IN A FOREIGN LAND.
On either side the boys could see great eddies in the stream, in which
the water whirled as if it were twisted about on some unseen axis. The
boat itself was moving swiftly, and as it was swept onward by the
current, they of course could not fully perceive the motion of the
river. The experience was a novel one, and the alarm of the boys was
but natural.
Their confidence was in a measure restored when they saw that Ethan
apparently was not frightened, and as he noticed them watching
intently a whirling eddy off to their right, he laughed and said,--
"That's a pretty good twister, isn't it, boys?"
"Yes," replied Bert. "What would happen to us if we should be caught
in it?"
"Nothin'. Nothin' at all."
As the boys looked up in surprise, he continued, "There's a mighty
sight o' difference between the eddy and the current, let me tell
you. Some folks mistake one for the other in more ways than one, I'm
thinkin'. In my paper, which comes reg'lar every Friday, I sometimes
read the most alarmin' articles. I suppose the men that write them
think they're all true enough, an' they really are afraid the country
is goin' to the dogs. When I read 'em I confess I'm a bit skeered at
times; for what with the strikes an' riots an' all sorts o' things
that happen, it does look like as if it was goin' to be a bit of a
blow; but I look out o' the window o' my house, an' I see the great
river a-hurryin' on as if it was all the while afraid it would be
late, or wouldn't get there on time. But I see more'n the current, for
I see some big eddies, too. They whirl an' boil as if there was a big
fire down below, an' when I see 'em I always think that some folks
can't tell the difference between a eddy and the stream. Then I make
up my mind that that's what's the trouble with those newspaper
fellows. They've seen a eddy and mistook it for the current: an' all
the time the great stream is a-goin' on jist as smooth and swift as ye
please. This river is a great teacher, in my opinion."
Ethan's quaint words served to quiet the fears of the boys, though
doubtless they failed to appreciate the deeper philosophy which lay
beneath them. At all events, they soon perceived that the river was
calmer now, and that the boat was not moving at the speed it had had a
few minutes before.
"That must have been one of the rapids, wasn't it, Ethan?" inquired
Jock.
"Rapids? I rather guess not. That spot's no more like the rapids than
a milk pail's like a mill-pond. No, sir! When ye strike the rapids,
ye'll know it. It's most like slidin' down hill on water."
"But how do the boats come up the river, then?" queried Ben. "They do
come up, for I see them every day. I shouldn't think they could get
through the rapids, if they're like what you say they are."
"No more they don't."
As the boys looked blankly at him, Ethan laughed and said, "They come
up the canal. Course they can't get through the rapids."
"I didn't know there was a canal," said Ben.
"Humph," grunted the boatman; but it was evident that his opinion of
their knowledge was but slight, in spite of the fact that they had
endeavored to impress him with the entrance into college they had all
gained.
"Are we going down to the rapids to-day?" inquired Bert.
"To-day? Well, I guess not," said Ethan, decidedly. "How far down the
river d'ye think them rapids be?"
"I didn't know," protested Bert, hastily. "I only asked for
information."
"We'll go down there some time, but we'll have to make a two or three
day trip of it. Even this boat o' mine, and she's no laggard, I'd have
ye understand, couldn't make it in a day. But we're goin' down there.
There's fishin' below the Longue Seaut that leaves Goose Bay and Eel
Bay and all the spots among the islands in the shade."
"What do they catch?" inquired Bob.
"Fish."
"Oh!" And Bob lapsed into silence once more.
Indeed, it was becoming more and more difficult to deal with Ethan;
and his estimate of their knowledge, or rather their lack of it, was
so apparent that they began to feel as if they were the embodiment of
the city greenhorns he had so contemptuously referred to when they had
first entered camp.
For a time there was silence on board, and the boys all gave
themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour. In the distance were the
shores, and in various places the farmers could be seen at their work.
The farmhouses, low and quaint, appeared here and there, and the
cottages, though less numerous than among the Thousand Islands, were
still much in evidence. Perched on some high bluff along the shore, or
built in groups in some grove, they continually presented a spectacle
of life far different from that which was to be seen in the towns or
cities.
To Ethan their coming was the most natural thing in the world, for
where could another such region be found as that along the borders of
the majestic St. Lawrence? The only thing against which he rebelled
was the price paid for the spot on which some cottage had been
erected, and as they passed the summer homes he frequently referred to
the amount of money which had been paid for the lots.
"That's where Tod Church lives," he explained, pointing as he spoke to
a low farmhouse on the shore, near which stood several modest
cottages.
"Is that so?" replied Bob seriously, as if the abode of Tod was a
matter of intense interest to him. "Was he in the War of 1812 too?"
"No; he wasn't. Tod's a young man. He's only fifty-nine, jest three
months younger'n I be. But Tod's got rich!"
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed the serious Bob. "How did the aforesaid
Tod acquire his wealth?"
"He didn't do nuthin', an' yet he's well off, Tod is. Some folks is
born lucky. That's all the difference there is between folks, in my
opinion. Some has luck for 'em and some has it agin 'em."
"And Tod had it with him, did he?" inquired Bob.
"He did that. His father left him well fixed, for Tod had the house
and fifty acres o' land all clear. And now he's gone an' sold some
lots up there on that bluff where he couldn't raise nothin', and he's
got two thousan' dollars in clean money for 'em. Neow if that isn't
luck, then I don't know what luck is," said Ethan, impressively. "He
jest works when he feels like it, and when he doesn't, he doesn't.
Jest takes his ease and comes an' goes when an' where he pleases, an'
doesn't ask no odds of nobody."
"Fortunate youth!" murmured Bob; and again silence came upon the
party.
For an hour more they sped on before the breeze, which still continued
strong. The sun was high in the heavens, and across the bright blue of
the sky occasional masses of silver-colored clouds passed. It was a
perfect summer day, and the deep peace which rested over all things
seemed to include the boys in its embrace. The boat was handled
perfectly by Ethan and Tom, and it must have required men made of
different material from that in our boys not to feel the keen delight
of living amidst such surroundings. The rush and roar of the city were
things impossible to be imagined, and even the grind of the closing
days in school, and the prospect of the hard work in college, were all
vague and meaningless.
"What's that place ahead, Ethan?" suddenly exclaimed Jock, sitting
erect as he spoke, and pointing to a place of considerable size to
their left.
"Brockville."
"Why don't we stop there and get dinner?"
"I've got something for ye to eat aboard the boat."
"I know that; but we'll want it all on our way back."
"It'll cost ye four shillin' apiece for your dinner if ye go to the
hotel, though I know another place where ye can get it for three
shillin'; but I'm not sure the place is bein' run now."
"Never mind the cost, Ethan," said Jock, recklessly. "We're out for a
time of it, and even such extravagance can be put up with once in a
lifetime."
"Jest as you say," replied Ethan, though it was evident that he felt
in a measure responsible for the expenditures of the lads under his
care.
The dock was soon gained, and as Ethan made his boat fast, the
light-hearted boys leaped ashore. "Come on, Ethan! Come on, Tom," said
Jock. "We'll go up to the hotel and get our dinner."
"Who? Me!" exclaimed the boatman in surprise.
"Yes, you. You and Tom too. Come on, both of you."
"No," said Ethan, shaking his head decidedly. "I ain't a-goin' to pay
no four shillin' for a dinner when I've got enough to eat aboard my
boat."
"Well, let Tom come, anyway," urged Jock, perceiving that Ethan was
not willing to accept the invitation. "We should be glad to have both
of you come, and we'll stand treat for the dinners."
Ethan was about to refuse permission for Tom to accompany the boys,
but perceiving the look of intense desire upon his son's face, and as
Jock increased his solicitations, he relented, and together the boys
started up the street.
It was nearly two hours later when they returned, and as Ethan
perceived them, he said, "I hope ye got yer money's worth, boys."
"It wasn't our fault if we didn't," laughed Jock. "Now, Ethan, we want
to look about the place a little. Will you come with us?"
"I s'pose I'd better, or ye'll git lost," replied the boatman; and
soon afterward the little party was walking about the town, which, in
its architecture and life, presented many contrasts to that with
which they were more familiar.
When they approached the public buildings, Ethan related the story of
the rescue which a party of American soldiers had made there in the
War of 1812. It seemed that a considerable body of prisoners had been
secured by the British, and confined in the jail at Brockville, or
Elizabethtown, as the place was known in the earlier days. Their
friends on the other side of the river had assembled for their rescue,
and crossed the ice one dark night and fell upon the guard, and at
last secured the release of their fellows. Ethan told the story with
many quaint additions of his own, and we may be sure his young friends
were deeply interested.
"This _is_ a great country," said Ben, when Ethan ceased. "It's
historic ground from one end of the river to the other."
"I s'pose so," remarked Ethan, quietly, "though I don't take much
interest in such things. Folks is queer. They call it hist'ry when a
lot o' men git up with guns and shoot at one another; but when they
are peaceable like, and just 'tend to their farms an' mind their own
business, then it isn't any hist'ry at all. I've seen a crowd gather
in a minit up at the bay or Clayton around a man what's drunk, but
when a man is sober and decent they don't pay no 'tention to him at
all. It seems to me this 'hist'ry' you're talkin' about is a good deal
like that."
"Perhaps it is," admitted Ben. "I hadn't thought of it before."
On their way back to the boat Ethan stopped to make a few purchases,
and carefully stowed the packages on board when they set sail.
"We'll go a bit farther down the river," he said, as he headed the
boat down the stream. "We've time enough."
"Ethan, what have you got in those bundles?" inquired Ben.
"Some things my wife wanted me to git. Can buy 'em cheaper over here."
"But they'll cost you as much after you've paid the duty, won't they?"
"Duty? Duty? Who's a-goin' to pay any duty, I'd like to know?" replied
Ethan, sharply.
"Why, I thought everybody had to pay that when they bought things in
Canada."
"Well, I'm not goin' to. I'd like to know why I can't buy things in
Brockville if I take a notion, 'specially when they're cheaper."
"But I thought everybody up here believed in a high tariff, and voted
for it."
"So they do. We ain't a-goin' to have them come over into our country
and compete with us! Not much!"
"How can you buy over there and not pay duty, then?"
"Hey? What's that ye say? Ye act as if ye thought I'd been stealin'.
Most everybody does it, an' I guess it's all fair enough. Did you pay
duty for that dinner ye et up to the hotel? Ye brought some things
away inside o' ye, an' I brought some outside o' me. Tell me the
difference, will ye?"
"Ben ought to have paid," laughed Bob. "When a man buys food by the
wholesale, he ought to pay duty, I'm sure."
Ethan said no more, and as the boys were not disposed to dispute the
strange ethics in which he evidently believed, the party once more
became silent.
An hour later Ethan sighted a steam-yacht coming up the river, and in
response to his hail it stopped and took the boat in tow. This made
the returning voyage easy, and added to the novelty as well; and just
before dusk the line was cast off, and the boat was headed for the
camp, where soon after the boys arrived safely.
"I'll get ye some supper now," said Ethan, as he and Tom at once began
their preparations for the evening meal.
"Good for you, Ethan!" said Ben. "All the 'p'is'n things' you had on
board have been long since exhausted."
"So I noticed. I wonder sometimes if there's anything that will fill
ye up."
"Your supper will, I'm sure."
"I'll try it, though I'm doubtful," replied the boatman, grimly.
A little later he left the tent and approached the boys, holding
something in his hands. "Somebody's been here while we've been gone,"
he said. "They've left a letter and their tickets."
Jock received the note and the "tickets," as Ethan called the visiting
cards, and tearing open the missive he read it and then said: "Mr. and
Mrs. Clarke have been here, fellows. They have left an invitation for
us. Keep still and I'll read it."
He read the letter aloud, and in a moment his friends were as
interested in the contents as he himself had been.