OTTAWA RIVER

Ma’ame Baptiste Larocque peered again into her cupboard and her flour
barrel, as though she might have been mistaken in her inspection twenty
minutes earlier.

“No, there is nothing, nothing at all!” said she to her old
mother-in-law. “And no more trust at the store. Monsieur Conolly was
too cross when I went for corn-meal yesterday. For sure, Baptiste stays
very long at the shanty this year.”

“Fear nothing, Delima,” answered the bright-eyed old woman. “The good
God will send a breakfast for the little ones, and for us. In seventy
years I do not know Him to fail once, my daughter. Baptiste may be back
to-morrow, and with more money for staying so long. No, no; fear not,
Delima! _Le bon Dieu_ manages all for the best.”

“That is true; for so I have heard always,” answered Delima, with
conviction; “but sometimes _le bon Dieu_ requires one’s inside to pray
very loud. Certainly I trust, like you, _Memere_; but it would be
pleasant if He would send the food the day before.”

“Ah, you are too anxious, like little Baptiste here,” and the old woman
glanced at the boy sitting by the cradle. “Young folks did not talk so
when I was little. Then we did not think there was danger in trusting
_Monsieur le Curé_ when he told us to take no heed of the morrow. But
now! to hear them talk, one might think they had never heard of _le bon
Dieu_. The young people think too much, for sure. Trust in the good
God, I say. Breakfast and dinner and supper too we shall all have
to-morrow.”

“Yes, _Memere_,” replied the boy, who was called little Baptiste to
distinguish him from his father. “_Le bon Dieu_ will send an excellent
breakfast, sure enough. If I get up very early, and find some good
_doré_ (pickerel) and catfish on the night-line. But if I did not bait
the hooks, what then? Well, I hope there will be more to-morrow than
this morning, anyway.”

“There were enough,” said the old woman, severely. “Have we not had
plenty all day, Delima?”

Delima made no answer. She was in doubt about the plenty which her
mother-in-law spoke of. She wondered whether small André and Odillon
and ’Toinette, whose heavy breathing she could hear through the thin
partition, would have been sleeping so peacefully had little Baptiste
not divided his share among them at supper-time, with the excuse that he
did not feel very well?

Delima was young yet,—though little Baptiste was such a big boy,—and
would have rested fully on the positively expressed trust of her
mother-in-law, in spite of the empty flour barrel, if she had not
suspected little Baptiste of sitting there hungry.

However, he was such a strange boy, she soon reflected, that perhaps
going empty did not make him feel bad! Little Baptiste was so decided
in his ways, made what in others would have been sacrifices so much as a
matter of course, and was so much disgusted on being offered credit or
sympathy in consequence, that his mother, not being able to understand
him, was not a little afraid of him.

He was not very formidable in appearance, however, that clumsy boy of
fourteen or so, whose big freckled, good face was now bent over the
cradle where _la petite_ Seraphine lay smiling in her sleep, with soft
little fingers clutched round his rough one.

“For sure,” said Delima, observing the baby’s smile, “the good angels
are very near. I wonder what they are telling her?”

“Something about her father, of course; for so I have always heard it is
when the infants smile in sleep,” answered the old woman.

Little Baptiste rose impatiently and went into the sleeping-room. Often
the simplicity and sentimentality of his mother and grandmother gave him
strange pangs at heart; they seemed to be the children, while he felt
very old. They were always looking for wonderful things to happen, and
expecting the saints and _le bon Dieu_ to help the family out of
difficulties that little Baptiste saw no way of overcoming without the
work which was then so hard to get. His mother’s remark about the angels
talking to little Seraphine pained him so much that he would have cried
had he not felt compelled to be very much of a man during his father’s
absence.

If he had been asked to name the spirit hovering about, he would have
mentioned a very wicked one as personified in John Conolly, the village
storekeeper, the vampire of the little hamlet a quarter of a mile
distant. Conolly owned the tavern too, and a sawmill up river, and
altogether was a very rich, powerful, and dreadful person in little
Baptiste’s view. Worst of all, he practically owned the cabin and lot of
the Larocques, for he had made big Baptiste give him a bill of sale of
the place as security for groceries to be advanced to the family while
its head was away in the shanty; and that afternoon Conolly had said to
little Baptiste that the credit had been exhausted, and more.

“No; you can’t get any pork,” said the storekeeper. “Don’t your mother
know that, after me sending her away when she wanted corn-meal
yesterday? Tell her she don’t get another cent’s worth here.”

“For why not? My fader always he pay,” said the indignant boy, trying
to talk English.

“Yes, indeed! Well, he ain’t paid this time. How do I know what’s
happened to him, as he ain’t back from the shanty? Tell you what: I’m
going to turn you all out if your mother don’t pay rent in advance for
the shanty to-morrow,—four dollars a month.”

“What you talkin’ so for? We doan’ goin’ pay no rent for our own
house!”

“You doan’ goin’ to own no house,” answered Conolly, mimicking the boy.
“The house is mine any time I like to say so. If the store bill ain’t
paid to-night, out you go to-morrow, or else pay rent. Tell your mother
that for me. Mosey off now. ’_Marche, donc!_’ There’s no other way.”

Little Baptiste had not told his mother of this terrible threat, for
what was the use? She had no money. He knew that she would begin
weeping and wailing, with small André and Odillon as a puzzled, excited
chorus, with ’Toinette and Seraphine adding those baby cries that made
little Baptiste want to cry himself; with his grandmother steadily
advising, in the din, that patient trust in _le bon Dieu_ which he could
not always entertain, though he felt very wretched that he could not.

Moreover, he desired to spare his mother and grandmother as long as
possible. “Let them have their good night’s sleep,” said he to himself,
with such thoughtfulness and pity as a merchant might feel in concealing
imminent bankruptcy from his family. He knew there was but one chance
remaining,—that his father might come home during the night or next
morning, with his winter’s wages.

Big Baptiste had “gone up” for Rewbell the jobber; had gone in November,
to make logs in the distant Petawawa woods, and now the month was May.
The “very magnificent” pig he had salted down before going away had been
eaten long ago. My! what a time it seemed now to little Baptiste since
that pig-killing! How good the _boudin_ (the blood-puddings) had been,
and the liver and tender bits, and what a joyful time they had had! The
barrelful of salted pike and catfish was all gone too,—which made the
fact that fish were not biting well this year very sad indeed.

Now on top of all these troubles this new danger of being turned out on
the roadside! For where are they to get four dollars, or two, or one
even, to stave Conolly off? Certainly his father was away too long; but
surely, surely, thought the boy, he would get back in time to save his
home! Then he remembered with horror, and a feeling of being disloyal
to his father for remembering, that terrible day, three years before,
when big Baptiste had come back from his winter’s work drunk, and
without a dollar, having been robbed while on a spree in Ottawa. If that
were the reason of his father’s delay now, ah, then there would be no
hope, unless _le bon Dieu_ should indeed work a miracle for them!

While the boy thought over the situation with fear, his grandmother went
to her bed, and soon afterward Delima took the little Seraphine’s cradle
into the sleeping-room. That left little Baptiste so lonely that he
could not sit still; nor did he see any use of going to lie awake in bed
by André and Odillon.

So he left the cabin softly, and reaching the river with a few steps,
pushed off his flat-bottomed boat, and was carried smartly up stream by
the shore eddy. It soon gave him to the current, and then he drifted
idly down under the bright moon, listening to the roar of the long
rapid, near the foot of which their cabin stood. Then he took to his
oars, and rowed to the end of his night-line, tied to the wharf. He had
an unusual fear that it might be gone, but found it all right, stretched
taut; a slender rope, four hundred feet long, floated here and there far
away in the darkness by flat cedar sticks,—a rope carrying short bits of
line, and forty hooks, all loaded with excellent fat, wriggling worms.

That day little Baptiste had taken much trouble with his night-line; he
was proud of the plentiful bait, and now, as he felt the tightened rope
with his fingers, he told himself that his well-filled hooks must
attract plenty of fish,—perhaps a sturgeon! Wouldn’t that be grand? A
big sturgeon of seventy-five pounds!

He pondered the Ottawa statement that “there are seven kinds of meat on
the head of a sturgeon,” and, enumerating the kinds, fell into a
conviction that one sturgeon at least would surely come to his line.
Had not three been caught in one night by Pierre Mallette, who had no
sort of claim, who was too lazy to bait more than half his hooks,
altogether too wicked to receive any special favors from _le bon Dieu_?

Little Baptiste rowed home, entered the cabin softly, and stripped for
bed, almost happy in guessing what the big fish would probably weigh.

Putting his arms around little André, he tried to go to sleep; but the
threats of Conolly came to him with new force, and he lay awake, with a
heavy dread in his heart.

How long he had been lying thus he did not know, when a heavy step came
upon the plank outside the door.

“Father’s home!” cried little Baptiste, springing to the floor as the
door opened.

“Baptiste! my own Baptiste!” cried Delima, putting her arms around her
husband as he stood over her.

“Did I not say,” said the old woman, seizing her son’s hand, “that the
good God would send help in time?”

Little Baptiste lit the lamp. Then they saw something in the father’s
face that startled them all. He had not spoken, and now they perceived
that he was haggard, pale, wild-eyed.

“The good God!” cried big Baptiste, and knelt by the bed, and bowed his
head on his arms, and wept so loudly that little André and Odillon,
wakening, joined his cry. “_Le bon Dieu_ has forgotten us! For all my
winter’s work I have not one dollar! The concern is failed. Rewbell
paid not one cent of wages, but ran away, and the timber has been
seized.”

Oh, the heartbreak! Oh, poor Delima! poor children! and poor little
Baptiste, with the threats of Conolly rending his heart!

“I have walked all day,” said the father, “and eaten not a thing. Give
me something, Delima.”

“O holy angels!” cried the poor woman, breaking into a wild weeping. “O
Baptiste, Baptiste, my poor man! There is nothing; not a scrap; not any
flour, not meal, not grease even; not a pinch of tea!” but still she
searched frantically about the rooms.

“Never mind,” said big Baptiste then, holding her in his strong arms.
“I am not so hungry as tired, Delima, and I can sleep.”

The old woman, who had been swaying to and fro in her chair of rushes,
rose now, and laid her aged hands on the broad shoulders of the man.

“My son Baptiste,” she said, “you must not say that God has forgotten
us, for He has not forgotten us. The hunger is hard to bear, I
know,—hard, hard to bear; but great plenty will be sent in answer to our
prayers. And it is hard, hard to lose thy long winter’s work; but be
patient, my son, and thankful, yes, thankful for all thou hast.

“Behold, Delima is well and strong. See the little Baptiste, how much a
man! Yes, that is right; kiss the little André and Odillon; and see!
how sweetly ’Toinette sleeps! All strong and well, son Baptiste! Were
one gone, think what thou wouldst have lost! But instead, be thankful,
for behold, another has been given,—the little Seraphine here, that thou
hast not before seen!”

Big, rough, soft-hearted Baptiste knelt by the cradle, and kissed the
babe gently.

“It is true, _Memere_,” he answered, “and I thank _le bon Dieu_ for his
goodness to me.”

But little Baptiste, lying wide awake for hours afterwards, was not
thankful. He could not see that matters could be much worse. A big
hard lump was in his throat as he thought of his father’s hunger, and
the home-coming so different from what they had fondly counted on.
Great slow tears came into the boy’s eyes, and he wiped them away,
ashamed even in the dark to have been guilty of such weakness.

In the gray dawn little Baptiste suddenly awoke, with the sensation of
having slept on his post. How heavy his heart was! Why? He sat dazed
with indefinite sorrow. Ah, now he remembered! Conolly threatening to
turn them out! and his father back penniless! No breakfast! Well, we
must see about that.

Very quietly he rose, put on his patched clothes, and went out. Heavy
mist covered the face of the river, and somehow the rapid seemed stilled
to a deep, pervasive murmur. As he pushed his boat off, the morning fog
was chillier than frost about him; but his heart got lighter as he rowed
toward his night-line, and he became even eager for the pleasure of
handling his fish. He made up his mind not to be much disappointed if
there were no sturgeon, but could not quite believe there would be none;
surely it was reasonable to expect one, perhaps two—why not three?—among
the catfish and _doré_.

How very taut and heavy the rope felt as he raised it over his gunwales,
and letting the bow swing up stream, began pulling in the line hand over
hand! He had heard of cases where every hook had its fish; such a thing
might happen again surely! Yard after yard of rope he passed slowly
over the boat, and down into the water it sank on his track.

Now a knot on the line told him he was nearing the first hook; he
watched for the quiver and struggle of the fish,—probably a big one, for
there he had put a tremendous bait on and spat on it for luck, moreover.
What? the short line hung down from the rope, and the baited hook rose
clear of the water!

Baptiste instantly made up his mind that that hook had been placed a
little too far inshore; he remembered thinking so before; the next hook
was in about the right place!

Hand over hand, ah! the second hook, too! Still baited, the big worm
very livid! It must be thus because that worm was pushed up the shank
of the hook in such a queer way: he had been rather pleased when he gave
the bait that particular twist, and now was surprised at himself; why,
any one could see it was a thing to scare fish!

Hand over hand to the third,—the hook was naked of bait! Well, that was
more satisfactory; it showed they had been biting, and, after all, this
was just about the beginning of the right place.

Hand over hand; now the splashing will begin, thought little Baptiste,
and out came the fourth hook with its livid worm! He held the rope in
his hand without drawing it in for a few moments, but could see no
reasonable objection to that last worm. His heart sank a little, but
pshaw! only four hooks out of forty were up yet! wait till the eddy
behind the shoal was reached, then great things would be seen. Maybe the
fish had not been lying in that first bit of current.

Hand over hand again, now! yes, certainly, _there_ is the right swirl!
What? a _losch_, that unclean semi-lizard! The boy tore it off and
flung it indignantly into the river. However, there was good luck in a
_losch_; that was well known.

But the next hook, and the next, and next, and next came up baited and
fishless. He pulled hand over hand quickly—not a fish! and he must have
gone over half the line! Little Baptiste stopped, with his heart like
lead and his arms trembling. It was terrible! Not a fish, and his
father had no supper, and there was no credit at the store. Poor little
Baptiste!

Again he hauled hand over hand—one hook, two, three—oh! ho! Glorious!
What a delightful sheer downward the rope took! Surely the big sturgeon
at last, trying to stay down on the bottom with the hook! But Baptiste
would show that fish his mistake. He pulled, pulled, stood up to pull;
there was a sort of shake, a sudden give of the rope, and little
Baptiste tumbled over backward as he jerked his line up from under the
big stone!

Then he heard the shutters clattering as Conolly’s clerk took them off
the store window; at half-past five to the minute that was always done.
Soon big Baptiste would be up, that was certain. Again the boy began
hauling in line: baited hook! baited hook! naked hook! baited hook!—such
was still the tale.

“Surely, surely,” implored little Baptiste, silently, “I shall find some
fish!” Up! up! only four remained! The boy broke down. Could it be?
Had he not somehow skipped many hooks? Could it be that there was to be
no breakfast for the children? Naked hook again! Oh, for some fish!
anything! three, two!

“Oh, send just one for my father!—my poor, hungry father!” cried little
Baptiste, and drew up his last hook. It came full baited, and the line
was out of the water clear away to his outer buoy!

He let go the rope and drifted down the river, crying as though his
heart would break. All the good hooks useless! all the labor thrown
away! all his self-confidence come to naught!

Up rose the great sun; from around the kneeling boy drifted the last of
the morning mists; bright beams touched his bowed head tenderly. He
lifted his face and looked up the rapid. Then he jumped to his feet
with sudden wonder; a great joy lit up his countenance.

Far up the river a low, broad, white patch appeared on the sharp
sky-line made by the level dark summit of the long slope of tumbling
water. On this white patch stood many figures of swaying men black
against the clear morning sky, and little Baptiste saw instantly that an
attempt was being made to “run” a “band” of deals, or many cribs lashed
together, instead of single cribs as had been done the day before.

The broad strip of white changed its form slowly, dipped over the slope,
drew out like a wide ribbon, and soon showed a distinct slant across the
mighty volume of the deep raft channel. When little Baptiste,
acquainted as he was with every current, eddy, and shoal in the rapid,
saw that slant, he knew that his first impression of what was about to
happen had been correct. The pilot of the band had allowed it to drift
too far north before reaching the rapid’s head.

Now the front cribs, instead of following the curve of the channel, had
taken slower water, while the rear cribs, impelled by the rush under
them, swung the band slowly across the current. All along the front the
standing men swayed back and forth, plying sweeps full forty feet long,
attempting to swing into channel again, with their strokes dashing the
dark rollers before the band into wide splashes of white. On the rear
cribs another crew pulled in the contrary direction; about the middle of
the band stood the pilot, urging his gangs with gestures to greater
efforts.

Suddenly he made a new motion; the gang behind drew in their oars and
ran hastily forward to double the force in front. But they came too
late! Hardly had the doubled bow crew taken a stroke when all drew in
their oars and ran back to be out of danger. Next moment the front
cribs struck the “hog’s-back” shoal.

Then the long broad band curved downward in the centre, the rear cribs
swung into the shallows on the opposite side of the raft-channel, there
was a great straining and crashing, the men in front huddled together,
watching the wreck anxiously, and the band went speedily to pieces.
Soon a fringe of single planks came down stream, then cribs and pieces
of cribs; half the band was drifting with the currents, and half was
“hung up” on the rocks among the breakers.

Launching the big red flat-bottomed bow boat, twenty of the raftsmen
came with wild speed down the river, and as there had been no rush to
get aboard, little Baptiste knew that the cribs on which the men stood
were so hard aground that no lives were in danger. It meant much to
him; it meant that he was instantly at liberty to gather in _money!_
money, in sums that loomed to gigantic figures before his imagination.

He knew that there was an important reason for hurrying the deals to
Quebec, else the great risk of running a band at that season would not
have been undertaken; and he knew that hard cash would be paid down as
salvage for all planks brought ashore, and thus secured from drifting
far and wide over the lake-like expanse below the rapid’s foot. Little
Baptiste plunged his oars in and made for a clump of deals floating in
the eddy near his own shore. As he rushed along, the raftsmen’s boat
crossed his bows, going to the main raft below for ropes and material to
secure the cribs coming down intact.

“Good boy!” shouted the foreman to Baptiste. “Ten cents for every deal
you fetch ashore above the raft!”

Ten cents! he had expected but five! What a harvest!

Striking his pike-pole into the clump of deals,—”fifty at least,” said
joyful Baptiste,—he soon secured them to his boat, and then pulled,
pulled, pulled, till the blood rushed to his head, and his arms ached,
before he landed his wealth.

“Father!” cried he, bursting breathlessly into the sleeping household.
“Come quick! I can’t get it up without you.”

“Big sturgeon?” cried the shantyman, jumping into his trousers.

“Oh, but we shall have a good fish breakfast!” cried Delima.

“Did I not say the blessed _le bon Dieu_ would send plenty fish?”
observed _Memere_.

“Not a fish!” cried little Baptiste, with recovered breath. “But look!
look!” and he flung open the door. The eddy was now white with planks.

“Ten cents for each!” cried the boy. “The foreman told me.”

“Ten cents!” shouted his father. “_Baptême_! it’s my winter’s wages!”

And the old grandmother! And Delima? Why, they just put their arms
round each other and cried for joy.

“And yet there’s no breakfast,” said Delima, starting up. “And they
will work hard, hard.”

At that instant who should reach the door but Monsieur Conolly! He was
a man who respected cash wherever he found it, and already the two
Baptistes had a fine show ashore.

“Ma’ame Larocque,” said Conolly, politely, putting in his head, “of
course you know I was only joking yesterday. You can get anything you
want at the store.”

What a breakfast they did have, to be sure! the Baptistes eating while
they worked. Back and forward they dashed till late afternoon, driving
ringed spikes into the deals, running light ropes through the rings,
and, when a good string had thus been made, going ashore to haul in. At
that hauling Delima and _Memere_, even little André and Odillon gave a
hand.

[Illustration: BACK AND FORWARD THEY DASHED]

Everybody in the little hamlet made money that day, but the Larocques
twice as much as any other family, because they had an eddy and a low
shore. With the help of the people “the big _Bourgeois_” who owned the
broken raft got it away that evening, and saved his fat contract after
all.

“Did I not say so?” said “_Memere_” at night, for the hundredth time.
“Did I not say so? Yes, indeed, _le bon Dieu_ watches over us all.”

“Yes, indeed, grandmother,” echoed little Baptiste, thinking of his
failure on the night-line. “We may take as much trouble as we like, but
it’s no use unless _le bon Dieu_ helps us. Only—I don’t know what de big
Bourgeois say about that—his raft was all broke up so bad.”

“Ah, _oui_,” said _Memere_, looking puzzled for but a moment. “But he
didn’t put his trust in _le bon Dieu_; that’s it, for sure. Besides,
maybe _le bon Dieu_ want to teach him a lesson; he’ll not try for run a
whole band of deals next time. You see that was a tempting of
Providence; and then—the big Bourgeois is a Protestant.”

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