TOM SURPRISES THE CAMP.
The sun was just appearing above the tree-tops on the following
morning, when the camp was shaken by a report which caused the boys to
leap from their beds and rush out into the open space. So startled
were they that the absence of Jock was not perceived; but when they
discovered him on the bank, and a cloud of smoke could also be seen
floating over the river, they knew at once the cause of the alarm.
The presence of a small brass cannon on the ground near where Jock was
standing would have revealed the cause of the excitement if nothing
else had; and, as Jock laughingly turned to greet them, he said:--
"That's the signal to get up, boys. Ethan will be here soon, and we
don't want to delay breakfast."
"Where did you get it, Jock?" said Bert, eagerly examining the cannon
as he spoke. "It's a beauty!"
"Oh, I brought it with me, but I hadn't had a chance to mount it
before. We wanted something to salute the sun with, to say nothing of
the yachts and steamers that pass us every hour or two."
"You don't know how you frightened me," said Bob, slowly. "I almost
thought the British had come back for us."
"Look out at that smoke, will you, fellows?" said Ben, pointing to the
little cloud which could still be seen. "What do you think it looks
like?"
"What does it look like, Ben?" inquired Jock.
"It reminds me of the tail of a goose. Something like the tale of
Goose Bay, with which our imaginative friend here regaled us last
night."
"It makes me think of the story Virgil tells about Æneas, where the
'pious son' tried to grasp the shade of his faithful wife Creusa. She
just vanished into thin air, you remember."
"It's like Bob's history,--too thin," laughed Bert. "Isn't that
Ethan's boat?" he added, pointing as he spoke to a sail which could be
seen approaching the island.
"Yes; that's Ethan. Hurry up, fellows, or you'll be late for
breakfast. You know what his opinion is of people who aren't up early
in the morning."
His companions hastily returned to the tent, and by the time Ethan
landed they were ready for the breakfast which he speedily prepared.
"Goin' to have another good day," remarked Ethan, as he and Tom
cleared away the breakfast dishes.
"That's what we want," said Jock. "Ethan, did you bring over the
things we were talking about last night?"
"Yes, they're in the boat. We've got just the kind of a day we want,
too."
"What is it, Jock, you and Ethan are plotting?" inquired Ben.
"You'll find out pretty soon."
The boys were all eagerness as they followed Ethan down to the dock.
The boatman soon brought forth a small mast and sail, and as he spread
the latter out on the ground, its peculiar shape at once impressed the
interested beholders.
"What do you call that thing, Ethan?" inquired Bert.
"A sail."
"Yes, I see; but what kind of a sail is it? I never saw one like it
before."
"Likely not. They don't grow in cities. It's a 'bat wing.'"
The name was so appropriate that no one had any difficulty in
understanding the cause of the term, but the boatman did not deign to
make any further explanation and at once proceeded to fit the mast in
one of the canoes.
"I only had one," he explained, when the task was completed. "I can
get another at the Bay, probably, and as I didn't have time to stop
there this mornin' and see whether there was any letters for any o'
ye, if ye don't object, I'll take Jock along with me and sail over
there now. I can show him a little how the thing's managed on our way
over, and then when I come back I'll have a couple o' the bat wings,
an' can let the rest o' ye have a try, if ye want it."
Jock protested that some other one of the boys should be permitted to
have the first sail; but they all declared that he was the one to go,
and so the lad took his place in the little canoe, and in a moment the
light craft was speeding swiftly over the water in the direction of
Alexandria Bay.
"Isn't she a beauty!" exclaimed Bert, delightedly. "They wont be gone
long, will they?" he added, turning to Tom.
"No," replied Tom. "You'll get all the sailing you want, to-day."
The boys watched the canoe as it sped on before the wind. They could
see Jock, who was seated on the edge of the canoe in the bow, while
Ethan was in the stern and was managing the sail. At times the canoe
dipped until it seemed to the watching boys that it must be swamped,
but it always righted itself and then leaped forward with ever
increasing speed. At last it disappeared from sight behind one of the
neighboring islands, and then the boys turned with a sigh to the camp,
all of them eager now for the return of their companions, and for the
opportunity to try the merits of a canoe fitted out with a bat-wing
sail.
"What'll we do to pass the time, fellows?" said Ben.
"I think it would be a capital idea for Tom here to speak his piece
before us," drawled Bob. "He wants to practise, and perhaps we can be
of some help to him. Ben here is a prize speaker, you know."
Tom's face flushed, and for a moment he evidently thought Bob was
poking fun at him. "It isn't much of a piece," he said in confusion.
"The young folks are going to have a dialogue and try to raise some
money to fix up the walks over at the Corners."
"So your father told us," said Bob. "I'm in dead earnest, though, Tom.
It's more than likely that Ben can give you points. He took the school
prize in speaking this summer. Go ahead, anyway."
"And you boys won't make fun of me?" inquired Tom.
"Not a bit of it," said Bob, cordially. "We're coming over to see the
show when it comes off, anyway, so you might as well give it to us
now, or, at least, your part. You had pretty good courage to tackle
one of Shakespeare's plays, though. How did you happen to do it?"
"Oh, that was Mr. Wilkinson's idea; he's the teacher at the Corners,
you know. He said we might as well learn something worth hearing while
we were about it, so we finally chose 'Hamlet.'"
"Quite right, too," remarked Bob, encouragingly, as if he was familiar
with all such little matters as the great dramas of Shakespeare, and
was willing to share his courage with all the world.
Tom at last reluctantly consented, and striking an attitude, gazed up
into the sky as if nothing less than the ghost was beckoning to him.
His eyes assumed a far-away expression, and he waited a moment before
he began. Then apparently every muscle in his body became rigid, and
in a loud and unnatural tone of voice he commenced.
"Tew be-e-e- or not to be-e-e-e-e-"
As he spoke his right arm shot suddenly out in front of him, much
after the action of a piston rod in a great locomotive, and his eyes
began to roll. Bert suddenly rolled over upon the ground and hid his
face in the grass, and Ben as quickly turned and gazed out upon the
river as if something he had discovered there demanded his attention.
Only Bob was unmoved, and without a smile upon his face, he said
solemnly, "Why do you talk it off like that, Tom?"
"Isn't that the way to do it?"
"I should hardly think so. Don't you think Hamlet was puzzled and was
somehow half talking to himself? It seems to me as if he was musing
and didn't think of any one to whom he was speaking. He was talking to
himself, so to speak. Don't you think so, Ben?"
"Yes," replied Ben, desperately striving to control his voice, and not
turning his face away from the spot he had discovered on the river.
"Well, I don't know about it," protested Tom. "It always seemed to me
that Hamlet was a good deal of a crank, and instead of acting
naturally he was more likely to do the most unnatural thing in the
world."
"That may be so. Perhaps you are right about that," said Bob, "but
still I think he was communing with himself. They call it his
soliloquy, don't they?"
"Yes; but he was crazy, wasn't he? I think that's what the critics
say."
"I don't know. I believe so," replied Bob, though somehow his air of
confidence seemed to be departing. "Tom," he added, "have you read
much of Shakespeare?"
"I've read all he wrote," said Tom. "We can't do much except read in
the winter down here on the river."
Ben by this time had either examined the distant object on the river
to his entire satisfaction, or else was startled by Tom's words. At
all events he quickly withdrew his gaze and looked at the young
boatman in surprise, and even Bert had ceased to bury his face in the
grass. Somehow the comical aspect of Tom's speech had suddenly
changed.
"What have you read this winter, Tom?" inquired Bob, slowly.
"Oh, I've read all of Shakespeare, as I told you, and then I've read
all of Parkman's histories, and all of Bancroft. You know Parkman has
a good deal to say about the men who first came up the St. Lawrence,
and I wanted to learn all I could about the part of the country I live
in. But I wanted to know something about other countries too, so I've
read Motley's 'Rise of the Dutch Republic,' and Prescott's 'Conquest
of Peru and of Mexico.' Then I've read Wordsworth's poems. It seems to
me I enjoy him better than I do any other poet, for the country around
his home must have been something like this St. Lawrence country.
Don't you think so?"
Before Bob could reply, Ben and Bert suddenly rose from the ground,
and ran speedily into the tent where the trunks were.
"What's the matter with those boys?" inquired Tom, innocently, looking
up in surprise at the sudden departure of his companions.
"I don't think they feel very well," replied Bob, demurely; "or it may
have been that they've gone to see if their fishing tackle is all
right after the experience of yesterday. Tom," he added, "do you read
any fiction, any novels?"
"Not many. Pa doesn't like to have me. He says they're all lies
anyway, and there's enough that's true to read. I've read a little.
I've read most of Scott's novels and Charles Kingsley and some of the
other writers. The last book I read was Defoe's account of the London
plague. I don't like that very well, do you?"
"I've got to see what those boys are up to," said Bob, suddenly,
leaping to his feet as he spoke and moving with unusual quickness
away from the place where he had been lying.
"I say, Bob," said Bert, when their friend joined them, "the next time
you catch a weasel asleep, you let me know, will you?"
"I wouldn't have believed it," spoke up Ben, quickly. "Here we were
thinking we'd get some fun out of this greenhorn, and then he turns
round and puts us all in a hole. I wonder if he really has read all
those books he says he has?"
"You might examine him and see," replied Bob, dryly.
"Not much. You don't catch me that way. Here I was thinking we'd do
some missionary work for the poor benighted heathen of the region, and
lo and behold, they turn upon us and beat us at our own game. Who
would have believed it? I know I shouldn't, for one."
"Serves us right. I'll keep clear of Tom till his 'pa' comes back."
Bob's sentiments were echoed by his companions, and not one of them
ventured to remind the young boatman of the desire to hear him recite
Hamlet's soliloquy. Indeed, they did not venture near the camp until
it was almost noon time, and then Ethan and Jock returned with the
new "bat-wing sail." As they had also brought with them letters for
each of the boys, the time until dinner was ready was all consumed in
reading them, and perhaps no one of them regretted the fact.
After dinner, both Ethan and his son gave their entire attention to
the task of teaching the young campers the art of sailing a canoe
equipped with a bat-wing sail. Only one of the party was taken out
each time by a boatman, and then, after a trial trip, he was allowed
to hold the sheet while the boatman occupied the place in the bow
which the pupil formerly had held.
In this manner the entire afternoon was consumed, and when they all
returned to camp for supper, Ethan declared that he thought it would
be safe for the boys to use the canoes, though he advised that no one
should venture far from the island, and promised on the following day
to repeat the lessons.
When he and Tom had gone, Ben declared he was going out alone for a
sail. He would not listen to the remonstrances of his comrades, and
soon started from the dock. The boys watched him until the canoe
disappeared behind the nearest island. They had no thought of peril,
but when the darkness deepened, and at last the hour of retiring had
arrived, the uneasiness in the camp had become a fear which no one
dared to express.