A MISHAP.
Sunday morning dawned clear and beautiful. When Ethan came over to the
camp to prepare breakfast, the river lay like a sheet of glass before
the vision of the boys. The twittering of the birds was the only sound
to break in upon the stillness. The summer sunshine covered all things
in its softened light, and as far as the eye could see the hush of a
solemn silence seemed to have driven away all other effects. Even
Ethan's manner was more subdued than on other days, and when our boys
obeyed his call to breakfast, they also were in a measure under the
spell of the perfect summer day.
Sentiment did not interfere with appetite, however, and ample justice
was done to the boatman's labors; and though he referred to his
desire, when he was ready to depart for home, to carry the boys
himself to the Bay to attend service, his offer was once more
refused.
About an hour before the time when the service was to be held, the
boys placed the two canoes in the water again, and with Jock and Bob
in one, and their two friends in the other, they began to paddle. The
light little crafts sped swiftly over the water, and keeping well
together, not long afterward began to approach Alexandria Bay.
To them all it seemed like a novel way of attending church, but they
soon discovered that they were not the only ones to come in that
manner. Sailboats and skiffs, canoes and steam-yachts, could be seen
in various directions, and though these were not numerous, it was
evident that they were all bent on an errand similar to their own.
The boys were paddling more slowly now, as they came near the dock,
and the two canoes were within a few yards of each other. Not an
accident had occurred, and the confidence of the young campers had
been largely increased by their success. They halted a moment to
determine where was the best place to land, when Ben glanced up at an
approaching yacht, and discovered his friends who had welcomed him to
their cottage when he had escaped from the storm. His own presence was
discovered by them at the same moment, and the girls crowded together
near the rail, waving their handkerchiefs and calling to him, as they
perceived that he had seen them.
Eager to return the salutation, Ben took his paddle in one hand, and
with the other tried politely to lift his cap. But alas for human
efforts! His movement suddenly destroyed the equilibrium of the
treacherous canoe, and as it tipped dangerously to one side, Bert, who
was taken unaware by the movement, strove to restore the balance; but
unfortunately he leaned to the same side to which Ben turned, and in a
moment the canoe was capsized, and the occupants sent speedily into
the water.
A cry of alarm and dismay escaped the lips of the girls on the yacht,
and the few men standing at the time upon the dock echoed it. Startled
by the shout, Jock glanced up, and to his consternation discovered his
friends struggling in the water. In his efforts to turn about his own
canoe, he too destroyed its balance, and instantly both he and Bob
were also thrown into the river.
The second accident increased the confusion and alarm, both on the
yacht and on the dock; but in a moment two skiffs were manned, the
struggling lads were drawn from the water, and the canoes as speedily
seized and restored.
When it was seen that the boys were all safely landed, the yacht came
in alongside the dock, and as the girls sprang lightly from the boat
and beheld the dripping, woe-begone lads before them, they burst into
a hearty laugh, in which the boys themselves, in spite of their
confusion, were compelled to join.
"Good morning, Mr. Dallett," said Miss Bessie, to Ben. "What made you
go into the water? Did you think we wouldn't recognize you unless you
came before us in wet clothes?"
Ben laughed, and presented his friends to the young ladies and then to
Miss Bessie's father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. The last named
expressed her sympathy for the boys in their accident, and suggested
that the yacht should be used to carry them back to their camp.
"I don't believe they want to go back, unless Mr. Dallett wants to get
that suit of papa's he wore the other night," said Miss Bessie,
mischievously. "That would make a good go-to-meeting suit for him."
Ben laughingly declared that he preferred his present garments, but
the offer of Mrs. Clarke to the free use of the yacht was declined,
and, waiting only until the party had disappeared up the street on
their way to the church, the boys speedily reëmbarked, and began to
paddle swiftly back toward the camp on Pine Tree Island.
"I say, fellows," said Ben, eagerly, as they landed, "let's dress up
and go back again. We'll get there in time for the benediction."
"It's more than that you need," said Bert, glumly. "Tipping two canoes
over in one morning ought to be enough to satisfy you."
"Ben's right," said Jock, quickly. "It'll be all the better to go back
now. We don't want to give up, do we? We started out to go to church,
and I say let's go. We'll have to be quick about it, though, to get in
even for the benediction."
The proposal was agreed to, and hastily changing their clothing they
resumed their places in the canoes, and soon afterward landed at the
dock at Alexandria Bay. Then they walked swiftly up the street to the
little church, but were chagrined to find that they were too late even
for the final part of the service. The congregation had already been
dismissed, and as the boys approached the building they discovered the
people just beginning to depart.
Their friends soon perceived them and expressed their surprise at
their return, which Ben hastened to explain had been brought about by
their desire to accomplish that which they had set out to do in the
beginning. "They were not going to be floored," he declared, "by any
such little thing as the upsetting of a canoe."
As they walked down to the dock, Mr. Clarke said to Jock, "I received
a letter from your father, yesterday."
"Did you?" replied Jock, eagerly. "I didn't know that you knew him."
"Oh, yes, we've had business relations for years. He's a good man."
"You're not the only one to hold that opinion," said the boy, with a
laugh.
"No, I am aware of that. He wrote and requested me to keep an eye on
you. From what I saw this morning, I'm afraid I ought to keep two
eyes in the direction of your camp, instead of one."
Jock laughed, and his cheeks flushed slightly as he heard the laugh
echoed by the girls, but he protested that such an accident as that
which had occurred was not to be considered in a serious light.
"Not that, perhaps," replied Mr. Clarke, "but the one your friend had
the other night was serious enough. It was a narrow escape he had."
"Yes, we were all badly frightened."
"I'm not going to scold you, for I doubt not you'll learn by your
mistakes. Still I should advise you not to take many chances with
canoes on this river. What with the swift current and the squalls
which come, no man knows when or how, it's hardly safe for one who is
not an expert."
"I know that, and we shall be careful."
"That's right. Now Mrs. Clarke would be pleased, I know, to have you
go back home with us and dine there to-day; or if it is not convenient
to-day, then some other day will do as well," he added, as he saw that
Jock hesitated.
"I thank you, Mr. Clarke, and I am sure all the boys will be glad to
come, but Ethan will come over to get our dinner for us to-day, and
there's no way of getting word to him."
"Very well; then come some other day. You'll let us carry you back to
your camp in our yacht, won't you? It's directly in our way."
The invitation was accepted, and the canoes taken in tow. Upon the
invitation of the boys the party all landed at the dock and went up to
the camp together. There everything was of interest, particularly to
the girls, who wanted to understand just the uses of all the various
camp belongings.
Doubtless very clear explanations were given, for at last when they
returned to the yacht they all expressed themselves as delighted with
what they had seen, and the boys were glad to renew the promise Jock
had given that the invitation to dine at "The Rocks," the name by
which Mr. Clarke called his cottage, would be accepted soon.
Not long afterward, Ethan appeared, and as he began his preparations
for dinner, he said,--
"I hear ye had trouble over to the bay to-day."
"Who told you?" said Ben, quickly.
"I don' know as I just remember. Everybody was talkin' of it, though.
I warned ye. Yer pa can't say I was responsible."
"You aren't responsible, Ethan," said Jock, quickly; "'twas Ben."
"How?" inquired Ethan, stopping short in his occupation, with the
frying-pan in his hand.
"He got light-headed and destroyed our balance. The centre of gravity
fell outside the base, and as a natural consequence what took place
naturally occurred."
"Was that it?" said Ethan, slowly. "I heard ye capsized."
After dinner the boys stretched themselves upon the bank, and in the
cool shade began to talk over the experiences of the morning. At last
even that topic ceased to interest them, and for a time they were
silent.
"This is a great river," remarked Ben, at last, breaking in upon the
stillness, and looking out over the water, which was sparkling under
the rays of the sun.
"So it is," replied Bob, lazily. "That was an original remark, my
friend. I'd like to know just how many times it's been said since the
first white man saw the river."
"Bob's going to tell us about Carter," said Bert, solemnly.
"I know of no Carter. Cartier discovered the river, if he's the one
you have in what you are pleased to call your mind."
"I stand corrected," replied Bert. "Go on with your Carter or
Cartier."
"I don't know that there's much to tell. Jacques Cartier was a
Frenchman who lived about four hundred years ago. Just think of it,
fellows; four hundred years, almost, since the first white man saw the
river St. Lawrence."
"Did you say he lives here now?" inquired Ben, solemnly.
Bob gave him a look of scorn and then went on with his story. "Francis
I. fitted him out with two ships of sixty tons each, and with a crew
of a hundred and twenty men he set sail from St. Malo, April 20, 1534.
They say it was only twenty days later when he reached the east coast
of Newfoundland."
"They say?" interrupted Ben. "Who are 'they'?"
"The historians, and other fellows. He sailed north, and finally
planted a cross on the coast of Labrador near Rock Bay."
"What did he plant it for?"
"Then he went south," continued Bob, without giving any heed to the
interruption, "and came down the west coast of Newfoundland until
finally he was driven by the unfavorable winds toward the Magdalen
Islands. He soon started out again, and, still sailing west, landed at
last at the mouth of the Miramichi, and with some of his men began to
explore the bay of Chaleur; but pretty soon afterward he set sail with
his ships--"
"Did he take his men with him?" interrupted Ben.
"And sailed north and landed in the bay of Gaspé. He thought the bay
was the mouth of a large river, so he landed and remained there a
little while before he started on again."
"He was a wise man," said Ben. "Now if he'd remained there after he'd
started on, that would have been another matter. But to remain there
before he left the place,--ah, that's the man for me, every time."
Even Bob laughed good-naturedly at the interruption, and then resumed
his story.
"He had some dealings with the Indians there at the bay of Gaspé, and
one of the chiefs was so taken with Cartier that he gave him
permission to take his two sons back to France with him on the
condition that he would bring them back in the following year."
"Whose two sons? Cartier's?" inquired Bert.
"No, the Indian chief's. Of course the Frenchman promised; but before
he left he planted another wooden cross there, and put on it a shield
with the arms of the French king, and the words, _Vive le roi de
France_."
"How the king must have felt to have his arms left there," murmured
Bert.
"Cartier soon after set sail, and after doubling the point of
Anticosti found himself in a channel and sailed a little way up what
was really a branch of the St. Lawrence, though he didn't know then,
of course, that there was any such river."
"He'd found the St. Lawrence and didn't know it?" inquired Jock.
"Yes."
"He was like some men I know," said Bert. "He knew more than he
thought he did."
"Some men think they know more than they do," replied Bob, soberly.
"Well, Cartier knew the winter was coming on, so he decided to go
home. He sailed out through the straits of Belle Isle, and finally
arrived at St. Malo, September 5, 1534. The king was mightily pleased
with the trip, and promised to send him again in the next year."
"Then, as I understand it," said Jock, "Cartier didn't really sail up
the river in 1534. He only found a little piece of it, and didn't know
what it was he had discovered."
"That's it. He'd discovered it, but didn't know it."
"Poor fellow!" murmured Ben. "And, Bob, did he die?"
"You'll find out," said Bob, "when I tell you the rest of it."
"What! is there more to follow?"
"Yes, it's 'to be continued in our next.'"
"I don't know what I've done to deserve all this," said Ben, "but I
suppose I'll have to put up with it. When's the next instalment due?"
"Not till after we've finished the other thing we're to do to-morrow."
"What other thing?"
"Oh, that's a secret between Jock and me," was Bob's reply, as he rose
from the bank and started toward the camp, an example which all of his
companions at once followed.