Читать книгу The Boy Tramps, or Across Canada - James Macdonald Oxley - Страница 9

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"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.

Right at their feet lay the old town, now dark in shadow, beyond it the glorious river, bearing scores of vessels of every variety on its bosom, swept steadily seaward, its farther shore seeming dim in the distance, so great was its breadth. Above them the citadel rose in successive terraces of mighty masonry, while on their left the newer part of the city stretched away in rank after rank of solid stone structures.

"Auld Reekie can't show anything finer than this, can she, Bruce?" said Arthur. "It's certainly worth coming a long way to see, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed," assented Bruce, letting the comparison with Edinburgh go by unchallenged, because, loyal as he was to the Scotch capital, he did not wish to take issue with Arthur on the matter. "Just look there," he added, pointing to the east, where the moon was rising like a huge crimson balloon. "I wish we had the Chief here, he's so fond of a fine view."

The assurance of bright moonlight decided them on prolonging their outing until bedtime, so they directed the calèche driver to take them out of the city a little, as they wanted to see something else than rows of gray houses.

They were accordingly driven out through St. John's gate and along the St. Foye road, on which stand a number of the finest residences Quebec could boast. The driver called out the names of the proprietors, but his pronunciation was so execrable that neither of the boys could understand what he said.

"It's too bad we're so weak on our parley Français," said Bruce in a rueful tone. "I'd like to be able to understand that fellow."

His desire to understand him, and to make himself understood by him, was presently intensified by the man's strange behavior. On the way out the road he had stopped in the dark shadow of some trees to hold a whispered conversation with two other men who were invisible to the boys, and now when he was ordered to turn about, instead of going back over the same route he went aside into a narrow road that seemed to lead nowhere in particular.

"What can he be up to?" asked Bruce, with an accent of suspicion in his voice. "He's not going back the same road as we came out on."

"Let us see if we can't find out," responded Arthur, and giving the driver an emphatic poke in the back he shouted in his ear as if he thought him deaf, "Say, look here, driver, where are you taking us? We want to go back the same road as we came."

Instead of vouchsafing any explanation, the driver shook his head as though to say, "I don't know what you're driving at," and giving his horse a sharp cut that sent the creature off at a gallop, bent forward in his seat as if to avoid further questioning.

Beginning to realize that their situation was very perplexing, if not indeed perilous, the boys hurriedly consulted as to what they should do, and had just made up their minds to lay hold of the driver and compel him by main force to do their bidding when the calèche came to a stop with a suddenness that nearly pitched them out of it.

At once they sprang up from their seat, wrathful and alert for danger, and at the same moment were grasped by two men who seemed to have come up out of the ground, so sudden was their appearance.

"Hit hard, Arthur, they mean mischief!" cried Bruce, and, suiting the action to the word, he let fly his tightly clenched fist full into the face of his assailant, catching him squarely on the bridge of the nose, and causing him to loosen his hold with a howl of pain.

Not less promptly did Arthur act, but in a different way. His position was such that he could not strike out to advantage, so, lowering his head, he butted his man violently in the stomach, putting him hors de combat for the nonce.

Having thus shaken off their assailants the boys dashed away up the road down which they had been driven, and, being in good trim for running, had no difficulty in leaving far behind the calèche driver, who had not been able, owing to his horse starting at the noise, to render his fellow-scoundrels any assistance.

The boys did not slacken speed until they were back again on the broad, bright St. Foye road, and even then, not feeling perfectly safe from a renewal of the attack, they hastened on until they came to a house whose open door seemed to invite them in for protection.

Bruce rang the bell, and was marvellously relieved when it was answered by a pleasant-looking gentleman whose look of inquiry was caused by their disordered appearance and heavy breathing.

"Can you speak English, sir?" panted Arthur, with a bob of his head which was hatless, its covering having been lost in the short struggle.

"That I can, my lad," was the prompt reply given with an encouraging smile, "very much better than I can French. What is it you want?"

Thereupon the two boys between them told their story as best they could in their breathless condition.

They found an attentive and sympathetic auditor, who, when they had finished their narration, expressed lively indignation at the assault upon them.

"That's not the first thing of the kind that has happened here," said he. "There seems to be a regular gang of these scoundrels, and you were very lucky to escape from their clutches without being robbed, and perhaps beaten half to death." Then, at the thought of the two rascals, one with only the blow on the face, and the other with the butt in the stomach, to show for their villanous enterprise, he broke out laughing. "But you certainly did teach those ruffians a lesson they're not likely to forget in a hurry. I wish I'd seen you knock them out. What a wiry couple you must be! Come in to the parlor, and let us get better acquainted."

Only too glad to accept this offer of hospitality, the boys went into the parlor, which had a delightfully home-like look, and having given their names were introduced to the lady of the house, who received them graciously.

The upshot of the matter was that they remained for over an hour, and after being served with refreshments, were accompanied a good part of the way back to the hotel by the gentleman and his huge mastiff, "to redeem the honor of old Quebec," their thoughtful escort said when they assured him they could get along all right by themselves.

On reaching the hotel and reporting their experience to the proprietor he was very anxious for them to put the matter into the hands of the police, but they shrank from doing this, not knowing how much trouble it might entail.

"And besides," added Bruce, with a quiet smile, "you see they got very much the worst of it, anyway, and we're quite satisfied to let the thing rest, aren't we, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded an emphatic consent, so the hotel manager said:

"Oh, well, of course it's for you to say. If I were in your place, however, I'd follow the thing up."

But they were much more anxious to get to bed than to set the police on the trail of the foiled highwaymen, and went off to their room, well enough satisfied at having got safely back to it.

The next morning they had, of course, to visit the famous falls of Montmorency, and, determining to be in good hands this time, they hired one of the carriages belonging to the hotel.

The drive to the falls was full of interest, the road leading along the river-side past old red-roofed châteaux, moss-covered and many-gabled, quaint stone houses with double rows of dormer-windows picturesquely set in their steep roofs, and frequent churches of "Our Lady" with cross-crowned spires.

Farther on they came to comfortable farms with thatched barns and granges, with dove-cotes full of feathered beauties, and with old-fashioned windmills extending their gaunt arms to catch the breeze.

"Isn't it like what we saw in France?" said Arthur. "It seems easier to believe that we're on the other side of the Channel, than of the Atlantic."

"You may well say so," responded Bruce. "Just look at these girls spinning in the doorways. Isn't that just the way they did in Picardy? Let us stop and ask for a drink; I want to have a better look at them."

Ordering the driver to pull up, the boys got out and made their way to the door of one of the farm-houses, where two dark-eyed, olive-skinned girls were standing, and in the best French he could command Arthur asked for a drink.

The girls blushed and giggled, looked at one another with a puzzled expression, and then, after whispering together, went off to the back of the house, presently returning, each with a piece of wood which they offered him with a graceful curtsey.

At once, seeing that he had made some mistake, Arthur shook his head energetically, saying:

"Non—non—c'est quelque chose des bois que nous voulons," illustrating his meaning by smacking his lips and pointing down his throat, whereupon the girls' faces lit up with a look of comprehension, and bursting into merry laughter they darted off, and returned this time with two bowls of rich milk, which they presented with renewed curtseys.

Having quaffed the milk, and offered payment therefor, which was smilingly refused, the boys made their best bow and withdrew. When they settled in their seats again, Arthur said, in a very meek tone:

"There was evidently something wrong about my French. Have you any idea what it was, Bruce?"

Bruce looked very thoughtful for a moment. Then he broke into a shout of laughter.

"Why, of course," he cried. "You said des bois, didn't you? and you should have said à boire—quelque chose à boire. That's good enough French for something to drink."

Seeing his mistake at once, Arthur joined heartily in the laughter, and, as the joke seemed too good to keep, they told it to the driver, who was greatly tickled.

"We ought to stay here awhile and practise up our French," said Arthur. "It's a very different thing working out a good exercise in it at school, and speaking the language so that the people will know what you are driving at."

"Right you are, chum," asserted Bruce. "To be offered a stick of wood when you're dying for a drink may seem funny, but it's rather too dry humor for me."

"Bully for you, my boy!" cried Arthur, slapping his companion heartily on the back. "You've actually made a joke, haven't you? and not a bad one, either. Bless me if I don't send that to the 'Merchistonian' by the first mail."

"Get out with you," laughed Bruce, blushing furiously. "You'll do nothing of the kind. You'd have to give yourself away too badly to tell it right."

"Well, it's good enough to be sent, anyway," persisted Arthur. "And now you've begun, I hope you'll keep it up. I'm immensely fond of jokes, though the only ones I ever make seem to be always at my own expense."

By this time they were nearing the falls, whose mighty roar was already sounding in their ears.

"They say you're apt to be disappointed by your first look at a water-fall," said Bruce. "I hope it won't be so in our case."

Following the advice of the driver they did not go at once to the edge of the falls, in which case they would certainly have been disappointed, but made their way down the steep bank by a path through the trees, and thus came out at a point where the cataract burst upon their view in all its fury and splendor.

As they gazed upward at the foaming flood, falling full two hundred and fifty feet upon the great boulders a little below them, and felt the cool touch of its spray upon their cheeks, heated by their exertions, they were for some time silent. The majesty of Montmorency had not simply equalled their expectations, it had far surpassed them.

"This is grand, and no mistake," exclaimed Arthur, giving a sigh of profound admiration. "I don't wonder they talk so much of their falls. Why, just look at that water! You might think it was milk, it's so white, mightn't you?"

"Well, you know the people about here," answered Bruce, "the habitants, Mr. Gillespie called them, have given the name of La vache—the cow—to these falls. I saw it in a guide-book at the hotel."

"If it really was milk," said Arthur, "I'd like to run a dairy here, and have the contract for supplying the city—it wouldn't take a fellow long to get rich on those terms."

"I'm afraid Montmorency's milk would hardly be as good as that the girls gave us," returned Bruce, "and by the same token I'd appreciate another bowl of it if it was handy."

For lack of milk the boys decided to have a drink of water, and despite the warnings of the driver, who told them the rocks were very slippery, proceeded to clamber farther down to where they could see a tiny pool gleaming attractively out of reach of the spray.

They were both good rock-climbers, having had plenty of experience in Scotland during the holidays, and the very fact of the presence of a spice of danger made the undertaking all the more attractive.

They reached the pool all right, and, having slaked their thirst, were about to make their way back again, when Bruce, who was an ardent botanist, caught sight of a lovely cluster of delicate fern nestling on a ledge, where, from time to time, the breeze blew to it the spray from the falls.

"I must have a bit of that fern," he cried. "Wait a moment until I get it."

Not being interested in botany, Arthur sat down on a smooth rock to watch him satisfying his scientific enthusiasm.

The ledge was not easy of access, but, undaunted by more than one slip backward, Bruce persevered until he got his fingers within reach of the fern, and carefully detached a good handful of it.

"Bravo! chum," exclaimed Arthur, who had been watching his efforts with much interest from his comfortable seat. "'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again,' works well as a rule. I hope, now you've got your fern, it'll be worth all the trouble you've taken to get it."

The last word had hardly left his lips when the narrow ledge on which Bruce was standing gave way under his weight, and, with a cry of alarm, he went slipping down towards the wild welter of foam and fury at the falls' foot!