A COUNCIL was held at the hotel, and a dozen different water-routes were discussed. As the boys still wanted to carry out their original design of making a voyage to Quebec, they decided to take the canoes by rail to Rouse’s Point, and from thence to descend the Richelieu River to the St. Lawrence. The railway journey would take nearly a whole day, but they thought it would be a rather pleasant change from the close confinement of canoeing. For it must be admitted that, delightful as they had found canoeing to be, the task of sitting for hours in the cockpit of a canoe with scarcely a possibility of materially changing one’s position was tiresome, and the boys, after a night’s sleep at the Sherbrooke hotel, felt decidedly stiff.
As it would have taken three days to send the canoes to Rouse’s Point by freight, the canoeists were compelled to take them on the same train with themselves. They went to the express office on Monday morning and tried to make a bargain with the express company. The agent astonished them by the enormous price which he demanded, and Harry, who acted as spokesman for the expedition, told him that it was outrageous to ask such a price for carrying four light canoes.
The man turned to a book in which were contained the express company’s rates of charges, and showed Harry that there was a fixed rate for row-boats and shells.
“But,” said Harry, “a canoe is not a row-boat nor a shell. What justice is there in charging as much for a fourteen-foot canoe as for a forty-foot shell?”
“Well,” said the agent, “I dunno as it would be fair. But, then, these canoes of yours are pretty near as big as row-boats.”
“A canoe loaded as ours are don’t weigh over one hundred and ten pounds. How much does a row-boat weigh?”
“Well, about two or three hundred pounds.”
“Then, is it fair to charge as much for a canoe as for a row-boat, that weighs three times as much?”
The agent found it difficult to answer this argument, and after thinking the matter over he agreed to take the canoes at half the rate ordinarily charged for row-boats. The boys were pleased with their victory over him, but they still felt that to be compelled to pay four times as much for the canoes as they paid for their own railroad-tickets was an imposition.
At ten o’clock the train rolled into the Sherbrooke station. To the great disappointment of the boys, no express-car was attached to it, the only place for express packages being a small compartment twelve feet long at one end of the smoking-car. It was obvious that canoes fourteen feet long could not go into a space only twelve feet long, and it seemed as if it would be necessary to wait twelve hours for the night-train, to which a large express-car was always attached. But the conductor of the train was a man who could sympathize with boys, and who had ideas of his own. He uncoupled the engine, which was immediately in front of the smoking-car, and then had the canoes taken in through the door of the smoking-car and placed on the backs of the seats. Very little room was left for passengers who wanted to smoke; but as there were only four or five of these they made no complaint. The canoes, with blankets under them, to protect the backs of the seats, rode safely, and when, late in the afternoon, Rouse’s Point, was reached, they were taken out of the car without a scratch.
There was just time enough before sunset to paddle a short distance below the fort, where a camping-ground was found that would have been very pleasant had there been fewer mosquitoes. They were the first Canadian mosquitoes that had made the acquaintance of the young canoeists, and they seemed to be delighted. They sung and buzzed in quiet excitement, and fairly drove the boys from their supper to the shelter of the canoes.
Harry had a long piece of mosquito-netting, which he threw over the top of his canoe-tent, and which fell over the openings on each side of the tent, thus protecting the occupant of the canoe from mosquitoes without depriving him of air. None of the other boys had taken the trouble to bring mosquito-netting with them, except Charley, who had a sort of mosquito-netting bag, which he drew over his head, and which prevented the mosquitoes from getting at his face and neck.
As for Joe and Tom, the mosquitoes fell upon them with great enthusiasm, and soon reduced them to a most miserable condition. Tom was compelled to cover his head with his India-rubber blanket, and was nearly suffocated. Joe managed to tie a handkerchief over his face in such a way as to allow himself air enough to breathe, and at the same time to keep off the mosquitoes. Instead of covering the rest of his body with his blanket, he deliberately exposed a bare arm and part of a bare leg, in hopes that he could thus satisfy the mosquitoes and induce them to be merciful. At the end of half an hour both Tom and Joe felt that they could endure the attacks of the insatiable insects no longer. They got up, and, stirring the embers of the fire, soon started a cheerful blaze. There were plenty of hemlock-trees close at hand, and the hemlock-boughs when thrown on the fire gave out a great deal of smoke. The two unfortunate boys sat in the lee of the fire and nearly choked themselves with smoke; but they could endure the smoke better than the mosquitoes, and so they were left alone by the latter. In the course of the next hour a breeze sprung up, which blew the mosquitoes away, and the sleepy and nearly stifled boys were permitted to go to bed and to sleep.
GETTING BREAKFAST UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
The wind died down before morning, and the mosquitoes returned. As soon as it was light the canoeists made haste to get breakfast and to paddle out into the stream. The mosquitoes let them depart without attempting to follow them; and the boys, anchoring the canoes by making the ballast-bags fast to the painters, enjoyed an unmolested bath. As they were careful to anchor where the water was not quite four feet deep they had no difficulty in climbing into the canoes after the bath. Joe’s mishap on Lake Memphremagog had taught them that getting into a canoe in deep water was easier in theory than in practice.
Later in the morning the usual southerly breeze, which is found almost every morning on the Richelieu, gave the canoeists the opportunity of making sail—an opportunity that was all the more welcome since the cruise down the Magog had been exclusively a paddling cruise. The breeze was just fresh enough to make it prudent for the canoes to carry their main-sails only, and to give the canoeists plenty of employment in watching the gusts that came through the openings in the woods that lined the western shore.
About twelve miles below Rouse’s Point the fleet reached “Ile aux Noix,” a beautiful island, in the middle of the stream, with a somewhat dilapidated fort at its northern end. The boys landed and examined the fort, and the ruined barracks which stood near it. The ditch surrounding the fort was half filled with the wooden palisades which had rotted and fallen into it, and large trees had sprung up on the grassy slope of the outer wall. The interior was, however, in good repair, and in one of the granite casemates lived an Irishman and his wife, who were the entire garrison. In former years the “Ile aux Noix” fort was one of the most important defences of the Canadian frontier, and even in its present forlorn condition it could be defended much longer than could the big American fort at Rouse’s Point. The boys greatly enjoyed their visit to the island, and after lunch set sail, determined to make the most of the fair wind and to reach St. John before night.
The breeze held, and in less than three hours the steeples and the railway bridge of St. John came in view. The canoeists landed at the upper end of the town; and Harry and Charley, leaving the canoes in charge of the other boys, went in search of the Custom-house officer whose duty it was to inspect all vessels passing from the United States into Canada by way of the Richelieu River. Having found the officer, who was a very pleasant man, and who gave the fleet permission to proceed on its way without searching the canoes for smuggled goods, Harry and Charley walked on to examine the rapids, which begin just below the railway bridge. From St. John to Chambly, a distance of twelve miles, the river makes a rapid descent, and is entirely unnavigable for anything except canoes. A canal around the rapids enables canal boats and small vessels to reach the river at Chambly, where it again becomes navigable; but the boys did not like the idea of paddling through the canal, and greatly preferred to run the rapids.
The first rapid was a short but rough one. Still, it was no worse than the first of the Magog rapids, and Harry and Charley made up their minds that it could be safely run. The men of whom they made inquiries as to the rapids farther down said that they were impassable, and that the canoes had better pass directly into the canal, without attempting to run even the first rapid. Harry was inclined to think that this advice was good, but Charley pointed out that it would be possible to drag the canoes up the bank of the river and launch them in the canal at any point between St. John and Chambly, and that it would be time enough to abandon the river when it should really prove to be impassable.
Returning to the canoes, the Commodore gave the order to prepare to run the rapids. In a short time the fleet, with the Sunshine in advance, passed under the bridge; and narrowly escaping shipwreck on the remains of the wooden piles that once supported a bridge that had been destroyed by fire, entered the rapid. There was quite a crowd gathered to watch the canoes as they passed, but those people who wanted the excitement of seeing the canoes wrecked were disappointed. Not a drop of water found its way into the cockpit of a single canoe; and though there was an ugly rock near the end of the rapid, against which each canoeist fully expected to be driven as he approached it, the run was made without the slightest accident.
Drifting down with the current a mile or two below the town, the boys landed and encamped for the night. While waiting at St. John, Joe and Tom had provided themselves with mosquito-netting, but they had little use for it, for only a few mosquitoes made the discovery that four healthy and attractive boys were within reach. The night was cool and quiet, and the canoeists, tired with their long day’s work, slept until late in the morning.
Everything was prepared the next day for running the rapids which the men at St. John had declared to be impassable. The spars and all the stores were lashed fast; the sand-bags were placed in the after-compartments; the painters were rove through the stern-posts, and the life-belts were placed where they could be buckled on at an instant’s notice. After making all these preparations it was rather disappointing to find no rapids whatever between St. John and Chambly, or rather the Chambly railway bridge.
“It just proves what I said yesterday,” remarked Charley, turning round in his canoe to speak to his comrades, who were a boat’s length behind him. “People who live on the banks of a river never know anything about it. Now, I don’t believe there is a rapid in the whole Richelieu River, except at St. John. Halloo! keep back, boys—”
While he was speaking Charley and his canoe disappeared as suddenly as if the earth, or rather the water, had opened and swallowed them. The other boys in great alarm backed water, and then paddling ashore as fast as possible, sprung out of their canoes and ran along the shore, to discover what had become of Charley. They found him at the foot of a water-fall of about four feet in height over which he had been carried. The fall was formed by a long ledge of rock running completely across the river; and had the boys been more careful, and had the wind been blowing in any other direction than directly down the river, they would have heard the sound of the falling water in time to be warned of the danger into which Charley had carelessly run.
His canoe had sustained little damage, for it had luckily fallen where the water was deep enough to keep it from striking the rocky bottom. Charley had been thrown out as the canoe went over the fall, but had merely bruised himself a little. He towed his canoe ashore, and in answer to a mischievous question from Joe admitted that perhaps the men who had said that the Chambly rapids were impassable were right.
Below the fall and as far as the eye could reach stretched a fierce and shallow rapid. The water boiled over and among the rocks with which it was strewn, and there could not be any doubt that the rapid was one which could not be successfully run, unless, perhaps, by some one perfectly familiar with the channel. It was agreed that the canoes must be carried up to the canal, and after two hours of hard work the fleet was launched a short distance above one of the canal locks.
The lock-man did not seem disposed to let the canoes pass through the lock, but finally accepted fifty cents, and, grumbling to himself in his Canadian French, proceeded to lock the canoes through. He paid no attention to the request that he would open the sluices gradually, but opened them all at once and to their fullest extent. The result was that the water in the lock fell with great rapidity; the canoes were swung against one another and against the side of the lock, and Charley’s canoe, catching against a bolt in one of the upper gates, was capsized and sunk to the bottom, leaving her captain clinging to the stern of the Sunshine.