FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
It was Billy who gathered the last bunch of bluebells. He found them
one November morning, their brave, delicate beauty all that remained of
unforgotten blooms. The next day it was winter.
The boy welcomed the whirling snow, but when the ice began forming
all along the beach, his delight was unbounded. He couldn't pity the
poor sailors as Betty advised; Billy envied them. The last trip of the
season, like the first perilous voyage in the spring, seemed brimming
with possibilities of adventure.
Morning after morning, Billy ran to the window before he was dressed
to see the waves tossing the broken ice in ridges farther and farther
from the shore. How he longed to try the stretches of clear ice between
the ridges! How he longed to go where the waves were dashing against
the crystal wall! He wondered how much higher than his head the spray
leaped toward the sun before it fell in sparkling showers all along the
southern shore as far as the child could see.
In the meantime the last light-ship had gone into winter quarters,
the last buoy had been taken away, and even Billy understood that
navigating the straits was a perilous undertaking. Whenever a boat
whistled to be reported, the whole family ran to the window to see it
pass, while the fog-horn sounded a farewell, and Billy's father dipped
the stars and stripes in parting salute, to which the boat made answer.
One steam-barge, the _Wallula_, was long unaccounted for. She was the
last of the season, as Billy knew. He and Betty watched almost as
anxiously as their father for the belated boat. One afternoon there
came a blinding snow-storm, and for the first time Billy agreed with
Betty in pitying the poor sailors, especially those on the _Wallula_.
"Just think of being out in such a storm, with the light-ships all gone
and the buoys all taken away!" said the little girl. "I don't see how
a boat could help going on the shoals. Don't you ever be a sailor,
Billy, will you?"
"No," replied Billy, "of course not; I'll be the captain."
A wonderful sight greeted Billy the following day. As usual he was
up early, and through the east window in the sitting-room he saw the
_Wallula_ frozen fast in the ice not far from shore.
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" he called. "Here's the big red sun coming right
out of the red, red clouds, and it's shining on the _Wallula_. And the
icicles! Oh, mamma! Betty! Come and see the icicles shining on all the
ropes. Oh, I must get out there quick."
As Billy dressed, the sun was swallowed by a cloud so big, so black,
its shadow dimmed the joy shining in his face.
"Why, mamma!" he shouted, "what a 'normous cloud, and it's spreading
over all the sky. I never saw anything happen so quick before. Did you
ever see such a cloud! It was so heavy it had to go and fall down over
all the sunshine."
"No wonder!" exclaimed Betty, "I should think it would! Look there!"
"Where? What?"
"Why, Billy, don't you see? There is Antoine LeBrinn down on the beach
with Samone in his arms, and I know the poor little thing hasn't on
half enough clothes to keep her warm. I don't care how soon they take
her away from him, so there!"
"Why, Betty!"
"I don't care, Billy. I'm beginning to feel just the way the rest of
the folks do about that old Antoine. Papa says he don't stick to any
kind of work, and his family are too poor for anything!"
"I'm going to tell him," Billy threatened; "you see if I don't."
Late in the morning half the village gathered to watch the tug from
Cheboygan release the _Wallula_ and tow her into safe water. Then
Billy saw more than one man frown, as he noticed the thinly clad child
shivering in the Frenchman's arms. From that time he determined to
compel Betty to tell Antoine he must stop drinking. At first Betty
refused, but finally a new idea came into her mind.
"Tell you what we might do, Billy," she said, "we might get up a pledge
for him to sign his name to."
"What's a pledge?"
[Illustration]
"Oh, it's something you sign," and Betty, offering no further
explanation, wrote her pledge. Having never seen a temperance pledge,
this was not an easy thing to do. Betty tried many times, and destroyed
nearly all her best tablet before she decided upon the correct form.
All this scribbling she did in the presence of the impatient Billy.
"Now read it," he begged, when Betty folded several sheets of paper
instead of destroying them.
"I am afraid you won't understand it, Billy," she said, doubtfully,
"but it means, 'I won't drink any more whiskey and things.' Now listen,
Billy; I'd like to hear how it sounds myself: 'When in the course of
human events it becomes necessary to touch not, taste not, handle not,
look not upon the wine when it is red, give me liberty or give me death
before I ever touch another drop.'"
"Oh, Betty, that's good; course I understand it. Why, it sounds just
like the Fourth of July last year!"
"There now, Billy, I shall have to read it all over again if I find out
how it sounds, because that's only the short beginning."
"Why, Betty, but that's enough! If he signs that and promises that he
won't drink another drop, why, why, that's the place to stop, Betty."
"I don't know but you're right, Billy, but lawyers put in lots of
words they don't need when they write things, and they never stop when
they get through. You see, I haven't read you the 'whereas' and 'now
therefore' part. I wanted this pledge to sound as if a lawyer made it.
You see, Billy, I know, because I read everything."
"I don't care," Billy maintained, "you might get him mixed."
"That's so," admitted Betty.
"And then, too, Bet, why don't you say 'before I drink another drop--of
whiskey,' in big capital letters."
"Oh, never, Billy, that would hurt Antoine's feelings. We mustn't even
hint about getting drunk and such things, but I will do as you say
about having a short pledge, and we'll trim it with pictures."
"Make pictures of bottles and things, Betty."
"Oh, stop, Billy, I should say not! Birds and flowers will be better,
and won't hurt Antoine's feelings. Don't you understand? Then we'll tie
a red ribbon on it."
It so happened that Billy's mother, not sharing the children's secret,
wouldn't allow them to visit the Frenchman's home, and it was not until
the ice stretched from shore to shore, and Antoine began his winter
fishing, that their opportunity came. After school one night, they
visited his fish shanty on the frozen straits.
"Come in," said Antoine, in response to Betty's knock, "come in."
"Oh, my, what a tiny place!" exclaimed Betty, "and how warm it is! too
warm! Oh, my!"
"Smells fishy and tarry," added Billy, holding his nose.
"Hush!" warned Betty, fearing Antoine might be offended.
"Warm!" repeated the man, laughing heartily; "the preacher she was
here, and I ain't want it to stay, so I make it warm, and she ain't
stay long."
"Why did the minister come to see you?" asked Betty.
"Did he come out here to have you tell him fish stories?" Billy
inquired.
Again Antoine laughed. "No, Beely, the preacher she come out here and
bring one temperance pledge. She say to me, 'Antoine, I'm fisherman,
too. I'm ask you to sign your name on this one paper.' I'm tell that
preacher she make a mistake, and I'm put one, two, three stick of wood
on the stove, and it get too warm pretty quick. The preacher she go
home, and ole Antoine she sign no pledge so long she live, I tole you
that right now."
Betty looked discouraged, but Billy grinned as he knelt to peer through
the hole in the ice. Both children knew better than to speak of their
pledge.
With utmost patience Antoine explained to his visitors all he knew
about fishing through the ice.
"What you think is on the end of that line, Beely, that go into the
water there?"
"Minnows?"
"Oh, no, Beely, no minnow on the winter. On the end that line is one
decoy fish. She's heavy and weighted with lead. We let it down on the
deep water. Then, when we see a fish come after it, we wind the line
with one windlass."
"Can't you pull in the line?" asked Betty.
"No, Betty, no, you pull the line, you jerk the decoy fish, and that
won't do. Beely, you turn the crank there and wind the line over the
reel. Now, Betty, kneel on the edge of the opening on the floor and
look down on the water. Can you see one decoy fish?"
"Yes, just as plain as anything."
"Now you, Beely, turn the crank."
"Oh, oh!" cried Betty. "Up comes the little fish, straight, straight
up, just as natural as if it was alive."
"Now let me see," besought the small boy. "You come, Betty, and turn
the crank."
"Here, Beely," said Antoine, "you and Betty can both look on the same
time if you squeeze beside her. Fish shanty ain't big like the town
hall?"
"Well, I should say not," admitted Billy. "Why, isn't it nice, Antoine?
You can sit right still on your box and reach all the walls, can't you?
Oh, that's the way you do it? When you see a fish coming, you just keep
watching him, and then you reach over and turn the crank and wind up
the line, and then the pretend fish comes up higher and higher. But
then, I don't see how you spear the real fish."
"Well, Betty and Beely, I will show you. You see the decoy fish she
come quiet through the water when we bring it up with a windlass. If
we brought it up with one jerk, our trout would be scare away. Fish no
fool, I tole you that. When my fish come to the top of the water, so
I'm sure of my aim, I send my spear after him."
"But I should think you would lose the spear," said Billy. "My, it's
heavy!"
Antoine pointed to the rope which tied the spear to a ring fastened in
the roof.
"Wish a fish would come along now," said Billy, still gazing into the
depths beneath.
"We make too much noise, Beely. Betty, you be little squaw and Beely
be Indian, and we'll keep still like the Indian and then I'll show you
one fish. I'm fix the spear so she's all ready, and now watch. Don't
whisper."
Silently the three peered through the hole in the ice. Betty wished
that her heart wouldn't beat so loud; she feared the fish must hear
its thumping. Several times Billy was compelled to stifle deep sighs,
warned by a look from Antoine. Poor Billy! His knees ached and his
back ached, and it is no wonder the active child kept thinking that he
couldn't endure such a cramped position another moment. It seemed ages
to Betty also before she raised her face with a pleased smile to the
fisherman and exchanged a glance with the radiant Billy.
There was a big fish coming straight toward the decoy. The children
had a fine chance to see exactly how a fish swims. Billy held his
breath, as the line was slowly wound over the reel and the decoy came
nearer and nearer the surface. They could see the bright eyes and the
glistening fins of the fish that came after it.
Just as Antoine reached for his spear, Betty sneezed. Quick as a flash
the fish darted to the bottom of the straits; but it moved no quicker
than Antoine, who motioned for silence. Betty longed to explain that
she couldn't help sneezing, while Billy could scarcely be restrained
from venting his wrath. Under the circumstances, he gave Betty an angry
glance, and ventured to wiggle the least bit before settling himself
for another time of breathless waiting. As for Betty, she could just
manage to keep the tears back, and, when the fish slowly rose from the
bottom of the lake, she didn't see him so clearly as Billy and the
fisherman did.
That time Antoine speared the fish. Billy not only saw him do it, but
helped pull a big trout through the hole in the ice, and soon he and
Betty were taking turns carrying the treasure home.
"Dear me," said Betty at last, "I'll never dare say 'pledge' to him
again."
"I should say not," echoed Billy.
Upon reaching home, Betty was much distressed when she discovered that
her pledge was lost. "Somebody'll find it, Billy, and tell everybody in
town, and then won't we catch it? Everybody'll be making fun of us."
Billy tried to be consoling. "They won't know who wrote it, Betty."
"Oh, that's the worst of it, Billy. I put my name and your name and the
date and everything on that paper, and I said it was for Mrs. LeBrinn's
Christmas present! Oh, dear!"
At that very moment, Antoine, alone in his shanty, was reading Betty's
pledge. A curious smile came and went as he read the slip of paper.
When the last gleam of sunlight faded in the west, he locked his shanty
and walked to the village with his load of fish.
The following morning little 'Phonse LeBrinn came late to school. His
pinched face looked sad and care-worn.
"Old Antoine was drunk again last night," some one whispered across the
aisle. "He sold his fish before he went home, and spent every cent at
the saloons."
Billy heard the whisper, and, passing 'Phonse on his way to class, he
left a piece of candy on his desk. It was all he had to offer.