The Boy Tramps E-Book

J. Macdonald Oxley

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Published in 1896 by a Canadian author of juvenile fiction James MacDonald Oxley (1855-1907), „The Boy Tramps Or, Across Canada” features adventures across Canada. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Oxley J. MacDonald attended Dalhousie University and Harvard. He studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1878. He ended up working for the Sun Life Assurance Company and spent the remainder of his life working for them in Toronto. He started writing in 1889 and wrote 31 books for boys – adventure tales centered around the theme of a boy whose courage is tested in the wilderness. Many of his books have remote settings but some of them featured his native Nova Scotia such as „The Wreckers of Sable Island” and „In Paths of Peril”.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER I

AT SCHOOL AND AT SEA.

It seemed in flat opposition to the familiar adage “like likes like” that Bruce Barclay and Arthur Rowe should be the most devoted chums at Merchiston Castle School, for certainly, to all outward appearance, the only point of similarity between them was that they both had fathers in the far East enduring the pains of exile and braving the perils of fever and cholera in the arduous pursuit of fortune.

As they came upon the cricket-ground together they presented a notable contrast, one to the other. Bruce was one year the elder, and stood full two inches above his companion. In many respects he was a typical Scotch laddie, and needed only tartan and sporran fitly to represent the son of a Highland chieftain.

He was tall for his years, but his well-knit frame was free from all suspicion of lankiness; and though his cheeks bore no tinge of red, they had that healthy pallor which betokens a sound, strong constitution. His features were regular, and when his clear gray eyes lit up with merriment or tenderness, the most captious critic could not deny that he looked “na sae ill;” but in repose his countenance wore a somewhat heavy expression, due in large part to his tendency to “brown studies,” that was not attractive. He had light-brown hair that was always well brushed, and a set of white, regular teeth that owed nothing to the dentist, and was altogether a thoroughly wholesome, stalwart youth whose seventeenth birthday would soon come round.

If Arthur fell short of his friend in height, he so surpassed him in sturdiness of build that they both tipped the scale at the same weight, to wit, one hundred and forty-five pounds. He was a worthy son of John Bull, and promised, if spared to middle age, to attain quite aldermanic proportions. In the meantime, he stood five feet six inches in his stockings, had an athletic figure, with every muscle well developed, a frank and decidedly pleasing face, deep blue eyes brimming with mischief, an ever-ready smile, and a shock of crisp yellow curls that seemed to bid defiance to the discipline of the brush.

In their mental characteristics also the boys differed as widely as they did in their physical. Acute as Bruce’s intellect was, he never made haste to put his thoughts into action. Reason, not impulse, was his master, and he often showed a degree of discretion, an amount of canniness, in fact, hardly to be expected from one of his years. He had abundance of spirit, but he kept it so well in hand that one who knew him slightly might imagine him dull, little conceiving what a geyser could burst forth if he were touched to the quick.

Arthur, on the other hand, wore his heart always on his sleeve, or, to use another simile, had the latch-string of his mind ever hanging out. Of the faculty called “reserve” he had practically none. He did his thinking at electric speed, and had an opinion ready as soon as the issue was presented. His temper was as quick as his heart was warm, and having once expressed an opinion or taken a position, he would maintain his ground resolutely, no matter what the odds might be against him. In a word, he was a hearty, healthy boy, loyal to his friends, fearless before his foes, and fated to make a good mark in the world, provided his impetuosity did not entail some untimely disaster.

The one point of similarity between Arthur and Bruce that has been noted needs further explanation. Mr. Rowe and Mr. Barclay were merchants in Shanghai, the former being engaged in the silk, and the latter in the tea, trade. There the boys had been playmates in the handsome English settlement, and thence at an early age they had been sent away from the enervating climate to the bracing air of Scotland, in which they had flourished famously.

For the past nine years they had been at Merchiston, making their way up from class to class, and winning renown at cricket and football. Bruce was decidedly the best scholar, and helped Arthur over many a hard place by patient coaching, although the latter needed only to give his mind to his studies in order to take rank with the leaders in the classes.

They had both reached the sixth class, Bruce being at the top and Arthur not far from the bottom, and were beginning to look forward questioningly to the future, for it was not decided whether they should continue on to the University. They hoped their fathers would allow them to do so, but had no definite assurance in the matter.

In the meantime they were making the most of their last year at dearly loved Merchiston, and a memorable year it proved to be for both them and the school, as it witnessed the signal defeat of Loretto at cricket, and Fettes at football, in the achieving of which glorious double event they each bore a brilliant part.

The football match took place in February, and it was only due to the intercession of Bruce that Arthur, in spite of his speed, and skill, and strength, had a place on the fifteen, the trouble with him being that he was impatient of discipline, and apt to take his own way of dealing with the ball instead of implicitly obeying his captain.

For this reason, Bruce, who played forward, while Arthur was one of the half-backs, felt especially anxious that he should cover himself with glory, and before they went on the field he besought him not only to play his best, but to do exactly as he was bidden even though he thought he knew a better way.

“It’s your last chance, you know, Arthur, to beat Fettes,” he urged; “and they gave us a bad licking last year, and if they do it again this year we’ll be sorry for it all our lives, won’t we?”

“But they’re not going to do it,” answered Arthur, bringing his teeth together with a snap and clenching his fists. “I’m going to get a touch-down right behind their goal if I die for it.” Then after a moment’s silence he added, “All right, Bruce, I’ll obey orders. You needn’t worry about me.”

He proved as good as his word. Without abating a jot of his energy or enterprise he played his position in a way that rejoiced the captain’s heart, passing with great judgment and accuracy, never failing in a tackle nor muffing a kick, and obeying every order and signal like a well-drilled soldier.

The struggle was a fierce one, and maintained with splendid resolution on both sides. Neither team gained any advantage in the first half, and the second was well advanced before Arthur saw the opportunity to redeem his pledge to Bruce.

He secured a mark on a sudden kick-out from a maul, but instead of taking his kick determined to attempt a run-in. He gave a quick glance of inquiry at his captain, who divined its meaning, and nodded assent.

That instant Arthur was off like a startled deer, clearing the opposing forwards before they had time to recover from the maul, and thus having only two of the half-backs and the back left to reckon with.

The first half-back, having to come at him on a slant from the rear, was easily disposed of. The second gave more difficulty. It was Sangster, undoubtedly the best player on the Fettes team, and, realizing the danger there was of Arthur’s dashing charge succeeding, he braced himself to meet him with the low tackle for which he was renowned.

The chorus of cheers rose into a continuous roar like that of a cataract as Arthur’s feet flew over the turf. He was apparently making no attempt to evade Sangster, and Barclay, watching him with throbbing anxiety, wondered what his strategy might be.

Another moment made it plain, for, just as Sangster’s sinewy hands were about to encircle his waist, he suddenly sprang high in the air, and well to the left of his opponent, who, losing his balance in the effort to turn quick enough, fell over on his knees, while Arthur sped exultantly past him.

The outburst of applause that greeted this clever feat reached even Arthur’s ears, and stimulated him for the task yet before him. He was now within fifteen yards of the goal, and five yards in front of it stood the full-back with every nerve and sinew attent, like a panther ready for his spring.

Arthur knew he could not repeat the trick that did for Sangster. But his resources were not yet exhausted. His quick mind evolved another no less brilliant.

When but five yards remained between him and the back he dropped the ball upon his toe, kicked it over the other’s head, and then, having both hands free, used them to thrust his opponent aside, and, pressing past him, fell upon the ball as it lay just behind the centre of the goal, the most exhausted but happiest being on the ground.

It is one of the accepted statements of the school that never had the “Chief,” as the beloved head-master was called for short, shown so much excitement at a football match. In spite of his at times provoking waywardness Arthur had a warm place in his heart. Indeed, he had supported Bruce’s petition that he be allowed a place on the team, and this really admirable performance consequently gave him peculiar pleasure.

Amid a breathless silence the leather was placed, Arthur himself being assigned to hold it, and Bruce got into position for the kick. It was an easy one to make, to be sure, but many a place-kick fails, and there was anxiety on the Merchiston side and hope among those of Fettes.

As composedly as if it were an every-day occurrence, Bruce took a few swift strides, caught the ball fairly with the point of his toe, and away it went sailing over the uplifted hands and faces of the baffled opponents, full ten feet above the centre of the cross-bar. The touch-down had been duly converted into a goal, and the match was won for Merchiston.

Not one shadow of jealousy clouded Bruce’s delight in Arthur’s achievement. Under the special circumstances he was really gladder at heart than if he himself had been the hero of the day, and in his enthusiasm he threw aside all his reserve as he shouted and danced about in as lively a fashion as the youngest boy in the school.

Arthur’s turn to be jubilant over his chum’s powers came some months later when the annual cricket match with Loretto was played at Pinkie. Loretto, going first to the bat, had, in spite of the utmost efforts of Gray and Hutchison, the Merchiston bowlers, and the faultless fielding of the other players, amassed the threatening total of two hundred and fifty runs, the largest on record in the contest between these schools.

Bruce was captain of the Merchiston eleven, and his face grew more and more serious as the score rose steadily, until at last all the batters were out, and it was Merchiston’s turn to wield the willow.

“Now, fellows, we’ve got to play for our lives,” were his words as the eleven gathered about him for a minute. “There’s not much chance of our matching their score, but we might make a decent draw if we play carefully. Let us all do our best.”

Bruce went in first, taking Loney, the “barn-door” of the eleven, for his companion, and the excitement was unusually keen as the innings opened.

Arthur did not shine at cricket as at football, and on this occasion was fain to be content with a place among the spectators, whence his voice rang out from time to time in commendation of some pretty piece of work on the field.

The proceedings were tame at the outset, the Loretto bowlers being well on the spot, and neither of the batsmen caring to take any liberties with the well-pitched balls. But presently Bruce began to open his shoulders, and the score started to climb after the high mark set by the other side.

At the end of half an hour Bruce had got thoroughly set, and the bowlers were treated with scant respect. One clever cut followed another, varied by long drives to the off and to leg. The telegraph figures grew apace, and even stolid Loney caught inspiration from his captain, and made a gallant effort to emulate him, which unhappily cost him his “life,” but not before he had compiled the respectable total of twenty, so that the score, first wicket down, stood at sixty-five, and the feelings of the Merchistonians took on a brighter hue.

None of the succeeding batsmen made so long a stand as Loney, yet they all contributed their share to the rapidly growing total, and meanwhile Bruce kept on hitting freely, and piling up runs in a way that left nothing to be desired.

At the end of two hours a rattling cheer, led off by Arthur, announced that Bruce had completed his century, and fifteen minutes later another cheer greeted the appearance of the figures 200 on the board.

The Loretto boys began to look anxious. The victory that seemed so securely theirs might yet be snatched from them. Nearly an hour of play still remained, and Barclay showed no signs of weariness or failing skill. There were five more wickets to fall, and so stubbornly were these defended that it took another half-hour to get rid of them.

Ten minutes before the time for drawing stumps the Merchiston score stood at two hundred and forty. As may be easily imagined the excitement was now intense, only ten minutes more to play, and ten runs yet to make to save a draw. All Merchiston, from the “Chief” down to the newest boy, held their breath as each ball was delivered, and gave a sigh of relief when it was well taken care of by the batsman.

Presently a roar of “Well hit! well hit!” and a fusillade of hand-clapping greeted a grand drive to the off from Bruce that cleared the boundary fence and was good for five.

Some anxious minutes of careful play followed during which Bruce’s partner added two useful singles, and then just a moment before the call of time Bruce himself laid hold of a short-pitched ball on his leg side, and putting all his strength into the stroke lifted it far above long leg’s head, and the match was won with two good wickets to spare.

Bruce had carried out his bat after being nearly three hours at the wickets, and having put together the splendid score of one hundred and twenty-eight runs, the highest ever made in a first-class school match in the history of Merchiston.

The ovation that he received as he walked back to the pavilion was enough to turn the head of any boy. Even the defeated of Loretto joined heartily in the cheers, and when the head-master wrung his hand warmly, exclaiming, “Nobly done, Barclay! I never saw better cricket in the school,” Bruce felt that his cup of happiness was full to overflowing.

As may be readily understood the difference in the mental temperaments of the two lads showed itself very markedly in their studies. Arthur had great quickness of apprehension and a retentive memory, but chafed against routine work and sadly lacked steadfastness. Bruce, on the other hand, although slower to seize upon new ideas, forgot nothing that he had once learned, and had the power of pegging away patiently until the most difficult task had to yield itself to him.

As the close of the session drew near, Arthur showed a little deeper interest in his work, but Bruce kept steadily on at much the same pace as he had started.

When the prize list was published, both names appeared upon it, but with a big difference, for Bruce, besides winning the Chalmers Mathematical prize, had headed his class in Latin, German, and Chemistry, while Arthur had gained only one honor, and that, strange to say, on the very subject least likely to be congenial to one of his lively nature, to wit, Divinity. Like a true friend, however, he took as much pleasure in his friend’s prizes as if they had been his own, and their last year at dear old Merchiston was the happiest of all, the only shadow being the fact that they must take their leave of a place where they had spent so many joyous days, and go out into a world of which they had so little knowledge.

Both Mr. Barclay and Mr. Rowe had provided liberally for the boys during their stay at Merchiston, and they had been able during the long holidays to join travelling parties visiting different parts of Great Britain and the Continent; but all this was a mere trifle compared with the experience that was before them now.

To the fathers in far-away Shanghai had gone regular accounts of their sons’ progress, and they had been looking forward to the time when the course at Merchiston would be finished, and the boys could go out and show themselves for parental approbation ere their future course was decided upon.

As it was not advisable for them to reach Shanghai until the summer heat had passed, and they already had seen a good deal of the Old World, it was arranged that they should spend a couple of months travelling in the New World, proceeding to Shanghai in the autumn.

This entirely fell in with their inclinations. They had read much about the United States and the Dominion of Canada, and were eager to visit those countries, particularly Canada, because it was a British colony, and they thought they would feel much more at home there than they would among their American cousins.

The matter being left largely to themselves, it was finally decided that they should go to Canada first, and then, if they had any time to spare, a tour could be made of New York, Boston, Washington, and some of the other chief cities of the United States, before they went on to the Pacific Coast, where the steamer would be taken for Shanghai.

Thus it came about that the last week in June saw them on their way to Liverpool, with Merchiston and all the happy days spent there only a memory to be cherished through life.

It was the first time they had really been upon their own responsibility, and they both felt highly elated thereat, although Bruce, with his wonted reserve, managed tolerably well to conceal the fact.

But Arthur gave himself away with the utmost frankness. He strutted up and down the platform at the railway station like a young rooster on a sunny morning. He patronized the porters, and tipped the guard with what he flattered himself was the nonchalance of a globe-trotter. He lolled about on the cushions, affecting a fine indifference to the scenery, and letting it be understood that he was vastly bored by the journey, while all the time he was mentally hugging himself at his good fortune in getting off on this “grand tour” practically as his own master, and with the best friend he had in the world as his companion.

At Liverpool they went on board the fine steamer “Parisian” of the Allan Line, and were delighted at the stateroom which was to be theirs for the next ten days, and at the sumptuous fittings of the saloon.

“Won’t we just have a fine time!” exclaimed Arthur, after they had got their things stowed away and were able to look about them. “There’ll be lots of fun, you know, and Duffus, who’s been across in this steamer twice, says the grub is prime,–as good as a Christmas dinner every day in the week.”

“But suppose you’re seasick?” suggested Bruce, with a quiet smile. “It won’t make much matter how good the grub is then.”

“Do you think I’m going to be such a fool?” answered Arthur indignantly. “No, sir, no seasickness for this child,” and he set his feet firmly on the deck, and rested his hands on his hips.

Bruce discreetly said no more, although he felt pretty sure that both he and his chum would have to pay the usual tribute to old Neptune before they had been long at sea.

The trip down the Mersey was full of interest, the big steamer threading her way through the maze of shipping with an intelligent accuracy that made her seem like some huge living creature.

The weather being fine the boys spent all their time on deck, Arthur asking numberless questions of the officers and men, and already beginning to scrape acquaintance with some of the passengers, while Bruce kept more in the background, yet lost nothing of what was taking place.

They had appetites as keen as razors for dinner, and were among the first to respond when the summons came. They found the fare provided fully equal to their school-mate’s description. From the point of view of their Merchiston experience, where the food had, of course, been more substantial than elaborate, as best befitted hearty boys, it was as good as a Christmas dinner, and Arthur devoted himself so assiduously to the different items of the lengthy menu that his vis-a-vis, a gray-beard traveller, leaning across the table with a humorous twinkle in his shrewd gray eyes, said in an undertone:

“That is right, my lad, make hay while the sun shines. You may want nothing but a bit of biscuit and a cup of tea this time to-morrow.”

Kindly as the tone was in which the words were spoken, Arthur was quick enough to detect the touch of satire that underlay it, and it made him flush hotly.

His first impulse was to retort, “Will you be good enough to mind your own business?” but Bruce, who feared something of the kind, gave him a significant look, and what he did say was:

“That’s all right, sir. I’ll take my chances,” and although it was not in the pleasantest tone imaginable, yet the old gentleman took it in the best of humor, and went on with his dinner, saying to himself:

“A fine-spirited boy that! I thought he was going to tell me to mind my own business, but he’s evidently been better trained. I must find out who he is.”

Not imagining that he had awakened any interest in his fellow-passenger, Arthur paid him no further attention, nor did he allow his intrusive remark to cast any cloud upon his enjoyment of the good things before him.

By the time the boys thought of getting into their bunks the “Parisian” was rolling about in the Irish channel at a rate that made the business of undressing by no means an easy task. Just as Arthur was trying to get out of his trousers the steamer gave a sudden pitch that, finding him unprepared, and unable to balance himself, sent him hard against Bruce, who was in his turn toppled over by the sudden impact, and the two boys fell in a tangled heap of legs, arms, bodies, and braces in the corner by the sofa.

They were soon on their feet again, laughing heartily and none the worse for the collapse, but Arthur, as he straightened himself out, became conscious of a dizziness in the head and uneasiness in the stomach that caused him to hurry off the remainder of his clothes and climb into his berth with as little delay as possible. He even omitted to say his prayers as was his wont, so pressing did he feel the emergency to be, and so anxious was he to give no vent of his feeling to his companion.

Bruce suspected the truth, notwithstanding, but was too considerate to make any remark. He knew quite well he had his own battle to fight, and was not disposed to be critical of others.

They had a very restless and uncomfortable night of it, as the “Parisian” pitched and tossed unceasingly; and when morning came Arthur realized that in spite of his rash boasting he had fallen a victim to the remorseless power of the sea, and that his place at the breakfast-table would be vacant for that morning.

He was too wretched to feel much concerned over this. His one thought was, how soon would he be himself again; yet, since misery loves company, he did find some consolation in the discovery that Bruce was no less upset, and that they were likely to fairly share the confinement to the stateroom.

“How long do you think we’ll be like this?” he groaned, looking straight up at the ceiling, for he did not dare lean over the edge of the berth, Bruce being below him.

“Only to-day, I hope,” responded Bruce, striving nobly to put a cheerful tone into his voice. “If we keep still all day we’ll be right enough by to-morrow.”

Keep still, indeed! The suggestion was easily enough made, but it was far from being easy of execution, with the great steamer apparently making frantic efforts to turn somersaults, and the boys’ interior departments seeming to be in quick and distressful sympathy with her every movement.

However, thanks to the kind ministrations of an attentive steward, they did manage somehow to get through the long, dreary day, and the following morning being bright and clear with little wind, they succeeded in crawling out on deck, when the keen fresh air so braced them up that by dinner-time they felt equal to resuming their places at the table.

As the old gentleman who sat opposite to Arthur took his seat he gave him a pleasant nod of recognition which seemed to reply:

“Well, here you are again, but I was right, you see, after all.”

And the boy, in a sudden impulse to frank confession of having boasted prematurely, leaned across with reddening cheeks to say:

“I didn’t want even the tea and biscuit this time yesterday. I was awfully knocked up.”

A bright smile broke over the gentleman’s face.

“An honest confession is good for the soul, they say,” he returned. “You’ve shown the right spirit, my lad, and I hope we shall soon become better acquainted.”

That he was sincere in the expression of this hope was manifested when they all rose from dinner and went on deck, for as soon as he had lit his cigar he joined them, and introducing himself as Mr. Gillespie, of Montreal, availed himself of the privilege of age to ask them a number of questions about themselves.

They were soon deep in talk, Bruce, as usual, allowing Arthur to take the lead in the conversation, yet not in anywise standing aloof, but showing by his attentive listening and occasional shrewd remarks that he felt thoroughly at ease.

Mr. Gillespie, who had a houseful of sons at home, took a deep interest in the young travellers, and before the voyage ended gave them so cordial an invitation to spend some days with him in Montreal that they gladly accepted it.

The days slipped by very pleasantly upon the “Parisian,” each one finding the boys’ list of acquaintances extending until it embraced nearly all the first-class passengers, the chief exception being the men who spent their time in the smoking-room playing cards and drinking champagne with a zeal and zest that made it appear they regarded these occupations as the chief end of life.

Nor was Arthur content with the saloon as his sphere of activity. His eagerness for information took him all over the ship. He got himself spattered with oil in the engine-room, and grimy with coal-dust down among the furnaces. He even penetrated into the steerage, carrying cakes and fruit to the dirty-faced children that swarmed there like rabbits in a burrow.

To one of these youngsters, a pretty, blue-eyed, fair-haired German boy about five years of age, he took a great fancy, and one day brought him on the main deck to show him to Mr. Gillespie.

They were having a lively game of romps together when Arthur, picking up the child in his arms, held him over the railing to give him a bit of a scare; but, instead of being frightened, the little chap crowed and kicked so vigorously that Arthur lost his balance, and before he could recover himself the boy had slipped out of his grasp and dropped into the waves twenty feet below!

CHAPTER II

SOME ADVENTURES ASHORE.

Arthur’s first feeling as the child slipped from his grasp, and, with a splash scarce audible to him so far above, vanished beneath the breeze-rippled water, was one of paralyzing horror. But it was only for a moment. The next instant, throwing off his coat and cap, with one quick movement he raced down to the stern, and not hesitating a second at the height, leaped off the taffrail into the foam of the steamer’s wake.

Suddenly as it all took place Bruce was nearly as quick as his companion; but his cool, clear head told him a better thing to do. Snatching up one of the life-preservers, ready at hand for just such an emergency, he sprang after Arthur, and just as the latter appeared above the waves with the child firmly held in his left hand, while he struck out strongly with the right, Bruce also appeared not twenty yards away with the life-preserver, and called out cheeringly:

“It’s all right, Arthur, I’ve got a life-preserver. Stay where you are. I’ll bring it to you.”

Never had his chum’s voice sounded so sweet to Arthur before. In his noble impulse to rescue he had not stopped to consider how, if he got the child, he would be able to keep it and himself afloat during the time that must necessarily elapse before a boat could be lowered to pick them up. But now the thoughtfulness of Bruce had solved that problem; and as the life-preserver came within his reach he grasped it with a tremendous feeling of relief, exclaiming enthusiastically:

“What a brick you are, Bruce! We’ll save little Dutchie between us all right.”

Meanwhile there was intense excitement on board the steamer. Mr. Gillespie had at once given the alarm, the engines had been stopped, and preparations made for lowering one of the boats as rapidly as possible.

Although not a moment was lost in this, it seemed awfully long to the anxious passengers crowded at the stern before the boat got off, the headway of the huge vessel being so great that the boys were far astern, and scarcely visible before the first oar struck the water.

But the rowers put all their strength into every stroke, and the heavy boat fairly tore through the water, which happily was not at all rough, until after ten minutes of hard pulling the welcome order “Easy all” told them they had reached their goal.

When the boat ran alongside the boys, and the men in the stern lifted them and the child carefully over the gunwale, the rowers held their oars upright in the air, and gave a mighty “hurrah!” which, making its way back to the steamship, was echoed by the relieved and rejoicing passengers who had been watching every movement of the boat with feverish eagerness.

The boys had a rousing reception on their return to the steamer, the gentlemen cheering and clapping them on the back, and pronouncing them most emphatically “the right sort,” and fine, manly fellows, and so on; while the ladies, their eyes brimming with tears, felt quite ready to kiss them, all dripping as they were. As for “little Dutchie,” he was fairly overwhelmed with caresses, to which he submitted with the stolidity of his race. He was also the object of many gifts, which he accepted as calmly as he did the caresses.

After Bruce and Arthur had changed their clothes they returned to the deck, where they found Mr. Gillespie on the lookout for them.

“You came out of that handsomely, my lads,” said he, giving a hand to each. “You,” looking at Arthur, “only did your duty under the circumstances, but it couldn’t have been done better; and you,” turning to Bruce, “acted like a true friend. It warmed my old heart to see you, and I tell you,” he added, his face kindling, “if I’d only been twenty years younger I’d have gone over with you to make sure you were equal to the job.”

“Oh, I felt pretty sure of that, thank you," responded Bruce modestly. “Arthur and I are good swimmers, and could have kept afloat a long time without the life-preserver, but I thought it was better to have it, all the same.”

This incident deepened the friendship between the old man and the boys, and they were more together than ever. He seemed to enjoy keenly the stories of their school life, and they completely exhausted their stores of such for his benefit.

In return he gave them many interesting chapters from his own long and eventful life, nearly all of which had been spent in Canada; and they were absorbed listeners as he described some exciting experience in the early days of the city, or a thrilling escape from the perils of travel through regions where, not only the railway, but the post-road, was yet unknown.

In this way the boys grew so interested in Canada that they began to discuss between themselves whether they would not spend the whole summer in that country, and leave the United States for another time.

“We’ve only got until September, you know,” argued Arthur, who entirely favored the idea, “and it’s an awful big country.”

“That’s true enough,” assented Bruce, who, however, had not his mind quite made up. “But so are the United States, and the dear only knows when we’ll get another chance of seeing something of them. Don’t let us decide now,” he added, “wait until we’ve been in Canada a little while, and then see what we’ll do.”

Arthur agreed to this, and the matter then dropped for the time, there being plenty of other things to occupy the boys’ attention.

They had grand games of shovel-board and deck-quoits, they read the books in the steamer’s library when it was too stormy to be on deck, and they turned up with a good appetite at each one of the five meals so lavishly provided for all who cared to take them, so that not for a moment did time hang heavy on their hands; and presently the always welcome cry of “Land ho!” was raised, for the “Parisian” had come to the entrance of the Straits of Belle Isle, and the ocean voyage was over, the remainder of the trip being practically inland sailing.

As they passed through the Straits, and steered southward along the coast of Newfoundland. Mr. Gillespie interested the boys greatly with tales of the dangers of navigation in the great Gulf of St. Lawrence, and how many fine vessels had been wrecked on the pitiless coasts, or through collision with icebergs in the fog, or by running into one another when enshrouded in mist.

When darkness came on, the lighthouses placed here and there to warn navigators to keep off, sent their bright rays gleaming through the night, and so familiar was Mr. Gillespie with the course, that he knew each one of them as they were opened up,–Point Armour on the Labrador coast, and Point Rich on the Newfoundland side,–and he had a story for each.

That night one of the fogs so frequent in those waters enveloped the steamer, and the fog-horn was kept going steadily, much to the disturbance of the boys, who could not sleep for its mournful bellowings.

“Oh, dear, I wish that horrid thing would shut up,” groaned Arthur, rolling over in his berth and trying to shut out the persistent sound by covering his head with the clothes. “It’ll drive me crazy if it keeps up like that all night.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have it going than take your chance of having some other steamer run us down?” asked Bruce, whose habit of mind was to take the most reasonable view of anything that occurred.

“Oh, I guess this steamer can take care of herself,” growled Arthur, determined not to be appeased, for he was indeed desperately sleepy. “She’s too big for anything to hurt her, anyway.”

“Not a bit of it,” replied Bruce. “They’ve got to be just as careful as if she were a steam-launch. But, listen!” he exclaimed, starting up in his berth. “Is that an echo, or is it another steamer answering us?”

The boys listened breathlessly, and sure enough there could be heard in the intervals of the blasts of the “Parisian’s” horn a fainter blast that evidently was not an echo, for it had a different pitch and a briefer duration.

“It is another steamer, and it’s coming right toward us,” said Bruce. “Now, my boy, don’t you think it’s a good thing our fog-horn has been kicking up such a row? See, they’re signalling each other with long and short blasts so as to show how to pass.”

The idea of another vessel as big and as swift as the “Parisian” emerging suddenly out of the dense obscurity and charging right at her for lack of knowledge as to her position came over Arthur so strongly that he gave a big gasp of relief, and said in quite a meek tone:

“I’ll forgive the fog-horn, even if it does seem a nuisance when a fellow wants to go to sleep. I wish I could get a look at that other steamer.”

But it was altogether too dense for that, even if they had been on deck, and as they listened, the sound of her warning blasts grew fainter and fainter until it was heard no more.

Shortly after this they both fell asleep despite the incessant bellowing of the horn, and had got well into the land of dreams when they were suddenly aroused by a shock that nearly tumbled them out of their berths.

Scrambling on to the floor of the stateroom they cried at the same moment:

“What’s happened? Have we struck?”

But as neither could answer the other they soon saw there was nothing to learn by staying where they were, and, without more ado, they hastened to pull on some clothes, and get out into the saloon, where they found many of the other passengers already gathered in various stages of dishabille that might have been amusing at any other time.

They were all rushing about in a frantic fashion, demanding to know what had happened, and there seemed nobody competent to answer until one of the officers appeared, and was immediately surrounded by a score of excited men and women who shouted at him as though they thought him deaf.

When he was able to make himself understood, it appeared that the steamer had run down a sailing-vessel, striking her almost amidships, but that she had not sunk, being timber-laden, and her crew would all be rescued, while it was not thought that the “Parisian” had received any serious damage.

This announcement was enough to cause Bruce and others to complete dressing and to hasten on deck. Working their way to the bow they found that the steamer had not yet entirely disengaged herself from the other vessel, and there was a great flashing of lights and shouting of commands going on.

Being relieved from all anxiety as to their own safety, or that of the crew of the stricken ship, they could look on at the busy scene with easy minds.

What the captain of the “Parisian” desired was to get the wreck cleared away from the bow and drawn alongside until those on board had time to remove everything of value to the steamer, when the wreck must be abandoned to its fate.

In spite of the admirable discipline which he maintained, the suddenness of the shock and the darkness of the night confused his men at first, and they did not execute his orders with their wonted intelligence and rapidity, putting him in a towering rage, which greatly impressed the boys, who had never before seen him otherwise than in a genial mood.

Before long, however, despite the difficulties of the situation, the vessel was cut loose and drawn alongside, and all on board her reached the “Parisian’s” deck with their clothes and other belongings, which, being accomplished, the steamer resumed her course. A careful examination of the fore-hold having established the welcome fact that although the bow had suffered some slight damage, it was not enough to cause a serious leak, and at the worst, only the fore-compartment would be flooded.

When the excitement had all subsided the boys went back to their berths, and as they turned in for the second time, Bruce said:

“That settles the fog-horn question, doesn’t it, Arthur? If that vessel we ran down had only been blowing a horn like the steamer we met we’d have gone by her all right instead of smashing into her as we did.”

“That’s so, Bruce,” assented Arthur sleepily; “I’ll never feel mad at a fog-horn again;” and having delivered himself of this virtuous resolution, he rolled over to finish his much-interrupted night’s rest.

The following morning they were steaming by the big island of Anticosti, which stands right in the heart of the St. Lawrence Gulf, and as they gave its dangerous shores a wide berth Mr. Gillespie told them many thrilling tales of the terrible disasters of which the island had been the scene.

Well had it deserved the ill-omened title of “Isle of Shipwrecks,” from the day when Sir William Phipps’ troop-ships were cast away upon it with the loss of hundreds of brave British soldiers until the present, when the wrecks of several fine iron steamships were still to be seen sprawling upon its merciless reefs.

The boys were also told about Gamache, the mysterious smuggler and wrecker, whose sinister renown had filled the whole Gulf in years gone by, and who was believed by the superstitious sailors to be in league with the devil, and able to exercise supernatural powers if hard pressed.

They reached Quebec on the afternoon of Friday, and on the advice of Mr. Gillespie got off the steamer to spend a day or two in looking over the old city, whose towering citadel at once made plain to them why it was known as the Gibraltar of America.

Arranging to meet their kind friend in Montreal, they bade “good-by” to the “Parisian” and betook themselves to a hotel, feeling glad enough to be on terra firma once more, full of enjoyment and interest as the trip across the ocean had been.

Immediately after dinner they set out to explore the city, with its steep, narrow, tortuous streets, its quaint old-fashioned buildings, and its foreign-looking people chattering away in a language that the instruction they had received in French at Merchiston in nowise helped them to understand.

Presently they were hailed by the driver of a very odd-looking vehicle, who seemed in a great state of anxiety to be hired.

“That must be one of those calèches Mr. Gillespie was telling us about. Let’s hire him for a while and drive around. We’ll get along ever so much better that way,” said Arthur, always ready for something new.

It was a lovely evening, and there was a full hour of clear twilight still to come, so Bruce thought the idea a good one, and much to the gratification of the cabbie they climbed into his curious chariot, that very much resembled an ancient two-wheeled gig, and bid him drive them about for an hour.

“What a queer old place this is, to be sure!" exclaimed Arthur after they had been threading their way for some time through streets so narrow that there was scarce room for two carriages to pass. “It’s a good deal like Edinburgh, isn’t it, though the houses aren’t half so high.”

But when their drive brought them to Dufferin Terrace, more than half-way up the precipitous flank of Cape Diamond, and from this superb promenade there opened out one of the most magnificent views in the world, they forgot all about the contracted shadowy streets in their admiration for the wonderful panorama spread before and beneath them.