lower end of the canal exhibited in charming profusion the red-tiled
roofs, white stuccoed cottages, and verandahs peculiar to French
village architecture; all signs over the shop-doors were in French, and
nearly all of them indicated that spirituous liquors were sold there;
the native stare was of short duration and respectful, instead of long
drawn and insolent, as it would have been at any canal terminus in
the United States, and the village dogs did not respond to whistles
delivered in the American manner. A single new house with Mansard roof
had intruded itself in the village, but the Cook promptly suggested
that it must belong to some fugitive American statesman, so it could
not be considered as part of the village proper.
At this suggestion the Vice became pensive and was presently
discovered questioning a resident as to the personal appearance of
certain American sojourners. His curiosity was pardonable as he had
been conspicuous in breaking up a famous metropolitan Ring, and knew
personally some of its fugitive fragments.
No factory reared its horrid front aloft, so the village maidens were
meek-eyed and healthy, and the young men did not congregate at street
corners with hands in pockets. Two or three score of men stood upon the
walls of the final lock, to look at the boats, but they displayed none
of the officious curiosity which any able-bodied American citizen would
have considered necessary under like circumstances. To the Commodore,
the Purser and the Cook the change from the restless activity with
which they were familiar was inexpressibly delightful, but the Vice
regarded everything with cold suspicion.
"The natural result of monarchical rule," was his incessant comment
upon whatever he saw. "There is waterpower enough going to waste,"
said he, pointing to the rapids, "for a manufacturing city such as the
world has never seen. Capital would be attracted, labor would follow,
facilities for navigation would increase, farmers would have a home
market for their produce, real estate would increase in value, and
local politics would become a science. But see it as it is! Why, I
doubt if it has a board of aldermen, or even a mayor!"
"Then it is Acadia indeed," murmured the Purser, raising his head from
a sketch he had hastily made of a sweet-faced girl who was gazing
wonderingly yet modestly from a window.
[Illustration: The Water Front.]
From the river below the lock the expedition saw the foot of the
rapids, and near them a ruined fort. A double invitation to view the
picturesque was not to be declined, so every one paddled up as far
as the rapids would allow. The fort bore date of 1711, and tradition
said that it had been constructed for defence against the Indians, in
the days when Canada was still New France, from which it was safe to
infer that the North American savage was not in the habit of rounding
rapids by canal when he disported himself in his light canoe. The
work had been stripped to its bare walls, not by relic-hunters but by
searchers after seasoned fuel, and its water-wall had fallen in, but
enough remained to show the plan of the work. The Commodore and the
Purser broiled in the sun at the gateless sally-port and endeavored to
reconstruct the work in the interest of romance. They filled it with
picturesque men-at-arms, gallant officers, and venerable priests, and
took care not to omit the occasional Indian maiden, while the Vice
calculated the cost of transforming the work into a distillery, and
the Cook, who had climbed to a sealed loophole overhead in search
of reflections which did not appear, gently led the thoughts of the
romancers back to the real by an occasional shower of partly pulverized
mortar.
It presently occurred to him, however, that the stock of bread was
running low, only one loaf being left from the supply laid in beyond
the line. He accordingly made a requisition on the Purser for the
necessary funds and paddled off to the village. In a few moments he was
seen returning, partly concealed behind something which he had placed
on the forward deck. As the bow touched the sand the mysterious
object was seen to be merely a loaf of bread beside which, for the sake
of contrast, the Cook had laid the remaining loaf of the United States
pattern.
[Illustration: No Ruins in America (Ruskin).]
The Vice regarded the two with a puzzled air. "Why," he asked, "should
forty millions of people living in a free republic, be content with
loaves of such diminutive size when the subjects of a despotic monarchy
are provided with bread on a scale so truly magnificent?"
[Illustration: Two Loaves--a Contrast.]
"The loaves are to one another in an inverse proportion to the
population which they represent," said the Cook.
In quality and price, this loaf compares favorably with that of the
American baker, but in size and shape it is unlike anything that
elsewhere exists under the same name. Its shape is that of a cloven
mountain, and its size--well, if such loaves were used in Judea
eighteen hundred years ago, the miracle of the feeding of the five
thousand would not seem so very wonderful after all. A single loaf
materially increased the draft of the Cook's boat, and had he bought
four, as he had expected to do, it would have been necessary to have
chartered a store-ship.
As the party sat in the shadow of one of the water bastions and viewed
the rapids in their changing forms but changeless beauty, the Vice fell
into gloomy reverie.
"It's always so," said he. "We've paddled through a straight cut
canal for ten miles, been drenched with water and wind, jeered by
mule-drivers, and in French, too,--loosened the skin from our faces,
caused heaven only knows how much inward profanity among lock-keepers,
lost a whole day and ten miles of scenery, and all because we were
afraid to run the rapids, which would have brought us here in an hour.
It's the same way in politics; caution means labor and trouble, but if
you dash ahead in spite of every thing and every body, you're sure to
come out all right. The Alderman always said--"
"It isn't too late yet," interrupted the Commodore. "I am so desirous
of seeing some one run those rapids that I will be one of any two to
carry your boat as far up the stream as you like, if you will run down
in her."
"Agreed!" shouted the Vice, "but--" here he prudently admitted to
himself the defects of the model of _his_ boat, "I wonder if the Cook
wouldn't rather do it in the Cherub--you will find it far the easier to
carry."
"Certainly," replied the Cook; "besides, she is far safer, faster and
more manageable than your craft. She has no keel to catch upon a rock
and tip one over, and her peculiar construction makes it impossible to
start a leak, no matter how hard you may strike a stone with her."
The Cherub was promptly unloaded and carried up the stream half a mile,
when the Cook seeing an almost unbroken line of rocks crossing the
river, stopped her bearers. He then divested himself of all clothing
except such as is technically denominated "gents underwear." The boat
was placed in the water, heading up stream, and the Cook embarked,
bracing his back against the amidship thwart, and his knees against
the sides. The painter was thrown in, and he started to paddle out
into the stream, but the current was in the habit of working its own
sweet will upon floating bodies, and it promptly signified as much to
the Cook by whirling him around so rapidly that the force of rotary
motion almost deprived him of his scalp and whiskers--his helmet he had
thoughtfully left ashore. Then the boat danced merrily along, saluting
each inviting rock with a long soft caress, yet obeying the paddle with
an alacrity of which no Chrysalid canoe could ever be capable. The time
occupied by the trip seemed so great to the Cook, that a thousand years
added or subtracted would have had no perceptible influence upon the
total; according to the Commodore's pulse, however, (all watches having
stopped) rather less than four minutes had elapsed since the start when
the Cook paddled the Cherub up to the smooth beach below the rapid,
and found that she had not shipped a drop of water, nor started, in
striking the rocks, anything more important than varnish.
[Illustration: Down the Rapids.]
The four sat for a while longer under the shadow of the main gateway,
and then proceeded on their way in order to reach a camping ground not
in the immediate vicinity of any village.
Upon the broad basin into which the river spread below the fort, the
sun shone with a fierceness which set at naught the vulgar theory that
solar heat decreases as one goes northward. The voyagers decided,
without a dissenting voice, that the isothermal line which reached this
portion of Canada was that of the Desert of Sahara, and the Vice, whose
scientific ideas were rather vague, suggested that it had probably
passed through several blast-furnaces and a ratification meeting on its
way north. A gentle breeze finally came to the relief of the party,
and at the same time there came certain of the natives to inquire
about the speed, etc., of the boats, and as the river at this point
was very wide, and the canoeists were not averse to displaying their
seamanship, the boats were soon doing the picturesque to the delight of
all beholders. Suddenly, however, the breeze took offence at something
and vanished, leaving the boats a mile or two from shore. Paddles were
manfully plied, the nearest shade upon the banks being several miles
away. As no one but a denizen of the abode of the finally impenitent
could realize what the heat of that afternoon actually was, it is
extremely unlikely that the tale will ever be told, but the Purser
solemnly declares unto this day that the sleeve of his blue flannel
shirt was scorched by the sun.
The fresh meat purchased at the end of the canal having succumbed to
the heat, the expedition went out in a body, on making camp, in search
of animal food. The nearest house seemed miles away, so the Vice took
to his favorite pastime of trolling for pickerel, the Purser went into
the forest with the Vice's gun, and the Commodore and the Cook started,
with boat-hooks, to secure bullfrogs for a fricassee. The Vice caught
nothing, as men universally do when they troll, the Purser got nothing
but a bruised shoulder, while the Commodore and the Cook, having failed
to secure so much as a single batrachian, lost what little character
they had for perseverance under difficulties, and swore roundly that
the French inhabitants had hunted the frogs till they were too shy to
be successfully harpooned. The voyagers fell back upon their canned
provisions, made a tolerably satisfactory supper and straightway
engaged in a discussion on the kinds of wood available in that most
important branch of industry, the construction of canoes, and their
accessories.
American white-cedar, they concluded, is undoubtedly the best of all
woods for building light boats. It is now exported for this purpose
to all parts of the world where artistic boat-building is practiced.
Its structure is such that a blow or scrape, such as boats are likely
to receive, merely indents without splintering or splitting. It is
moreover very light. It has no special beauty of grain but takes
varnish well and has an agreeable color, which improves with age.
[Illustration: A Quiet Cove.]
Oak is handsomer in appearance, but is too heavy and splinters badly
at the edges when exposed to wear and tear. It is usually the best
available wood for keels and timbers.
Spanish cedar splits too easily to be used for planking, but makes a
handsome deck, and is strong enough when properly supported by carlines.
Butternut is a little heavier than cedar, but is somewhat harder and
tougher, and is far more beautiful in color and grain. In point of
texture and toughness there is small choice between the two. If one is
willing to paddle a pound or two of additional weight for the sake of
appearances, let him choose butternut. If not, white cedar is best.
Clear butternut can be had in longer and wider strips than cedar.
For stem and stern posts hackmatack is given the preference, by nearly
all builders. For the timbers, carlines, and interior braces of all
sorts, tough, nonsplitable woods are used, different builders having
different favorites.
The masts technically denominated the "main" and "dandy," may be
of white-ash, spruce or pine--the last being lightest and weakest.
They should be carried up without any taper, a short distance above
the deck--say three feet for the main and two for the dandy. This
is not very essential, it merely makes them bend more symmetrically
under sail pressure. Ash is heavier than spruce, but more slender and
graceful spars may be made from it, owing to its greater strength. The
Commodore having tried both, rather prefers ash. Some members of the
New York Club have used bamboo for masts with satisfactory results; for
its weight it is certainly the strongest of spars, and in appearance it
is all that can be desired, except that it does not taper quite enough
at the top to suit a fastidious eye. This objection might be overcome
by using a topmast of pine or spruce.
It is almost always convenient to have the masts of a canoe jointed, so
that they can be readily stowed below decks. The simplest and cheapest
way is to place the mast so that it shall be an inch and a quarter or
less at the joint, that being the largest regular size of fishing-rod
ferrules. Such joints have been fully tested and are strong enough. The
device known as the "sliding gunter" is a brass fitting which holds
the main topmast and slides up and down the mainmast, operated by a
halyard. It works very well when in perfect order, but is apt to give
trouble when the parts get wet. Moreover it necessitates a clumsily
large lower-mast, since this part must be deeply grooved to receive
the topmast-halyard _over_ which the "gunter" slides. The Vice who has
tried the sliding gunter rig has decided to adopt a simple nine-foot
mast with a mainsail like that shown in the illustration on page 107,
and a ferrule joint. The sail runs up and down on rings as do those of
the Red Lakers, and having throat and peak halyards attached to the
gaff, the peak can be dropped or raised without lowering the sail.
This has the effect of reefing and shaking out without the bother of
tying the reef-points shown in the sketch referred to, on the lower
part of the mainsail.
The Red Lakers, by the way, are reefed by means of a small brass S.
hook carried at the peak of each sail. The sail is lowered away and
this hook passed through any one of the rings on which it runs. When
hoisted again the sail is of course correspondingly reduced in area.
It was ten o'clock before the squadron had settled all this and was
content to turn in.
[Illustration]
XI.
SEVERAL OTHER DAYS.
The disgust of the voyagers on the next morning, when they found
themselves reduced to breakfasting on bread and coffee, was provocative
of vigorous paddling, and a large town was soon reached. The voyagers
passed en route a small Indian camp, in which were exhibited some of
the positive results of civilized environment, for one of the men had
a beard, and the only visible squaw wore an apron with pockets. As the
town was one at which the expedition expected many letters, there was
a movement in force upon the post-office, which consisted of two cigar
boxes upon the table of a sitting-room; one of these contained letters
received, and the other mail matter to be transmitted; one contained,
after the expedition had received its letters, a single postal card,
and the other, when the voyagers deposited their home and business
correspondence, was so full that the pleasant lady in charge was
visibly affected by the sudden increase of business. There were several
streets of very old and very quaint cottages, and a church, externally
a duplicate of every other church on the river, and containing an
odd yet touching assortment of votive offerings. Among these was a
huge model of a full-rigged ship; this swung aloft from the centre
of the ceiling, and doubtless kept nervous worshippers from the pews
directly beneath it. The value of such an object of contemplation must
be inestimable for the adolescent portion of the congregation, that
is if the Acadian fancy is as much given over to dreams of piratical
adventure on the high seas, as is that of American youth.
Three women were upon their knees in the church; two were utterly
oblivious to the entrance of the outlandish foreign quartette, but
the third kept alive the faith of man in womanish curiosity, for she
stared at the party as long as it was visible. The four sailors walked
around the side aisles past the "Stations of the Cross," more, it must
be admitted, from longings artistic rather than devout, and were about
to leave the church, when two bright looking youths of seventeen or
eighteen entered the organ loft, and sang several hymns, accompanying
themselves with the organ which was presumably blown by a third. The
Vice interviewed them and asked what portion of the service they had
been conducting, and learned that they had been singing merely for
amusement. Fancy two healthy young Americans going into church during
business hours, and singing hymns for purposes of personal diversion!
Their associates would promptly cut their acquaintance, their employers
would discharge them for laziness, and their parents, if truly
affectionate, would hasten to call a physician skilled in treating
the victims of mental aberration. The quartette concluded that their
fond imaginings regarding the uses of aerial ships had been at fault.
Maritime adventure can have no place in the Acadian mind.
A careful survey of the picturesque little hamlet showed that it was
infested, though not infected, by a railroad; from this the whole
village shrunk away, so that a modern "Railway Hotel," which stood near
the station, stood alone, in unrelieved ugliness. The Vice, with his
prejudice against every thing foreign, insisted upon the expedition
dining at this hotel, because it reminded him of home, and within half
an hour he endured the worst meal that had ever been set before him.
The Cook, who had been detailed to watch the boats while his associates
dined, sank into a peaceful slumber in the Cherub, and became an
object of interest to several natives and many hundreds of flies. The
former, though somewhat curious, were too polite to arouse the sleeping
watchman, but the latter being evidently summer visitors from the
States, had neither conscience nor modesty, so the slumberer awoke and
devoted some moments to drowsy sympathy for the defunct Pharaoh and
his people who suffered under the seventh plague. Then he paced the
river-bank, looking about for the picturesque, and was rewarded by a
glimpse of the old, old story, which went down the river road between a
bashful young man and a comely maiden.
Near this point the river contained several beautiful islands, and
to one of these the squadron made its way after dinner. The distance
was small--a mere matter of five miles--but the fact that it had to
be traversed by paddle and under a blazing sun, caused the trip to
seem fully long enough for an afternoon voyage. A delightful camping
ground was finally reached, however; a narrow grassy plateau spreading
itself under a belt of thick trees, with lovely outlooks up and down
the river. It was the Commodore's tour of duty for forage, and after a
lesson in Canadian French from the Vice, who had it at second hand from
the Alderman, he paddled over to the mainland. The substance of his
instructions was that milk instead of being "lait" was "lât," sounding
the final "T," also that the final "S" was in most cases sounded. He
tried the nearest house.
"Bon jour, Madame. Avez vous du lât, à vendre?" Glances exchanged among
the members of the household with frequent repetitions of the word
"lât."
"Comment, M'sieu?"
The Commodore repeated the sentence. Same effect.
"Ne comprens pas."
Another trial with some changes of structure and pronunciation.
"M'sieu, we no speak Anglais."
The Commodore went his way to the next house, half a mile distant,
and protected by a black dog of great apparent enterprise. Interview
substantially duplicated.
At the third house the discovery was made that the Alderman's
information as to the pronunciation of "lait" was erroneous.
Pronouncing the word in usual manner he was readily understood, but
there was no milk to be had. So he paddled over to the island again
and approached the somewhat "swell" mansion of the proprietor, which
had been shunned in the first instance because the occupants of such
mansions not infrequently scorn the advances of canoeists in the
direction of supplies. Ascending a footpath from the landing, the
Commodore found himself before a square brick house standing in the
midst of forest trees, many being superb specimens of spruce and
balsam, which sent their perfect spires of green sixty or seventy
feet upward. The underbrush had been cleared away, so that a somewhat
broken lawn spread from the house to the edge of the bluff, and through
the tree-trunks there opened an expanse of rich meadow-land dotted
with cottages crossed by lines of dark coniferous woods, and backed
by the blue Belœil range. Lost in the contemplation of the delicious
landscape, the Commodore was for a time merged in the love of nature,
but a rude interruption was in store for him. No sign of human life
had been visible when he turned his back upon the house and became
absorbed in the contemplation of the beautiful, but a sudden bark rang
upon the air and was instantly taken up, as it seemed from all parts of
the island. The case of James Fitzjames and the ambuscaded Highlanders
flashed through his mind as a parallel one:
[Illustration: A Charming Landscape.]
"Instant through copse and heath arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows."
He turned from the scene which the Artist has depicted and beheld what
is shown on the following page. The apparent relative dimensions of
himself and the dogs are faithfully preserved.
On they came, but by this time the Commodorial soul had returned from
its æsthetic wanderings. If there is one thing of which he is less
afraid than another, it is dogs. Consequently when the leader, a shaggy
brute of great external ferocity, reached him, he remarked in a low
tone of voice, "One moment, old chap. You are making a great mistake.
It is all right. I am going to the house for milk." "Major," for that
turned out to be his name, accepted the explanation with perfect
courtesy, told his followers that it wasn't the fellow he thought,
and would they hush their noise, and so all fared along together with
occasional growls from still suspicious members of the cortége, and
turned the corner of the house, where were seen two seemly maidens of
the peasant class, sitting on a verandah with their needle-work.
"Bon jour, Mesdemoiselles," said the Commodore, raising his helmet.
"Nous sommes campé la-bas, et nous avons besoin de lait, de pain et
de beurre." The last few words had a reassuring Olendorfesque sound,
which, as it were, set the speaker on his pins.
The girls looked at one another doubtfully, "Il parle Allemand, n'est
ce pas, Louise?" said one.
[Illustration: A Shock to the Commodore's Nerves.]
"Mais non," said the other, "Je crois que c'est l'Anglais."
The Commodore seated himself on the steps and buried his head in his
hands. One of the dogs whined and poked a cold, sympathetic nose
against his cheek. It presently occurred to him that the silence,
which was becoming embarrassing, was in danger of being broken by the
irrepressible laughter of the young women, who continued their work
with mischievous glances at their discomfited visitor. The Commodore
is a bashful man, and it has always seemed to him that the laughter
of girls is particularly and peculiarly derisive. However, by dint
of frequent repetitions of "pain" "beurre" and "lait," he at length
succeeded in making himself understood.
The two girls bestirred themselves to procure the desired articles,
which by the way proved to be of excellent quality and of absurdly low
price. Meanwhile the dogs had become so friendly as to be troublesome,
and the two biggest were actually fighting for the privilege of
receiving personal attention.