_The enterprising Voyageurs.--A Parliament--Where shall we go next?--The
Islands of the Sea.--Captain Corbet’s Confession.--Once more, upon
the Waters.--The lonely Isle.--The strange Schooner.--Ashore.--A new
Acquaintance.--A Disciple of Progress.--Railroads and Telegraphs for the
Magdalen Islands._
THE Antelope had traversed all the waters of the Baie de Chaleur, and
the enterprising voyageurs on board had met with many adventures by sea
and land; and at length all these were exhausted, and, as the time drew
near for their departure, the question arose where next to go, which
question was discussed in full council assembled upon the deck; present
Bruce, Arthur, Bart, Tom, Phil, Pat, Captain Corbet, Wade, and Solomon,
Bruce being in the chair--that is to say, on the taffrail. “All you that
are in favor of going home, say ‘Ay’,” said Bruce.
There was a dead silence. Not one spoke.
“That’s not the way to go about it,” said Bart. “It isn’t parliamentary.
Let’s do business regularly. Come. I rise, Mr. President, to make a
motion. I move that the B. O. W. C. continue their wanderings as long as
the holidays last.”
“I second that motion,” cried Phil.
“Gentlemen,” said Bruce, “it has been moved and seconded that the B. O.
W. C. continue their wanderings as long as the holidays last. All that
are in favor of this motion will please manifest it by saying, ‘Ay.’”
At this there was a universal chorus of “Ay.”
“Contrary minds, ‘No.’”
Silence followed.
“It’s a vote,” said Bruce; “and now all that remains to do is to decide
upon the direction to be taken.”
Upon this Captain Corbet smiled benignly, and a glance of approval
beamed from his venerable eye. Old Solomon grinned violently, but
checked himself in a moment; his grin was drowned in a low chuckle, and
he exclaimed, “De sakes now, chil’en alive, how you do go on! Mos’ make
dis ole nigga bust hisself to see dese yer mynouvrins.”.
“Look here, boys,” cried Bart, suddenly dropping altogether the
“parliamentary” style in which he had last spoken; “what do you say to a
cruise around the gulf? Let’s visit the islands; there are ever so many;
some of them are uninhabited, too. It’ll be glorious!”
“Glorious--will it?” cried Tom. “Wait, my boy, till you know as much
about uninhabited islands as I do. You don’t catch me putting my foot
ashore on anything of that sort.”
“O, well, we needn’t be particular about the inhabitants,” said Arthur.
“I go in for islands, head over heels.”
“So do I,” said Phil.
“Be the powers,” said Pat, “but it’s meself that howlds up both hands to
that same.”
“Suppose we go to the Magdalen Islands,” said Bruce. “They’re right in
the middle of the gulf, and it’s a very queer place, they say.”
“No, no,” said Bart; “if we go anywhere, let’s go to Anticosti. For my
part, I’ve always been wild to go to Anticosti. I don’t believe there’s
another island in all the world that’s equal to it. It’s cold, bleak,
gloomy, uninhabited, and full of ghosts.”
“Full of fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Arthur. “What do you want of ghosts?”
“Well,” said Bart, placidly, “for my part, I think there is something
uncommonly interesting in a haunted island.”
“A haunted island!” repeated Arthur. “Well, my boy, all I’ve got to
say is, that if you want anything of that sort, you’ll find the best
specimen on Sable Island; so I propose that we go there at once.”
“Sable Island? Why, man alive, that’s ever so far away!” said Tom. “We’d
better wait till we’re on our way home, and leave that for the last;
though, for my part, I think we’d better give it a wide berth. I go in
for some of the gulf islands--St. Paul, for instance, or St. Peter.”
“Well, boys,” said Phil, “since you’re all so crazy about islands, why
can’t we go to the Bay of Islands at once? We can have our fill of them
there, I should think. For my part I’m indifferent. I’m like Tom;
I’ve had my turn at a desert island, and have found out the vanity of
Robinson Crusoe.”
“Sure, thin,” said Pat, “and whin we’re about it, we’d betther take the
biggist island we can find about here, and that same is Newfoundland.
Wouldn’t it be betther to begin with that, thin?”
“The fact is, boys,” said Bruce, with the air of a judge or an umpire,
“we’ll have to make up our minds to visit all these islands. Each one
has his preference, and each one shall be gratified. You, Bart, may see
Anticosti; you, Arthur, may see Sable Island; you, Tom, may visit St.
Paul and St. Peter; you, Phil, may visit the Bay of Islands; and at the
same time you, Pat, may see Newfoundland. Of course, then, I hope to go
to the Magdalen Islands. Now, as we are going to visit all these places,
and the Magdalen Islands happen to be nearest, we will take them first,
while we may visit in turn Anticosti and the others, winding up with
Sable Island, which may be postponed to the last, since it is the
farthest off. We may make up our minds, boys, to no end of adventures.
We’re all in first-rate training; we are hardened by adventures on sea
and on shore; we can live on next to nothing; and I’m only sorry that
we’re not a little nearer to the North Pole, so that we might set out
now as we are to settle the question forever about the open Polar Sea.”
The extravagant notion with which Bruce closed his address was
received with shouts of laughter and applause. Then followed a confused
conversation. At length they all gathered around Captain Corbet, who had
thus far been a listener, and began to question him about the various
places which they proposed to visit. The answer of the venerable
navigator was not very satisfactory.
“Wal, boys,” said he, “you put me down in any part of old Fundy, an I’m
to hum; anywhar’s between the head of old Fundy an Bosting, I know it
all be heart; an I engage to feel my way in fog or in darkness, or in
snow-storms, backard an forard, year on an year on; but jest about here
I’m all agog. In these here parts I’m a pilgerrim an a stranger, an
ain’t particularly to be trusted. But I can navigate the Antelope all
the same, an fool round in these waters as long as you like. I ain’t
got any chart, terrew; but I’ve got an old map of Canady, an kin scrape
along with that, especially this season of the year. I kin git a ginral
leadin idee of the position of places, an work along the old Antelope
wharever you want to go. I’m an old man myself, an don’t mind this
kerrewsing a bit; in fact, it’s rayther agree’ble. The best of it is,
we’re allus sure to fetch up some-whar.”
This frank announcement of Captain Corbet’s ignorance of these seas
might have excited disquietude in the bosoms of less enterprising
lads; but the cruisers of the Antelope had seen and known, and felt
and suffered, too much to be easily disturbed. Of Captain Corbet’s
confession they thought nothing whatever, nor indeed did it really
matter very much to them whether he was acquainted with these waters
or not. After all, they were not particular about any destination; any
mistakes which he might make would not create any inconvenience to them;
and even if, in seeking to reach Newfoundland, he should land them
at Cape Cod, they would not much care. Under these circumstances
they listened to his words with indifference, and if they felt any
disappointment, it was because they were unable to gain from him any
information whatever about the places which they proposed to visit.
Since they could gain no information, they did not waste much more time
in conversation, but concluded to set out without delay. And so in a
little while the Antelope spread her white wings, and began to walk
the waters in her usual style, like a thing of life, and all that. In
process of time she reached the entrance of the bay, and then passed out
into the gulf.
It was a glorious day. The wind was fair. The Antelope did her best. The
sun went down that evening behind the high hills, and before them lay a
wide expanse of water. On the following morning they saw land ahead.
The land was an island, or a cluster of islands, and all the boys felt
certain that it was the Magdalen Islands.
In spite of Captain Corbet’s ignorance of the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
he had chosen his course very accurately, for this was indeed their
destination. As the schooner drew nearer and nearer, the boys looked
with curious eyes upon this remote and isolated spot, situated in the
midst of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and shut out during all the winter
months from the rest of the world of man by ice, and storms, and
solitude.
The wind died away after sunrise, and hours passed before they came near
enough to think of landing. At length the anchor was dropped, and the
boat was made ready to go ashore. From this point they could see this
new land to the best advantage. They saw before them an island rising
high out of the water, with its green slopes covered with grass, and
crowned with trees, and dotted with white houses. Before them there
were a cove and a sandy beach, upon which boats were drawn up. The
other islands of the group were shut out from view by this one. Not
far away--in fact, not farther than a stone’s throw--there lay another
schooner at anchor. Very different was this other schooner from the
Antelope. The Antelope, in spite of its many admirable and amiable
qualities, was not particularly distinguished either for size, or
strength, or speed, or beauty. In every one of these particulars the
other schooner was the exact opposite. It was large; it was evidently
new; its lines were sharp and delicate, indicating great speed; its
spread of canvas was immense; it was a model of naval architecture;
while the freshness of its paint, and the extreme neatness which
appeared in every part, indicated a far greater care on the part of its
master than any which the good and gracious Corbet was ever disposed
to exhibit towards his beloved Antelope. On high floated the Stars and
Stripes, exhibiting the nationality of the stranger. On her stern the
boys could read her name and nation. They saw there, in white letters
underneath a gold eagle, the words,--