generous pig-trough remodelled by one with yearnings after the art of
the undertaker. Standing, yet bent nearly double, in the stern was
a slight, short old man, clothed in raiment utterly unlike anything
which any member of the expedition had ever seen at home. The old man
paddled his boat at a surprising rate of speed directly toward the camp
of the expedition, and as he did so the gazers gradually lost their
enjoyment of the picturesque in the realization of a dread duty about
to devolve upon them for the first time during the cruise. The old man
being a Canadian, it naturally resulted that he must be a Frenchman,
and incapable of English. Who was to converse with him? The Cook, who
had picked up some French among the Louisiana creoles, but had not for
ten years heard or spoken a word of the beautiful language, modestly
retired behind the Commodore's broad shoulders. The silence began to be
terrible, but it was bliss compared with the sensation with which the
group shuddered when the strange craft slid noiselessly and darkly up
the beach, and her crew partially undoubled himself and remarked,
"Wahu ei hoo mi eh ha ma?"
[Illustration: The Picturesque anear.]
Three mariners involuntarily dropped back a pace or two; the fourth
(the Cook) felt secure in his inconspicuousness until he discovered
that he had been dropped to the ground by the Commodore's backward
movement, and that the Commodore was nervelessly sitting upon him. At
length the Vice, whose admiration for the French Commune had caused him
to immure himself many a night with some ex-Communists who had escaped
to America, asked in faltering tones,
"Q'est-ce-que vous voulez?"
"That's it," gasped the Cook, as he endeavored to reanimate the
Commodore's spinal cord with the sharp end of a quill toothpick, "make
the ancient mariner explain himself."
But the Ancient Mariner only shook his head with a vague look, and said,
"O hyu wuh oo mi en?"
[Illustration: Wahu ei hoo mi eh ha ma?]
Then the Commodore, who had lived a year in Paris, and was familiar
with the polite phrases there in vogue, said,
"Voulez-vous pourboire?"
The old man shook his head, scrutinized the party closely, read the
names of the boats, and exclaimed,
"Haw hihi."
Then the Purser, who before he left Oxford had made a French
translation of the "Antigone" of Sophocles, which competent judges
pronounced superior to that of Voltaire, stepped a pace to the front to
hide his blanched countenance, and said,
"Nous ne comprenons pas."
And the old man replied,
"Haw hihi, hahu?"
By this time the Cook, who had extricated himself from beneath the
ruins of the Commodore, was discreetly and rapidly seeking the leafy
coverts of the forest, but the Vice detected him and dragged him back.
The Cook put on an air of bravery and exclaimed,
"It's no use, boys; I'm convinced that he's a Basque, who has strayed
up into France, and somehow got over here. I speak half a dozen
languages, but there are no affinities between the Basque and any
other known dialect. It will be just as well to talk English to him as
anything else, so here goes. Say, old friend, we don't know what you're
driving at, but"--here a happy thought struck the Cook, "say it over
again." And while the Cook listened attentively, the old man repeated
his first inquiry,
"Wahu ei hoo mi eh ha ma?"
"Certainly!" exclaimed the Cook briskly, "how much do you ask for them?"
"Hihi heh," replied the old man with great animation.
"It's a bargain," said the Cook; "Purser, please give the ancient
mariner half a dollar?" And then the Cook, with the air of a man who
comprehended the wisdom of the ages, explained to his astonished
auditors. "Gentlemen, our visitor is not a Frenchman at all; he is an
Irishman whose palate has departed, and he wants to know if we will buy
two pike and a bass--'hoo mi eh ha ma,'--you know." The old man in the
meantime hurried to his boat, paddled off to a crate anchored on the
edge of the channel, and returned with a string of fish in the full
vigor of life.
The three linguists sat deliberately down upon the sand, and their lips
remained closed until coaxed from their obduracy by the mingled odors
of coffee, fried fish, buttered toast and canned peaches. The Vice was
heard to mutter, "French I can talk and most patois I can understand,
but Basque complicated with loss of palate throws me." Presently
however he began to exhibit symptoms of his accustomed loquacity.
[Illustration: Supper Table.]
It so happened that the supper table was sustained by resting against
the cut-water of the Cherub, and it gradually dawned upon the Vice that
there was something peculiar about her construction, something, that
is, different from the construction of a Chrysalid which is built in
the orthodox style, known as lap-streak or clinker, the planks being of
quarter-inch white cedar, and the timbers of well seasoned oak. Said
he, addressing the owners of the Red Lakers:
"Why don't the joints between your planking show?"
"Because the boats are not built in that way," said the Cook.
"But that's no way to build a boat; the seams can't be made tight
unless the planks over-lap. Look at the Rochefort."
"Very true," said the Commodore, "but our boats don't seem to leak so
very much more than yours do, for all that."
"How are they built any how?" and the Purser and the Vice
simultaneously arose and examined the Red Lakers by moonlight and
firelight.
Mention has already been made of the characteristic indifference of
Chrysalid owners to all canoes which are not Chrysalids until some
chance occurrence forces them to make examination.
In this respect they strikingly resemble certain ecclesiastical sects,
which rest serenely ignorant of other denominations, until they
stumble upon information inadvertently, which startles into respectful
investigation.
"Why they are perfectly smooth inside and out,"--"no timbers at
all,"--"what lots of rivets," were some of the remarks.
"Certainly, haven't we told you so a dozen times," said the Cook, "and
you never looked at them before."
"How do you suppose they are made?" asked the Vice.
"I am informed," replied the Commodore, "that thin strips of white
cedar are steamed and bent transversely over an exact model or "last"
of the intended canoe. The edges are straight so that they fit closely
against one another. When all these are in place, a longitudinal
outside sheathing of cedar or other wood, butternut in the case of
our boats, is copper-fastened to the inner lining, the nails being
driven through both thicknesses at short intervals, and clinched on
the inside. The ribs and sheathing as used by the builder are each a
quarter-inch thick, so that the total thickness is half an inch. The
canoe is perfectly free from ribs inside, and from the raised edges
outside, and cannot leak while she remains sound. Her strength is
necessarily immense from the way in which she is put together."
"I think," added the Cook, "that we get a good deal of speed out of
this model from the absence of the over-laps which are unavoidable in
clinker built boats. These necessarily hold the water to an extent
which must be appreciable in so light a craft. Moreover, the fore and
aft curve of the bottom line rids them of a deal of what builders call
'skin-friction.' Recent experiments indicate that a shape like the bowl
of a spoon offers the least resistance in passing over the surface of
water."
"Your boats approximate to the spoon shape, that's a fact," said the
Purser.
"Look at those rivets," remarked the Vice, "they make her look as
though she were freckled."
"Granted," was the Cook's answer, "but are not freckles beautiful when
they indicate a sound constitution?"
"The rib-and-batten, and the paper boats are quite as smooth outside,"
the Commodore admitted, "but, they all have internal projections which
are sometimes inconvenient, as for instance when you wish to sleep on
board, or when you are trying to sponge out sand and so forth."
The Purser and the Vice closed the dispute by proving that their
lap-streak cedar boats when empty were somewhat lighter than the
others, and the Commodore and Cook were fain to be content with
asserting that if lightness were the only object, Red-Lakers could be
built lighter than Chrysalids by using thinner stuff.
[Footnote 4: This was not the noun used by Dr. Johnson in his
famous definition of patriotism.]
[Footnote 5: Reported in full on the spot by the Editor.]
VII.
GARRISON LIFE.
The Vice and the Purser, having boats of the Chrysalid model, were so
long in stowing their cargoes that the Commodore and the Cook started
in advance of the remainder of the squadron and made a brisk run to
a British fort, the outline of whose parapet was discernible to a
military eye, on an island some miles distant. When built during the
last war, this work was far beyond the range of Yankee guns, but now
the two forts might exchange cards with some chance of doing execution,
albeit they are out of sight of one another.
Doubting what reception they might meet at the hands of a British
garrison, the voyagers resolved themselves into two divisions, one of
which approached the water-gate, while the other ran behind a stockade
which flanked the work. No sentries being visible upon the parapet,
the two officers disembarked and having learned in former days never
incautiously to approach an earthwork, they advanced up the glacis
and along the counterscarp with due circumspection. Suddenly the Cook
paused, seized his companion's arm; struck a dramatic attitude and
exclaimed, "Behold the garrison!"
[Illustration: An Unknown Fortress.]
The couple, who had walked as they conversed, had reached one of the
bastions, and as the Cook spoke, the two men beheld, between the
gabion-lined walls of an embrasure, three children with uncovered heads
and saucer-like eyes.
"'Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,'" said the Cook.
"'And thus be it ever,'" quoted the Commodore.
By this time the Purser and the Vice had made the island, and joined
the first arrivals, who carefully and with professional pride inspected
the outward defences of the fort, using technical military terms with
a fluency which humbled their civilian companions into comparative
silence. At length the Vice, noticing the rotting stockade, the weedy
ditch, and other signs of inattention, ventured to let the eagle scream
a note or two.
"Just like everything else, that is subject to the decaying influence
of monarchical institutions," said he. "How quickly a handful of our
brave fellows would take possession of it!"
"Perhaps," admitted the Commodore, "but I'd prefer to risk my chances
from the inside."
The Purser immediately patted the Commodore on the back, while the Vice
opened his eyes and demanded an explanation.
"Some forts," remarked the Commodore, "are like singed cats; they fight
better than they look. This fort is in better condition now, than half
the forts were that have become historic."
"But in case of sudden war," said the Vice, "there's nothing at hand to
repair a broken-down fort with, is there?"
"Yes; living men; they make and unmake forts," said the Commodore
brusquely.
"It's the same way with conventions and caucuses," remarked the Vice,
regaining his self-respect as he imagined himself once more the
Commodore's equal.
"You've been a soldier," said the Purser to the Cook, "and I am longing
to see once more the uniform of my native country. Tell me how to gain
admission to the fort."
The Cook replied,
"Go around to the sally port, which you will be sure to find opening
away from the neighboring republic, and fire your pistol. The guard
will hurry out and make you its prisoner; then the Commodore and I will
come around and intercede for you, on the ground of your ignorance."
The Purser looked disdainful; "And think you," said he, "that Britain's
laws are so fitful as to waver under the persuasions of a brace of
Yankees?"
"When Yankees can't persuade Britishers," remarked the Vice, "they
usually proceed to"--
"Pack a High Court of Arbitration," interrupted the Purser.
The quartette straggled through the tall weeds, which prevented farther
chaff, and reached the sally port. The heavy gates hung aloft, their
duty being discharged by deputy in the shape of long rails resting
edgewise in two posts, and with "No Admittance" painted upon a board.
The garrison, moving on interior lines, gradually massed itself
behind the board, its forefingers taking wary positions within its
respective mouths. Behind, and in the centre of the terreplain, towered
an enormous haystack. "Behold," said the Purser, "the ingenuity with
which the garrison has placed the haystack just where riflemen can take
shelter behind it, and command the entrance to the fort, picking off
infatuated Yankees who venture upon the drawbridge."
[Illustration: The British Garrison.]
"True," retorted the Cook, "the idea is not unlike that of General
Jackson, who used cotton-bales at New Orleans, but I believe it was not
Yankees, who were picked off." The contrast between the ideal and the
real was so absorbing, as the four stood at the bridge-head, that some
time elapsed before they realized that clouds had gathered heavily, and
begun to drop their contents.
"My main hatch is open!" shrieked the Vice, as he hurried off to his
canoe.
[Illustration: The Sally Port.]
"My tobacco--and it's a rare Brazilian article--is lying in the bottom
of my boat!" shouted the Cook, as he followed the Vice.
"The Vice and the Cook will tow up the other boats," ordered the
Commodore, "while the Purser and I construct temporary shelter."
Several hundred yards from the fort was a group of trees and a board
pile, and to this the commanding officer and the Purser hastened. The
trees seemed to have been a favorite resort of cattle, and the contents
of the board pile were rotten, but it was not a time to be particular,
so a beam was stretched between the limbs of two trees, and boards
slanted against it to shed the rain. Fortunately a platform of boards
happened to be just where the extempore shed would cover it. When the
Vice and the Cook returned, the latter considerately bringing dinner
material with him, it was discovered to be noon-day, so the party
did justice to bread and butter, cold tongue, and a can of apricots.
Suddenly the Vice remarked,
"I suppose these boards beneath our feet are the floor of some late
military structure. I can't help noticing how perfectly they are
combined for drainage, sagging, as they do, at the centre."
The Commodore had not before noticed the peculiarity alluded to, but
now his mathematical eye saw that the depression in the boards was
lower than the surface of the surrounding ground. Extracting a trolling
line from the Vice's pocket, he lowered a sinker cautiously in a crack
between two boards, unrolled considerable line, withdrew it, and
remarked,
"I have the pleasure of informing the squadron that during military
occupation of the fort, the inmates of the hospital, the ruins of which
we behold in front of us, had an abundant supply of cool water from a
very deep well, which well is at the present moment directly under us,
while the boards which cover it are slowly breaking."
Every one sprang to his feet. While at his home occupation of
statesmanship, the Vice never beheld disaster impending over his own
party without speedily traversing the whole distance between his own
party and the opposition, so on this particular occasion, his instincts
impelled him to dash through rain, mud, and thistles toward the ruins
of the hospital, whose wall offered the most distinct shelter within
view. The Vice wore a helmet, his long whiskers fluttered behind him
on the breeze, his shoulders and body were covered by a black rubber
blanket, his trowsers were rolled high above his stockingless calves,
and he wore a huge pair of carpet slippers, which were nearly as wide
as they were long. His figure and attitudes, as he ran, were so full
of suggestion that the artist preserved them in a series of sketches,
severally entitled.
[Illustration: The Vampire Bat.]
"The Flight of Cain."
"Scotch Laird enjoying His Favorite Weather."
"Study of the Bottom of a Bear's Foot."
"Rip Van Winkle chased by Dogs."
"Mephistophiles Triumphant."
"Election Returns from a Rural District."
"The great Vampire Bat."
The absence of the Vice left his late companions in possession of
additional elbow room, but on a rainy day there are blessings more to
be desired than elbow room. Among these is a pipe of tobacco, and four
walls between which to smoke it. The Cook's precious Brazilian tobacco
was wet, the Commodore and the Purser had left their pouches in their
boats, but each man had a pipe in his pocket, and it was known that
the Vice had in his possession a bag of delicious weed. So dispatches
were sent him during a slight lull in the storm, and the Commodore
and Purser made a reconnoissance in the direction of the fort. The
garrison being invisible, the storming party dashed over the bridge and
beneath the temporary portcullis, putting to flight a large body of
chickens who were carelessly resting upon their arms in the guard-room.
These alarmed the commander of the fort, who at once emerged from
headquarters, with an axe upon his shoulder, and himself in dishabille.
The Commodore saluted the commandant, and asked, with due formality,
the courtesy of shelter for himself and companions, and for permission
to walk about the fort when the rain should cease.
"Is it wantin' to be out av the wet ye are?" asked the commandant;
"come straight into the kitchen an dhry yerselves."
"There are two more of us, yet to come," explained the Commodore.
"Ah, niver ye fear," quoth the old man; "isn't the kitchen in the
casemate that held the biggest gun, in the good ould times, an' hasn't
a whole company av the Rifles been in there to wanst many's the time."
[Illustration: The Commandant.]
The casemate proved of generous size, as was also the cooking-stove
that stood in the midst of it. The commandant's wife and children made
haste to place chairs, while one child was detailed to bring in the
Vice and the Cook at the double-quick. Soon the quartette sat about
the refilled stove, and though the month was July, no one thought
to push back his chair. Gradually there stole over the party that
delicious drowsiness which is peculiar to a man who has been acting as
clothes-horse to a wet suit--a drowsiness
"That resembles slumber only
As the mist resembles rain"--
a drowsiness which demands not sleep, but smoke. In short, each member
of the expedition was dying for a pipe, but he would have prolonged his
sensation of dissolution to its logical end rather than have got out
of his chair on the one hand, or, on the other, have ventured to smoke
in an apartment which was apparently the host's parlor as well as his
kitchen. But the Vice, the Statesman, the moulder of men, came at the
critical instant to the rescue of his companions and to that of
"A nearer one
Still, and a dearer one"--
himself.
"You must find it quite lonesome here at times," he remarked to the
commandant of the fort.
"Thrue for yez, an' I do," responded her Majesty's representative.
"Still," continued the Vice, "I suppose you can once in a while take
some comfort out of a drop and a smoke?"
The commandant of the fort winked profoundly. The Vice passed his
half pint flask stealthily to the custodian of Britain's honor, and
the old man, first prudently sending his wife out of the casemate for
something, drained the flask with the greatest courtesy and enthusiasm.
Then the Vice remarked,
"I suppose you get very good smoking tobacco in Canada, as there is no
duty on it, but permit me to leave you a fine pouch of it, as a slight
remembrance of your courtesy to us."
The commandant accepted the token of esteem, and smiled his thanks
from every line of his wrinkled visage. Then he opened the pouch, and
advanced his ancient nose, first cautiously, then critically, and
finally with a sniff of decided approbation.
[Illustration: The Commandant's Lady.]
"Try it at once," said the Vice, with ill-dissembled eagerness. "Don't
hesitate on our account--we are old smokers."
The commandant acted at once upon the suggestion, first courteously
passing the bag to his guests. Within three minutes these traditional
enemies were smoking the pipe of peace together, nor was lovely woman
missing from the circle, for the commandant's lady filled and lit, not
exactly a yard, but a "lady-finger" of clay herself, and puffed thereat
with great satisfaction.
The rain ended, the party went out to look at the fort, and discovered
that what from the outside had appeared a mere earthwork was really a
very carefully built fort, with stone quarters, galleries, casemates
and revetments, and easy of defence to a mere handful of men.
Just as the party was bidding adieu to their kind entertainers, there
occurred an accident which displayed to an unexpected degree the
_esprit de corps_ of the expedition. The commandant had offered the
Commodore some milk for the expedition, if some one would wait an hour
for it--the cows were quite a way off, he said. To wait inside a grim
fort while the sun shone brightly outside, and four canoes needing
inspection on account of damages by rain, was a duty to chill the
ardent soul. Just then, however, when the Commodore was wondering if he
could safely forget his own morning detail of himself as fleet milkman,
and assign this duty to some one else, the commandant's older daughter,
heretofore invisible, and of about eighteen or twenty summers, appeared
from an adjoining room.
"_I'll_ stay, Commodore," shouted three manly voices in unison. The
Commodore was so affected by this devotion to the interests of the
fleet that he felt shamed into a determination to remain true to his
self-appointed duty, but when he beheld the Purser's pleading eyes,
more eloquent than any words could be, human sympathy overcame soulless
discipline in the Commodore's rugged breast, and the brotherhood of man
asserted itself.
The wind and the shower died together, and as each captain of a vessel
had some special reason to wish himself farther on his journey, it was
agreed that the squadron should proceed under paddles, and camp for the
night at a point which the Vice knew all about, having camped there
during a previous cruise with the Alderman. This plan was accepted with
expressions of the liveliest satisfaction.
As the Purser rejoined the command with his milk pail, the three
Americans were seriously conversing about garrison life, as it exists
in the British service.
"I have often read," the Vice was saying, "of the exalted social tone
which pervades the British army, and I confess that I am glad to have
been admitted even for so short a time into society so select."
"I have always understood," said the Commodore, "that the commandant
of an English military post is sure to be a gentleman of high social
position at home."
The Cook remarked that "it was pleasant to have the notions of the
simple and unaffected manners of the English aristocracy, as derived
from contemporaneous literature, so pleasantly confirmed by an actual
experience."
"But you know that there isn't any--" put in the Purser.
The Cook went on serenely with his remarks, in the same vein and was so
ably seconded by his fellow citizens, that the Purser finally embarked
and paddled away, stopping a few yards from shore to shout defiantly
back,
"It was all Gladstone's doings, you know. But for him there would have
been a regular garrison there, and may be you wouldn't have been so
cordially received."