CHAPTER XIII--DOWN THE RICHELIEU RIVER
Split Rock Mountain was the most delightful place the Comrades had yetdiscovered in which to make a camp. The day had been rather a strenuousone, and the boys were glad to seek comfortable blankets under thetent-top.
Nothing occurred to mar the peaceful quiet of the night, and the boysawoke at sun-up for their usual morning plunge in the lake. Breakfast,consisting of coffee, bread and butter, and canned meat, was eaten witha relish, and then the boys pushed out into the lake again, eager to beon their way. They were getting well up into New York State now, andwould soon cross the line into Canada.
The next night they spent on the east shore, some miles aboveBurlington, and the afternoon of the following day found them offPlattsburg, famous in history through the great naval battle inPlattsburg Bay, in which Thomas McDonough, commanding the Americansquadron, had vanquished the English commander, Downie, in a battlelasting two and one-half hours, at the end of which time Downie and manyof his officers had been killed, and the British ships were disabled andobliged to strike their colors. The American squadron was badly injured,too, but the victory over the British was most complete and probably didmore toward bringing an end to the war than any other single event.
A feeling of awe stole over the boys as they realized that they were onthe spot where one of America's greatest naval heroes had won undyingrenown.
"Makes a fellow feel like fighting, himself," said Pod.
"Well, if you want to fight yourself, why don't you do it?" said Fleet.
"There you go putting a wrong construction on my words," snapped thelittle fellow. "I mean, it makes you feel like you'd liketo--to--well--like--to----"
"Fight yourself," said Fleet. "Sure; you told us that before."
Hugging the shore of Grand Isle, the boys finally left Plattsburgbehind. Canoeing was a pleasure now, as the weather was cooler, and afine breeze from the south tempered the heat, and fairly pushed thecanoes to the northward with its power.
Between Isle La Motte and the Vermont mainland they paddled, campingagain on a promontory jutting out into the lake a few miles belowRouses' Point.
"I tell you, fellows, this is real life," said Fleet, and for a wonderPod agreed with him. The grandeur of the scenery held a strangefascination for Pod, who had traveled so little. He had pictured suchthings very frequently, but this trip was beyond his wildest dreams, andfor an entire day and a half he forgot to crack a joke--something sounusual that the boys commented upon it.
"Well, how's this one?" he asked, as they all sat on the shore of thelake, after pitching the tent and preparing things for the night.
"How's what one?" demanded Fleet.
"Well, give me a chance to tell it, won't you?"
"Surely; proceed."
"Why was the man who had been rolling all night in a steamer berth, madwhen the steward opened the door in the morning and spoke to him?"
"Give it up," said Chot.
"Because the steward asked him if he wouldn't have a fresh roll forbreakfast."
"Bad," commented Bert.
"Then how's this one?" said Pod. "Why is the ocean like a goodhousekeeper?"
"Oh, we'll give that one up, too?"
"Because it is very tidy."
"I can't stand this; I'm going to bed," Fleet announced.
"Oh, don't go to bed, yet; recite some verses," suggested Chot.
It was surprising how quickly Fleet's manner underwent a change at that.
"Why, I'll be glad to oblige if you fellows really want to hear them,"said Fleet, seating himself again.
"Oh, delighted," said Tom in a dismal tone, which made Pod snicker, andBert laugh out loud.
"But if you're going to laugh at me I don't care to recite," said Fleet.
"Oh, go on," said Tom. "Don't mind me."
He really liked to hear Fleet's compositions, but was reluctant intelling Fleet so, fearing that Fleet, through the kindness of his heart,would overburden them with verses.
"I have composed a very touching little thing entitled, 'A Mosquito BiteOn the Arm Is Worth Two On the Nose.'"
"Sounds like a minstrel show," said Pod.
"Maybe it is," said Chot. "Anyway, I heard a few alleged jokes flyingaround loose awhile ago."
"Yes; and there are more where those came from," said Pod.
"Well, it's up to Fleet now," said Chot. "Proceed Fleetsy."
Fleet proceeded to rattle off a half dozen verses about camping in NewJersey with mosquitoes for companions and ending with "a bite on thearm, is better than two on the nose, oh, tarm." Then he paused.
"Well, go on; finish it," advised Tom.
"It's finished," said Fleet.
"What! you don't mean that you have the nerve to perpetrate a thing likethat on us and call it a poem?"
"Surely."
"Well, if that isn't the worst I ever heard. Don't you ever, ever startanything like that again."
"What I want to know," said Bert, "is the meaning of the word, 'tarm'."
"'Tarm?'" repeated Fleet. "I used no such word."
"'Is better than two on the nose, oh, tarm,' is the last line."
"Oh, that's so. Well you fellows know what 'tarm' means, don't you?"
"No; we don't. Tell us."
"Why tarm means that if--er--well----"
"A very lucid explanation," said Pod. "I didn't know the word had somuch meaning."
"Oh, you make me tired," said Fleet.
"And you make us tired, reeling off your fake verses, and then becauseyou're at a loss for something to rhyme with arm, bring in a word thathas no meaning."
"If you fellows don't like my verses why do you ask me to recite?"
"We won't any more; be sure of that," said Chot. "The idea. 'Tarm!'That's a fine word, and your explanation of its meaning was so clear.Guess you'd better seek your little bed, my boy."
And without another word Fleet obeyed. He knew they were right. The poemhad been a makeshift piece of work from beginning to end, and only hiseagerness to oblige when they asked for something had led him to reciteit. Fleet had a fine talent for rhyming, which would eventually developinto something substantial, but he had a very bad habit of composing hisverses quickly, hardly revising them, and throwing in rhymes that werenot permissable. To get him out of this habit the boys were nowdetermined, and the lesson on the shore of the lake was but the openinggun in the campaign.
The boys followed their usual plan in the morning of taking a bath inthe lake before breakfast. The water was smooth and deep, and they swamand splashed about for half an hour before finally crawling out for arub down. Then a cup of coffee and such eatables as they had in thecanoes made them feel fit for another day's work.
They were virtually in the Richelieu River now, which broadens out atits source until it would be difficult to tell where Lake Champlainleaves off and the river begins.
The boys found the Richelieu to be a treacherous stream. Rapids andwhirlpools of a rather timid variety abounded on all sides, andfrequently they were forced to steer their canoes in between hugeboulders which reared themselves out of the stream.
This was new sport to each of them, and the fact that there was just atouch of danger made the trip down the Richelieu all the more enjoyable.
Very little paddling was necessary. The swift current, movingrelentlessly onward to join its forces with that of the mighty St.Lawrence, swept them along at a rapid rate--in many instances much morerapid than they would have desired, but there was nothing to do but castthemselves on the mercy of the water, steering in and out among therocks as best they could.
The river abounded with innumerable small islands, and had anexasperating propensity for splitting up into small channels, into anyone of which the canoes might shoot. Some of these were narrow, andthrough them the waters flowed like a mill race, to emerge, perhaps, onthe broad bosom of a peaceful river beyond.
It was a fascinating stream, its waters cool like those of the majorityof Canadian rivers.
/> The boys spent the night at St. Johns, passing Iberville at dusk andshooting under the great railroad bridge that spans the river betweenthese two cities.
Their journey from here on was uneventful, except that they were keptconstantly on the alert by the varying moods of the river; now movingpeacefully along over an almost placid bosom, now plunging into anothernarrow channel between two islands, where the waters were swift anddangerous.
But the boys got safely through it all, and were forced to admit thatthe experience had been worth a great deal to them. No one could go downthe Richelieu into the St. Lawrence without knowing considerable aboutthe intricacies of canoeing, and even Pod's chest swelled with pride tothink of what he had been through.
Two days after leaving St. Johns the boys arrived at Sorel and saw themighty St. Lawrence before them, the waters of the Richelieu flowingpeacefully into the larger stream at this point, with no suggestion ofthe rough spots lying between the mouth and the source.
"Gee! what a river!" exclaimed Pod, as he let his eyes roam out over thegreat stream, until they rested on the shore in the distance. Islands tothe number of hundreds dot the surface of the river above Montreal, andmany of these were visible from Sorel.
The boys ate a hearty dinner before entering their canoes again, and itwas one o'clock in the afternoon when they pushed off into the St.Lawrence, heading in a southwesterly direction.
"This is going to be a pull against the current, fellows," said Chot,"but I guess we can make it."
"Seems hard though, after floating down the Richelieu the way we did,"Tom responded.
But they paddled easily, and while their progress was slow compared totheir journey down the Richelieu, the shore slowly faded in thedistance. Situated on a great bend in the river some distance aboveSorel, is Montreal, the metropolis of Canada, of which the boys hadheard so much, and here they arrived the next afternoon, after spendingthe night on one of the smaller islands. It had been decided to spend atleast one day ashore before continuing the journey up the river.