Canoeing in Kanuckia: Or, Haps and Mishaps Afloat and Ashore of the Statesman, the Editor, the Artist, and the ScribblerHabberton, John
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Canoeing in Kanuckia: Or, Haps and Mishaps Afloat and Ashore of the Statesman, the Editor, the Artist, and the Scribbler
Habberton, John
Canoes and canoeing; Québec (Province) -- Description and travel
"It was a present to me from a constituent," roared he, at the top of
his lungs, the wind whisking away his words. "That's what it is."
This was accepted as a diplomatic and statesmanlike way of saying "None
of your business," so the rest held their peace, and gave themselves to
the serious work of making headway against the sea.
'Tis ever thus! Never have any of the Four started on a cruise without
having at the very beginning to tax their as yet unaccustomed muscles
by paddling straight in the teeth of an adverse gale. Of course the
canoes are at their heaviest and must be expected to leak more or less
after a fortnight's baking in a box-car. So when all are ready the
command paddles round through the draw, points toward a headland three
miles off dead to windward, and doggedly settles down to its work. It
takes nearly two hours to cover the distance, and the Chrysalids have
had to bail at frequent intervals under the protecting care of Red
Lakers. The headland is reached at last, however, and then comes the
bath for which all have been longing. If any future explorer finds an
unaccountable deposit of cinders and scoriæ off that point he may
ascribe them, if he likes, to prehistoric volcanic convulsions, but the
four voyagers know better.
It was now noon, and a substantial luncheon was followed by a long
siesta under the cedars, while lungs accustomed to inhale the
de-oxidized atmosphere of the city filled themselves with the first
draughts of ozone from the great paradise of spruce which stretches
almost unbroken from the Canada line to the Arctic circle. Grand
mountain forms rose against the sky, the city was far away; they were
free!
The sun lacked but three hours of setting, when the squadron shook off
the delicious languor that succeeded its unwonted exertions, bailed out
the Chrysalids, now thoroughly soaked, and in a condition which their
owners were pleased to consider "tight," wiped up with a sponge the
few drops that had penetrated the seams of the Red Lakers, and paddled
merrily away toward an island blue in the afternoon haze, on which it
had been determined to camp over Sunday. The lake was by this time
ashamed of the boisterous welcome it had given to the fleet, and was
undergoing a burnishing process preparatory to serving as a mirror for
the sunset. By dusk camp was made in a lean-to left by some considerate
predecessors. The canoes were anchored in the lee of a shingly point,
excepting the Rochefort, which her commander carefully, and for some
inscrutable parliamentary reason, anchored to windward, and by nine
o'clock all, with one exception, were rolled in their blankets, and
sound asleep.
[Footnote 1: The artist begs the authors to explain that this name
is the result of a compromise between the friends of two domestic
cats "Arabella" and "Methusela," neither of whom would consent to
have the boat named exclusively after the other.]
II.
COOKS AND COFFEE POTS AND SEAMANSHIP.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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