THE early morning visitor was not a bear. He was a very welcome visitor, for as soon as he made himself visible he was seen to be the missing canoeist. Charley was very wet and cold, but he was soon furnished with dry clothes and a blanket, and warmed with a cup of hot coffee made with the help of Harry’s spirit-lamp; and as he lay on the bank and waited for daylight he told the story of his midnight run down the rapid.
When the boys were crossing the river above the rapid Charley’s canoe was close behind Joe’s. The latter ran on a rock, and in order to avoid her Charley was compelled to pass below the rock. In so doing he found himself in great danger of running on another rock, and in his effort to avoid this he drifted still farther down the river. Before he was aware of his danger he was caught by the current at the head of the rapid. He had just time to turn his canoe so as to head her down stream and to buckle his life-belt around him. In another second he was rushing down the rapid at a rate that, in view of the darkness, was really frightful.
It was useless to attempt to guide the canoe. Charley could see so little in advance of him that he could not choose his channel nor avoid any rock that might lie in his path. He, therefore, sat still, trusting that the current would carry him into the deepest channel and keep him clear of the rocks. The rapid seemed to be a very long one, but the Midnight ran it without taking in a drop of water or striking a single rock.
As soon as quiet water was reached Charley paddled to the shore, intending to make his canoe fast and to sleep quietly in her until morning. He was in high spirits at having successfully run a rapid in the dark, and he paddled so carelessly that just as he was within a yard of the shore the canoe ran upon a sunken log, spilled her captain into the water, and then floated off in the darkness and disappeared.
Charley had no difficulty in getting ashore, but he was wet to the skin, and his dry clothes and all his property, except his paddle, had gone on a cruise without him. There was nothing for him to do but to make his way back along the bank to the other boys. This proved to be a tiresome task. The woods were very thick, and full of underbrush and fallen trunks. Charley was terribly scratched, and his clothes badly torn, as he slowly forced his way through the bushes and among the trees. He was beginning to think that he would never reach the boys, when he fortunately heard their voices as they whispered together.
When morning dawned the canoeists, feeling extremely cramped and stiff, cast their canoes loose, and started down the river, intending, if possible, to find Charley’s canoe, and then go ashore for breakfast and a good long sleep. The rapid had been run so easily by Charley in the night that they rightly imagined they would find no difficulty in running it by daylight. Tom took Charley in the Twilight, and the fleet, with Harry leading the way, passed through the rapid without accident. The boys could not but wonder how Charley had escaped the rocks in the darkness, for the rapid, which was much the roughest and swiftest they had yet seen, seemed to be full of rocks.
Not very far below the rapid the missing canoe was discovered aground in an eddy. She was uninjured; and as there was a sandy beach and plenty of shade near at hand the boys went ashore, made their breakfast, and, lying down on their rubber blankets, slept until the afternoon.
It was time for dinner when the tired canoeists awoke, and by the time they had finished their meal and were once more afloat it was nearly three o’clock. They ran three more rapids without any trouble. Their canoes frequently struck on sunken rocks; but as they were loaded so as to draw more water aft than they did forward, they usually struck aft of midships, and did not swing around broadside to the current. When a canoe struck in this way her captain unjointed his paddle, and, taking a blade in each hand, generally succeeded in lifting her clear of the rock by pushing with both blades against the bottom of the river. In the next rapid Joe’s canoe ran so high on a rock that was in the full force of the current that he could not get her afloat without getting out of her. He succeeded in getting into her again, however, without difficulty, by bringing her along-side of the rock on which he was standing, although he had to step in very quickly, as the current swept her away the moment he ceased to hold her.
In running these rapids the canoes were kept at a safe distance apart, so that when one ran aground the one following her had time to steer clear of her. At Charley’s suggestion the painter of each canoe was rove through the stern-post instead of the stem-post. By keeping the end of the painter in his hand the canoeist whose canoe ran aground could jump out and feel sure that the canoe could not run away from him, and that he could not turn her broadside to the stream by hauling on the painter, as would have been the case had the painter been rove through the stem-post.
“I want to see that Sherbrooke postmaster!” exclaimed Joe, after running what was the seventh rapid, counting from the dam at Magog. “He said there were only one or two little rapids in this river. Why, there isn’t anything but rapids in it!”
“There’s something else just ahead of us worse than rapids,” said Charley. “Look at that smoke.”
Just a little distance below the fleet the river was completely hidden by a dense cloud of smoke that rested on the water and rose like a heavy fog-bank above the tops of the highest trees. It was caused by a fire in the woods—probably the very fire which the boys had started on the previous night. How far down the river the smoke extended, and whether any one could breathe while in it, were questions of great importance to the canoeists.
The fleet stopped just before reaching the smoke, and the boys backed water gently with their paddles while they discussed what they had better do. It was of no use to go ashore with the hope of finding how far the smoke extended, for it would have been as difficult to breathe on shore as on the water.
“There’s one good thing about it,” said Charley: “the smoke blows right across the river, so the chances are that it does not extend very far down stream.”
“We can’t hear the noise of any rapid,” said Harry, “and that’s another good thing. There can’t be a rapid of any consequence within the next quarter of a mile.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do, with the Commodore’s permission,” continued Charley. “There is no use in staying here all day, for that smoke may last for any length of time. I’ll tie a wet handkerchief around my mouth and nose, and take the chances of paddling through the smoke. It isn’t as thick close to the water as it looks to be, and I haven’t the least doubt that I can run through it all right.”
“But suppose you get choked with smoke, or get into a dangerous rapid?” suggested Tom.
“There isn’t any rapid near us, or we would hear it, and I don’t think the smoke will hurt me while I breathe through a wet handkerchief. At any rate, I’d rather try it than sit here and wait for the smoke to disappear.”
It was decided, after farther discussion, that Charley should attempt to paddle through the smoke, if he really wished to do so; and that he should blow a whistle if he got through all right, and thought that the other boys could safely follow his example. Paddling a little way up stream, so as to have room to get up his fastest rate of speed before reaching the smoke, Charley started on his hazardous trip. He disappeared in the smoke with his canoe rushing along at a tremendous rate, and in a few seconds his comrades heard him calling to them to come on without fear.
They followed Charley’s example in covering their mouths and noses with wet handkerchiefs, and in paddling at the top of their speed. They were agreeably surprised to find that the belt of smoke was only a few yards wide, and that almost before they had begun to find any difficulty in breathing they emerged into pure air and sunlight.
“It was a risky business for you, Charley,” said Harry, “for the smoke might have covered the river for the next quarter of a mile.”
“But then it didn’t, you see,” replied Charley. “How cheap we should have felt if we had waited till morning for the smoke to blow away, and then found that we could have run through it as easily as we have done!”
“Still, I say it was risky.”
“Well, admitting that it was, what then? We can’t go canoeing unless we are ready to take risks occasionally. If nobody is ever to take a risk, there ought not to be any canoes, or ships, or railroads.”
“That Sherbrooke postmaster isn’t afraid to take risks,” observed Joe. “If he keeps on telling canoeists that there are no rapids in this river, some of these days he’ll have an accident with a large canoeist and a heavy paddle. We’ve run seven rapids already, and have another one ahead of us. If we ever get to Sherbrooke, I think it will be our duty to consider whether that postmaster ought to be allowed to live any longer.”
Just before sunset the fleet reached Magog Lake, a placid sheet of water about four miles long, with three or four houses scattered along its eastern shore. At one of these houses eggs, milk, butter, bread, a chicken, and a raspberry pie were bought, and the boys went into camp near the lower end of the lake. After a magnificent supper they went to bed rather proud of their achievements during the last day and night.
The next day the canoeists started in the cool of the morning, and as soon as they left the lake found themselves at the head of their eighth rapid. All that day they paddled down the river, running rapids every little while, jumping overboard when their canoes ran aground and refused to float, and occasionally slipping on the smooth rocky bottom of the stream and sitting down violently in the water. Once they came to a dam, over which the canoes had to be lowered, and on the brink of which Joe slipped and slid with awful swiftness into the pool below, from which he escaped with no other injury than torn trousers and wet clothes.
“That postmaster said there were no dams in the Magog, didn’t he?” asked Joe as he prepared to get into his canoe. “Well, I hope he hasn’t any family.”
“Why, what about his family?” demanded Tom.
“Nothing; only I’m going to try to get him to come down the Magog in a canoe, so he can see what a nice run it is. I suppose his body will be found some time, unless the bears get at him.”
“That’s all rubbish, Joe,” said Charley. “We wouldn’t have had half the fun we’ve had if there hadn’t been any rapids in the river. We’re none the worse for getting a little wet.”
“We might have had less fun, but then I’d have had more trousers if it hadn’t been for that dam. I like fun as well as anybody, but I can’t land at Sherbrooke with these trousers.”
“I see Sherbrooke now!” exclaimed Harry; “so you’d better change your clothes while you have a chance.”
Sherbrooke was coming rapidly into sight as the fleet paddled down the stream, and in the course of half an hour the boys landed in the village, near a dam which converted the swift Magog into a lazy little pond. While his comrades drew the canoes out of the water and made them ready to be carted to the St. Francis, Harry went to engage a cart. He soon returned with a big wagon large enough to take two canoes at once; and it was not long before the fleet was resting in the shade on the bank of the St. Francis, and surrounded by a crowd of inquisitive men, boys, and girls.
It was difficult to convince the men that the canoes had actually come from Lake Memphremagog by the river, and the boys were made very proud of their success in running rapids which, the men declared, could only be run in skiffs during a freshet. Without an exception all the men agreed that there were rapids in the St. Francis which were really impassable, and that it would be foolish for the boys to think of descending that river. After making careful inquiries, and convincing themselves that the men were in earnest, the canoeists retired some distance from the crowd and held a council.
“The question is,” said Harry, “shall we try the St. Francis after what we have heard? The youngest officer present will give his opinion first. What do you say, Joe?”
“I think I’ve had rapids and dams enough,” replied Joe; “and I’d rather try some river where we can sail. I vote against the St. Francis.”
“What do you say, Tom?”
“I’ll do anything the rest of you like; but I think we’d better give the St. Francis up.”
“Now, Charley, how do you vote?”
“For going down the St. Francis. I don’t believe these men know much about the river, or anything about canoes. Let’s stick to our original plan.”
“There are two votes against the St. Francis, and one for it,” said Harry. “I don’t want to make a tie, so I’ll vote with the majority. Boys, we won’t go down the St. Francis, but we’ll go to the hotel, stay there over Sunday, and decide where we will cruise next.”
“All right,” said Joe, going to his canoe, and taking a paddle blade in his hand.
“What in the world are you going to take that paddle to the hotel for?” asked Harry.
“I’m going to see the postmaster who said there were no rapids in the Magog or the St. Francis; that’s all,” replied Joe. “I’ve a painful duty to perform, and I’m going to perform it.”
