate belief in the virtues ascribed to different canoes by
their respective owners.[3] The Statesman, who has associated to some
extent with sporting men, says, that he has observed a like trait in
owners of horses, dogs and yachts, and all know that every mother
discovers in her own children beauties and virtues which no other
living being is able to perceive. Why then, should a trait which is
beautiful in one case be scoffed at in another? The authors hold that a
sublime faith in one's own canoe, is one of the noblest sentiments that
can animate the human breast.