At the Godbout the _Druro_ dropped a habitan or two, a few boatloads of steel rods, crates of crockery and tobacco, and then thrust her bow out into the stream and steered down river, rounding at length the Pointe des Monts and winding in behind the Isles des Oeufs to the River Pentecoute, where she deposited some more habitans, including a priest in a black soutane, who somewhat incongruously was smoking a large cigar. Then, nosing through a fog bank and breaking out at last into sunlight again, she steamed across and put in past the Carousel, that picturesque and rocky headland, into Seven Islands Bay. Here she anchored, and, having discharged cargo, steamed out by the Grand Boule, where eighteen miles beyond the islands Bennie saw the pilot house of the old _St. Olaf_, of unhappy memory, just lifting above the water. He had emerged from the retirement of his stateroom only on being asked by the steward for his ticket and learning that the _Druro_ was nearing the end of her journey. For nearly two days he had been submerged in Soddy on The Interpretation of Radium. The _Druro_ was running along a sandy, low-lying beach about half a mile offshore. They were nearing the mouth of a wide river. The volume of black fresh water from the Moisie rushed out into the St. Lawrence until it met the green sea water, causing a sharp demarcation of colour and a no less pronounced conflict of natural forces. For, owing to the pressure of the tide against the solid mass of the fresh stream, acres of water unexpectedly boiled on all sides, throwing geysers of foam twenty feet or more into the air, and then subsided. Off the point the engine bell rang twice, and the _Druro_ came to a pause. Bennie, standing in the bow, in his sportsman's cap and waterproof, hugging his rod cases to his breast, watched while a heterogeneous fleet of canoes, skiffs, and sailboats came racing out from shore, for the steamer does not land here, but hangs in the offing and lighters its cargo ashore. Leading the lot was a sort of whaleboat propelled by two oars on one side and one on the other, and in the sternsheets sat a rosy-cheeked, good-natured looking man with a smooth-shaven face who Bennie knew must be Malcolm Holliday. "Hello, Cap!" shouted Holliday. "Any passengers?" The captain from the pilot house waved contemptuously in Bennie's general direction. "Howdy!" said Holliday. "What do you want? What can I do for you?" "I thought I'd try a little salmon fishing," shrieked Bennie back at him. Holliday shook his head. "Sorry," he bellowed, "river's leased. Besides, the officers[4] are here."