It takes a quick eye, steady hand, and good judgment, to kill a partridge in November, when, with a rush of wings like an embryo whirlwind, he gets up under your feet, and brushes the dew from the underbrush with his whizzing wings. It is not every amateur that can kill woodcock in close cover, or well-grown snipe on a windy day; but there are few, who can do these things, who can kill with both barrels in their first goose-shooting. The size and number of the birds, the wary and cautious manner of their approach, the nice modulations necessary to "call" them successfully, and the reckless sweep with which they seem to throw aside all fear, and rush into the very jaws of death,—all these combine to unsettle the nerves and aim of the novice.

All this Kennedy experienced, as he saw above him twenty outstretched necks, with jetty heads, whose eyes he felt must discern the ambush; twenty snowy bellies, against which as many pairs of black, broad, webbed feet showed with beautiful effect, and forty broad pinions, which seemed to shut out the sky from view, and present a mark which no one could fail to hit. At the word he pointed his heavy gun at the centre of the thickest part of the flock and fired. At the first barrel a dead bird fell almost into the boat; but the second seemed without effect. La Salle "lined" four as they flapped their huge wings hurriedly, striving to flee from the hidden danger, killing three and breaking the wing of a fourth, who fluttered down to the ice, and began to run, or, rather, to waddle rapidly away.

Kennedy seemed about to go after the wounded bird, but La Salle laid his hand on his arm.

"Don't move, Kennedy, and he will get us another bird," said he, reloading his heavy gun with a long-range shot cartridge. "We can get that bird any time; and there is his mate flying round and round in a circle."

"You won't get a shot at her," said Kennedy, as she warily kept out of ordinary range, and finally alighted near the gander, which, weak with pain and loss of blood, had lain down on the ice about one hundred and fifty yards distant.

"I should not despair of killing her with 'the Baby,' charged as she now is, even at a far greater distance; but I have a surer weapon for such a mark in this target-rifle."

As he spoke, he drew from under the half-deck of the boat a heavy sporting-rifle, carrying about sixty balls to the pound, and sighted with "globe" or "peep" sights. Taking a polished gauge which hung at his watch-chain, he set the rear sight, and, cocking the piece, set the hair-trigger. Noiselessly raising the muzzle above the gunwale, he ran his eye along the sights. A whip-like crack echoed across the ice, and the goose, pierced through the lower part of the neck, fell dead by the side of her wounded mate, which, frightened by the report, hastened to increase the distance between him and such a dangerous neighborhood.

"I'll save you a half-mile run, Kennedy," said La Salle, raising "the Baby" to his face.

The wounded bird suddenly paused, drew himself up to his full height, and spread his wings, or rather his uninjured pinion. The huge gun roared. The closely-packed mitraille tore the icy crust into powder, fifty yards beyond the doomed bird, which settled, throbbing with a mortal tremor, upon the ice, shot through the head.

"That was a splendid shot of yours, La Salle," said Kennedy, in amazement.

"You are wrong in that statement, Kennedy," replied he. "The shot any one could have made, but the reach of that gun, with Eley's cartridge, is something tremendous. When I first had her I fired at a flock at about four hundred yards distance. Of course I killed none, but I paced three hundred and twenty-five yards, and found clean-cut scores, four and five inches long, in the crust, at that distance; and I have more than once killed brant geese out of a flock at forty rods."

"Look, Charley! What a sight!" interrupted Kennedy. The sky had cleared, the sun shone brightly, the wind had gone down, and the strange stillness of a calm winter's day was unbroken. From the west high above the reach of the heaviest gun, and almost beyond the carry of the rifle, came the long-expected vanguard of the migrating hosts of heaven. Flock upon flock, each in the wedge-shaped phalanx of two converging lines, which ever characterize the flight of these birds, each headed by a wary, powerful leader, whose clarion call came shrill and clear down through the still ether, came in one common line of flight, hundreds and thousands of geese. All that afternoon their passage was incessant, but no open pool offered rest and food to that weary host, and in that fine, still atmosphere it was useless to attempt to deceive by crude imitations of the calls of these birds. And so, as the leaders of the migratory host saw from their lofty altitude the earth below, for many a league, spread out like a map, from which to choose a halting-place, the marksmen of the icy levels had little but the interest of the unusual spectacle for their afternoon's watching. Now and then, in answer to their repeated calls, a single goose would detach itself from the flock and scale down through the air, as if to alight, but nearly always would repent in time, and with quickened pinions return to its companions. Still, occasionally, one would determine to alight, and setting its wings, circle around one of the stands, and finally be seen, by the occupants of other ice-houses, to sweep close in to the concealed ambush. Then would follow a puff or two of smoke, a few distant reports, and the dead bird, held up in triumph, would convey to his distant friends the sportsman's fortune.

Several birds fell in this way to the lot of our friends of the East Bar, and La Salle and Kennedy got one each; but the sport was too tedious, and La Salle, taking a bullet-bag and powder-flask from his box, proceeded to count out ten bullets, which he laid carefully before him.

"I am going to try to bring down at least one goose from those flocks which pass over us nearly every moment. They are certainly four hundred yards high, and I shall aim at the leader of the flock in every case, giving him about ten feet allowance for headway."

The first ball was without effect, although the leader swerved like a frightened steed as the deadly missile sung past him. The second cut a feather from the tail of the bird aimed at; and the third failed likewise. At the fourth shot the leader swerved as before, and then kept on his way.

"You might as well try to kill them a mile off, as at that distance," said Kennedy, disparagingly.

"I hit a bird in that flock, and I think the leader, at that; for I heard the rap of the ball as it struck. It may have been only through his quill-feathers. No; there's the bird I hit. See, he can't keep up with the flock."

The huge gander last fired at had hardly gone a hundred yards, ere, despite his endeavors, he had lowered several feet below the flock. In the next decade, the distance was increased to sixty feet, and in the third to as many yards. In the last hundred yards of his flight he sank rapidly, although struggling nobly to regain the flock; and when about fifty yards above the ice, he towered up a few feet into the air, and fell over backward, stone dead, with a rifle-shot transfixing his body, in the region of the heart. On weighing him he turned the scale at fifteen pounds.

Of the remaining six shots but one was effective—breaking the wing-tip of a young female, which was secured for a live decoy.

Kennedy now proposed a plan for approaching a large flock, which had alighted about a half mile distant on the sea-ice. Taking the taboggin, which was painted white, from its concealment, he tied to its curved front a thin slab of snowy ice, and laying his gun behind it, approached the flock as near as possible, under cover of the hummocks. About three hundred yards of level ice still intervened, and lying down behind his snow-screen, he slowly moved his ingenious stalking-horse towards the flock. Had he understood the nature of the birds thoroughly, it is probable that his device would have succeeded splendidly; but when he was still about a hundred yards distant, the wary leader became suspicious, and gave a note of alarm. In an instant the whole flock, with outstretched necks, stood prepared for flight. Had he lain still, it is probable that the birds would have relaxed their suspicious watchfulness, and allowed him to get nearer; but thinking that he should lose all if he tried a nearer approach, he fired, killing one and wounding another, both of which were secured.

Just before dark a slight wind sprang up, and a few flocks, flying low about the harbor, came in among the decoys, and for a time the fire was quite heavy, and the sport most exciting. Taken all round, this day was the best of the season. Ben and Creamer received fifteen, La Salle and Kennedy twelve, and Davies and Risk eighteen birds—in all, forty-five geese. On arriving home they found a hearty supper awaiting their attention, after a due observance had been paid to the rites of the toilet. This observance seemed to demand much more time than ever before, to the great amusement of Lund, who had anticipated as much all day.

"Are all you folks going sparkin', that you are so careful of your complexions? Goodness! why, you've more pomatums, oils, and soaps than any court beauty!"

There was some truth in this latter charge, for Ben and Creamer, after washing and a very gingerly use of the towel, anointed their flaming visages with almond oil. Kennedy, in his turn, approached the only mirror the house afforded, and applied to his blistered nose and excoriated cheeks the major part of a box of Holloway's Ointment; and even La Salle's dark face seemed to have acquired its share of burning from the ice-reflected rays of the sun. Davies and Risk, when called to supper, smelled strongly of rose-scented cold-cream; and Lund was unsparing in sarcastic remarks on the extreme floridness of complexion of the entire party.

"Ben, don't have any powder lying round loose to-morrow, with such a face as that. As for Creamer, he can't have any cotton sheets to-night, for fear of a conflagration. I don't think I ever saw anybody burn as bad as Kennedy has; and this is only the first day, too. A few days more like this would peel him down to an 'atomy. As to La Salle, he's too black to take any more color, but Risk and Davies won't dare to go home for a good two weeks at least."

In truth, the whole party had received a notable tanning, for the winter's sun, weak as it is compared with its summer fervor, has never such an effect upon the exposed skin, as when its rays are reflected from the millions of tiny specula of the glistening ice-field. The free use of soothing and cooling ointments will prevent the blistering and tan, to a great extent; but many on their "first hunt" lose the cuticle from the entire face; and many a seal has been lost on the floes, owing to the rapid decomposition produced by the sun's feeble rays thus intensified.

Notwithstanding their "tanning", however, the party were in splendid spirits, and ate their roast goose, potatoes, and hot bread with a gusto which far more delicate viands at home would fail to provoke. As the meal proceeded, and the merry jest went round, all feelings of fatigue, pain, and discomfort were lost in the revulsion of comfort which a full meal produces in a man of thoroughly healthy physique. How few of us in the crowded cities know, or indeed can appreciate, the pleasures of the hardy sportsman. To bear wet, cold, and discomfort; to exercise patience, skill, and endurance; and to undergo the extreme point of fatigue, was the sum of nearly every day's experience of the members of the party; but when their heavy guns and cumbrous clothing were laid aside, the rough chair and cushionless settle afforded luxurious rest, the craving appetite made their coarse fare a delightsome feast, and when, warm, full-fed, and refreshed, they invoked the dreamy solace of the deity Nicotiana, the sense of animal pleasure and satisfaction was complete.

"Is your pipe filled, Creamer?" asked Lund, carelessly.

"Yes; but you'll not get it until you give us the story you're to tell us this night. Faith, there's not one of us can beat you at the same trade, and it's little of fact that you'll give us, any how."

"For shame, Hughie, to malign the credibility of an old friend in that way, and me the father of a family. I'm almost ready to swear that you shan't have a yarn from me for the whole spring. To accuse me of yarning—me that—"

"That humbugged the whole Associated Press of the United States no longer ago than the war with the southerns. I mind myself how you told them at Shediac, that the Alabama was down among the fishermen in the bay, like a hawk among a flock of pigeons. Faith, you had twenty of them taken and burned before you stopped that time, and the telegraph operator at Point de Chene was hopping all the evening between the boat and the office, like a pea in a hot skillet," retorted La Salle, laughing. "Ah, Lund! you mustn't plead innocent with us, who have been humbugged by you too many times already. But come, captain, draw on your imagination, and give us a regular stunner—one without a word of truth in it."

"Well, gentlemen," answered Lund, deliberately, "I ain't got anything to say to that young jackanapes, for nobody that ever heard him tell stories will ever believe anything he says again. But I mean to have my revenge somehow, and so I'll tell you a story that is as true as gospel, and yet you'll hardly believe a word of it. We who live here on this little island call it the story of

"THE PACKET LIGHT.

"About thirty years ago, my wife's father, old Mr. Bridges, lived in a snug little log house down in the next field, towards the Point. He was a young man then, and my wife here was a little girl, unable to do more than to drive home the cows, or help mind the younger children. The island is uncivilized enough now, sir, but in those days, besides the old French military road to St. Peter's, and a government mail route to St. Eleanor's, there was nothing but bridle-paths and rough trails through the woods. Men came to market with horses in straw harnesses, dragging carts with block-wheels sawn from the butt of a big pine; and often when twenty or thirty of them were drinking into old Katty Frazer's, the beasts would get hungry, and eat each other loose.

"It was next to an impossibility to get any money in exchange for produce or labor, and everything was paid for in orders on the different dealers for so many shillings' or pounds' worth of goods. In winter a whale-boat on runners carried the mail between the Wood Islands and Pictou, and in summer a small schooner, called the Packet, sailed with the mail, and what few passengers presented themselves, between the capital and the same port.

"It was in the last of November that year that the Packet made her last cruise. The weather was freezing cold, with a thick sky, and heavy squalls from the south of west, when she struck on the East Bar, near the main channel. They put down the helm, thinking to slide off; but she only swung broadside to the waves, and as the tide was at ebb, she was soon hard and fast, with the sea making a clean breach over her.

"Captain Coffin, with the four other men, got into the rigging with a flag of some kind, which they fastened at half mast, as a signal of distress. It was about midday when they ran on the bar, and Bridges saw them, and realized their danger at once; and their cries for help at times rose above the roar of the ravenous seas. With the help of his wife he launched a light boat, but long before he got into the sweep of the heavier breakers, he saw that she could never live on the bar, and it was with great difficulty that he regained the shore. At nightfall, although the hull was badly shattered, no one had perished, and the tide had so far abated that the party could easily have waded ashore; and Captain Coffin and another man, after vainly attempting to induce the other three to accompany them, started themselves.

"The others charged them with cowardice in leaving the vessel, said that the wind would go down, and they could get the craft off at flood-tide, and so prevailed over the better judgment of the captain and his companion that they returned to the fated vessel, and prepared, as well as possible, for the returning tide.

"As the tide rose, the sea came with little, if any, diminution of fury; and until nearly midnight Bridges watched the signal lantern, which called in vain for the aid which it was not in the power of man to bestow. Intense cold was added to the other horrors of their situation, and the heavy seas came each hour in lessened fury, as the water thickened into 'sludge.' At eleven o'clock the tide was at its height; the seas had ceased to sweep across the hogged and sunken hull, and a sheet of thin ice reached from the shore to the vessel's side. Captain Coffin tried the ice, and, finding that it would bear his weight, decided to try to reach the Blockhouse Light, which shone brightly three miles away.

"He summoned the others; but two of the others, who had persuaded him to remain on board, were already frozen to death; the third decided to make the attempt, but walked feebly and with uncertain steps, and about a mile from the vessel succumbed to the piercing cold, falling into that fatal sleep from which few ever waken, in this life at least. Coffin's companion, a strong, hardy sailor, reached the light-house alive, but swooned away, and could not be resuscitated; and Coffin barely escaped with his life. He was terribly frost-bitten, but was thawed out in a puncheon of cold water, the right foot, however, dropping off at the ankle; but he escaped with life, after terrible suffering.

"The schooner sank, in the spring, at the edge of the channel, when the moving ice forced her into deeper water; and at very low tides her battered hull may still be seen by the passing boatman. But ever since that fatal night, whenever a storm from that quarter is threatened, a ball of fire is seen to emerge from the depths where lies the fated packet, and to sway and swing above the water, as the signal lantern did on the swaying mast of that doomed vessel. Then, if you but watch patiently, the ball is seen to expand into a sheet of crimson light, terribly and weirdly beautiful, until the eye can discern the shadowy outline of a ship, or rather schooner, of fire, with hull and masts, stays and sails; and then the apparition again assumes the shape of a ball, which is lost in the sea.

"At times it appears twice or thrice in the same night, and often the herring-fisher, after setting his nets along the bar, sees behind his boat, as he nears the shore, the apparition of the 'packet light.' Since that night of wreck and death, no dweller on this island has passed a year without seeing it, and it is so common that its appearance awakens no fear; and among the fishers of Point Prime, and the farmers of the opposite shores, there are few who will not bear witness to the truth of my story."

* * * * *

"It is a little singular," said Risk, "that a ship is the only inanimate object ever seen as an individual apparition. There are not many of these ghostly ships on the seas, however. I do not remember to have heard of more than one—that of the celebrated 'Flying Dutchman,' off the Cape of Good Hope."

"It's no wonder, sir," said Lund, warmly, "that sailors suppose ships to be haunted, and also to be capable of becoming ghosts themselves, when you sit down and think how differently every one views a vessel, as compared with a house, or store, or engine. Why, there are no two ships alike, and two were never built just alike. There are lucky and unlucky ships, and ships that almost steer themselves, while others need a whole watch at the tiller in a dead calm. But I think that you are mistaken as to the 'Flying Dutchman' being the only other 'flyer,' as the sailors call them, for they are often seen in the Pacific, in the 'Trades.'"

"I can't swear to the truth of Mr. Lund's story, but I can affirm that the 'fire ship' is a myth, universally recognized among the sea-going population of our coast, from the Florida Keys to the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Off the coral reefs, the crime-accursed slaver or pirate haunts the scene of her terrible deeds. Amid the breakers of Block Island, the ship wrecked, a generation ago, by the cruel avarice of men long since dead, still revisits the fatal spot when the storm is again on the eve of breaking forth in resistless fury. The waters of Boston harbor, two centuries ago, presented to the wondering eyes of 'divers sober and godly' persons, apparitions similar to those narrated by our veracious friend, the captain. The lumberers of the St. John tell, with bated breath, of an antique French caravel, which sails up the Carleton Falls, where no mortal vessel or steamer can follow. And the farmers and fishermen of Chester Bay still see the weird, unearthly beacon which marks the spot where the privateer Teaser, chased by an overwhelming English fleet, was hurled heavenward by the desperate act of one of her officers, who had broken his parole. As for the Gulf, the myth exists in a half dozen diverse forms, and all equally well authenticated by hundreds of eye-witnesses, if you can believe the narrators."

"Well, La Salle, I see you don't put much more faith in my story than in the thing I saw the night you came here. Now, I hope it won't be so, for it is borne in my mind, and I can't get over it, that I shall see some of you vanish into mist, as I saw those men. So, gentlemen, be very careful, for I fear that some of us are very near their fate."

* * * * *

There is a cord of fear in every man's heart which throbs more or less responsively to the relation of the wonders of that "debatable land," which, by some, is believed to lie "on the boundaries of another world." La Salle felt impressed in spite of himself, and the whole party seemed grave and unwilling to pursue the subject. The silence was, however, broken by Kennedy.

"I am going home to-morrow," said he, "and therefore am not likely to be one of the unfortunates over whom a mysterious but melancholy fate impends. I have never found in the Tribune anything calculated to encourage a belief in ghosts of men, or vessels either; and what Horace Greeley can't swallow I can't. But I shall make minutes of this little matter, and if anything does happen, will forward a full account, in detail, to that truly great man. Come, La Salle; it's time we were abed. Good night, gentlemen."



CHAPTER V.

A MAD SPORTSMAN.—SNOW-BLIND.—A NIGHT OF PERIL.

The next morning shone bright and clear, and the gunners were at their posts in expectation of a good day's sport. They looked in vain, however, for any indications of open water, and a hole, sunk with the axe to the depth of eighteen inches, failed to reach salt water, although several layers of sweet, fresh water were struck; and the little hollow furnished them many draughts of an element nowhere more welcome than upon the spring ice. The sun shone brightly, their faces, still sore and feverish with yesterday's exposure, became sorer than ever, and the neck became chafed wherever it rubbed against the coat collar.

Still, these were minor evils amid the excitement of their occupation, for many flocks of wild geese were seen; and the appearance of a flock, however remote, is always the signal for every gunner to get under cover at once. A small flock of seven were completely destroyed that morning, in a manner that deserves recording here.

They were first seen striking in from the Gulf, and swinging well to leeward,—for the wind was westerly,—scaled in to the stand occupied by Davies and Creamer, who were lying down taking their noon lunch, and received no warning of their approach until they saw the flock scaling over their heads. Seizing their guns, both fired as quickly as possible, Ben a little the first. His first barrel missed, but the second, aimed at the same bird, brought it down. Creamer's first barrel went off in the act of cocking, in the hurry and agitation of the surprise; and letting the muzzle of his gun drop, he stood stupidly gazing at the departing flock, until roused by Davies's "Give them t'other barrel, any way." Raising his gun, he fired instantly, and killed a fine gander, which fell dead a hundred and twelve yards from the stand.

As if blinded by the unexpected danger, the remaining five swung just inside of the ice-boat, where La Salle and his companion, who had seen them from the first, picked out a brace at long but practicable range, while the retreating birds flew up the channel towards Nine Mile Creek, where two more fell to Risk and the elder Davies. For over an hour the remaining bird flew with clamorous cries about the scene of his bereavement, until a stranger, who had erected an ice-house, and placed a few rude decoys a few hundred yards from the bar, called him down, and fired a shot which dropped him on the ice.



He seemed to be little hurt, however; for, getting to his feet, he walked rapidly away in the direction of the sea ice, followed by the stranger, who did not attempt to use the long gun which he carried with him even when the bird took wing and flew heavily between the ice-houses on the East Bar, where a long shot from La Salle's gun brought him down dead. La Salle brought in the bird, and while reloading his gun, the stranger came up and claimed it as his.

He was a tall, lean, sharp-featured man, with long, lank hair, a dark complexion, and large lack-luster eyes, imbedded in cavernous hollows. His gun was not loaded, nor did he wear either shot-bag or powder-horn; and his weapon, an ancient Highland Scotch "fusee" changed to percussion, seemed as worn out and dilapidated as the owner.

"Gie me my guse, mon, and dinna delay me, for I hae much to do the day, and I munna be hindered in my mission," was the strange salutation of the original, as he leaned upon his gun at the side of the boat.

"You are welcome to your goose, friend, although I fear that you would have had a long chase, if the Baby there had not put in her word in the matter. Here is your bird, sir;" and La Salle handed the body to the unknown, who, after examining it closely, sighed heavily, and replied,—

"It's a braw bird, but it's nae the king o' the geese."

"The king of the geese, friend? What do you mean?" said Kennedy, sharply.

"O, naething; that is, naething to ye, sirs; but to me, O yes, to me everything. Ah," said he, plaintively, "how mony days hae I sat through storm, and frost, and sleet! how mony nights hae I watched in the still moonlight, amang the reedy creeks! how mony times I hae weized a slug through a bird a'maist amang the clouds! but I hae had a' my labor in vain, in vain."

"But how do you know that you have not already shot the king of the geese?" said La Salle, anxious to investigate the peculiar monomania of this poor lunatic; for such, indeed, he evidently was.

"Why, mon," said he, evidently surprised at the absurdity of the question, "by his croun, of course. The king has ae braw croun o' white an black fedders, an' I'se reckon ye's never seen a guse like that ava'—hae ye now?" he asked, anxiously.

"I have never seen any such bird," said La Salle; "but why do you care so much about shooting this rare bird?"

"Weel, I'll tell ye, sin ye were kin' till me, an' did na keep the guse fra' me. Ye must promise me that ye will na try to kill it wi' your ain hands, for I must kill it mysel'."

"We promise," said La Salle, encouragingly, while Kennedy gave a half-pitying nod of the head.

"Weel, when I was young I cared for naething but the gun, an' mony a beating I got for wark negleckit, an' schule-days wasted in the woods, or on the ice. As I grew older I cared more an' more for huntin', an' although I killed mair than ony three in the settlement, I was never satisfied. Ance I sat here on a could day in April; the ice had gane off the bar, but the flats were yet covered, and I knew that until the win' changed the ice would not be carried off.

"Sae, as I sat an' saw the breakers roolin' in an' breakin' an' heavin' the outer ice, I saw mony flecks pass under the lee of the Governor's Island, an' then I grew mad like, an' swore an' cursed at my ill luck.

"'Ay, my lad, but you're right;' an' turnin', I saw an ould man wi' dark eyes an' a coat of black furs stannin' beside me.

"'I've seen i' the Bible,' said I, 'that man was gi'en "dominion ower the beasts o' the earth an' the fowls o' the air," but I canna do as I'd wush wi' thae cursed geese ower there.'

"'Verra richt; ye're verra richt, young man,' said he. 'What wud ye gie to be able to kill as mony fowl as ye list, an' never miss ava?'

"It seemed as I were mad at th' thocht. 'I'd gie my saul,' said I.

"'Well, hae your wish, laddie,' said he; 'it's a sma' penny fee for so dear a bargain;' and, turnin', I fand mysel' alone, an' not a saul upon the ice, far or near. Weel, that day I killed birds until I had nae mair pouther an' grit-shot; an' ilka day I went I had the like luck; but my min' was ill at ease, an' I grew sad, an' dared na gae to prayers, or the kirk; for then hell seemed to yawn under me. At last they said I was mad, an' I went awee tae th' 'sylum yonder i' th' town, an' then I gat some sleep; an' ane nicht I saw in a dream a woman a' in white, an' she laid her cool, moist han' on my hot forehead, an' tauld me she would save me yet. 'It was th' auld enemy that ye forgathered wi' on th' ice, an' ye are his until ye can kill th' king o' th' geese; an' then ye ken whaever carries his croun o' black an' white feathers can unnerstand th' language o' all fowl, an', wha' is more, call them to himsel', sae that he canna' fail to hae his wull o' them. Then, laddie, ye wull hae earned yoursel' th' penny-fee for whilk ye hae perilled your saul.

"'But,' said she, 'my ain bairn, when ye hae won the croun, use it na' at all, though a' the fiends fra' hell tempted ye, but carry it to the kirkyard at mirk midnight; an' when ye hae cannily lichted a bit bleeze, burn the king's croun, an' say wha' I shall tell ye. "I gie back more than I hae taken, an' I rest on Christ's smercy;" an' then shall ye be safe an' happy if ye fail na' to be constant in gude warks.'

"Then, sirs, the vision faded, an' I woke calmer an' happier than for many a lang day; an' a few days after, they aye sent me hame, but the folk say I've a bit bee in my bannet yet. But sin' that time, I hae hunted a' I can. I get mony birds, an'," lowering his voice, "yesterday I killed thretty-seven."

A long whistle from the astonished Kennedy broke up the conference, and the offended lunatic walked angrily away.

"He hasn't had a gun until to-day, to my certain knowledge," said Kennedy; "and I saw him yesterday afternoon taking aim at a goose that had lighted among his decoys, along the helve of his axe."

"Well, well! No one believed him, of course; but, for Heaven's sake, when you express incredulity again, wait until the lie is finished, if I am in the party!" grumbled La Salle.

"Well, never mind; he got through with the best part of it; and the great wonder is, how a distempered brain could imagine all that impossible but well-connected delusion."

"Kennedy," said La Salle, with unusual gravity, "how can we decide that it is all a delusion? Few men, indeed, have claimed to see the devil, to whom they sell themselves daily for trifles lighter than the hunter's meed of unrivaled success; and who can say that the story of yonder madman is more or less than the fruit of the idle habits and unbridled temper which burned up happiness, and consumed his reason? There are few who go mad who would have done so had they at the first governed and denied themselves, and been content to enjoy in reason the benefits of the great Giver."

"There is much that is true in what you say, and I've got a piece in this very Tribune which bears on that point. I'll read it to you. Hang me if ever I saw the like! Where's Davies' ice-house? Is there a fog coming up, or am I dizzy?"

"O, that's nothing," said La Salle, laughing. "You're only going blind—snow-blind, I mean. You know that Kane tells about his people using goggles to prevent snow-blindness; and you left yours off yesterday and to-day."

"Well, it's a curious thing. I can barely see you now; and I know I could not find my way home to save my life. But what shall I do? Will it last long?"

"If I had but a handkerchief full of clay, I could cure it in half an hour; but lie down in the straw, and get your head under the half-deck, where you can see neither sun nor snow, and I think you will rest yourself enough to see pretty well by the time we want to go home."

But Kennedy was fated to lie in impatient helplessness during the remainder of the afternoon. Several fine flocks came in to the decoys; and La Salle, using the double-barrel first, and firing the huge duck-gun at long range, killed three, and sometimes four, out of each flock, while Kennedy groaned in anguish of spirit. At last he could bear it no longer.

"Keep close, Kennedy; there's another flock coming, and the finest I've seen this year. There's twenty at the least, and they're coming right in."

"Give me my gun, Charley. I can't see much, but I can a little, and I can fire where I hear them call. This is my last day; for Patrick is coming out to-night with the boys, and I go in with them. Where are the birds now?"

"Right dead to leeward. Ah-h-huk! ah-h-huk! Here they come, low down, and ready to light. Ah-h-huk! ah-h-huk! Now, Kennedy, can you see them?"

"Yes; that is, I see something like flies in a black gauze net. Are those geese?"

"Yes, and close to us; so up and fire."

Bang! bang! crashed the heavy double-barrel, with both reports nearly blended in one, and Kennedy was driven back by the recoil against the rear top board of the boat. Nearly bursting with laughter, La Salle "lined" the flock as they swung off, killing and wounding three.

"Are you hurt, Kennedy?" he inquired, jumping out of the boat to catch the wounded birds.

"Dot buch, but by dose bleeds a little, a'd I've cut by lip. How baddy have I killed, Charley? for I cad see dothing," inquired the victim, anxiously.

"One, two, three, four, FIVE, by jingo! Faith, you've beat the crowd, so far, this spring, and when you were stone-blind, almost, at that. Well, it's pretty dark, and we'd better be getting home now, I think."

The geese were picked up, and, with the others,—about twenty in all,—were loaded upon the "taboggin," which the two hunters with some difficulty drew through the drifts to the house where, on their arrival, they found that Pat had arrived from the city with some small stores, papers, letters, &c., but the boys had not accompanied him.

"They'll be out on skates wid Carlo and his slid on Monday," he said. "Now, Misther Kennedy, whiniver you're ready, ye'll find me to the fore in the kitchen."

"Mr. Kennedy mustn't go until he gives us a story in his turn. Now the moon rises to-night, at about nine o'clock, and it will be much pleasanter and safer on the ice by moonlight. What say you, Pat?"

"Faith, I'm agreeable, and I'd a little rather, to tell the truth; for there's an ugly bit of road across the Pint there."

"Well, Kennedy will have time to eat supper, and then we'll have his story, when it will be time for us to go to bed, and just right for him to start for town."

"Or, in other words," said La Salle, "it will be 'time for honest folk to be abed, and rogues on the road.'"

All sat down to supper, including Pat, to whom a plate of roast goose and two or three cups of strong, hot, black tea were very refreshing after his ten-mile drive; and then, after the little preparations for the next day's shooting, and Kennedy's little arrangements for his departure, the little group gathered round the blazing hearth, and Kennedy, with some little hesitation, began the story of

"A NIGHT OF PERIL.

"I am but a short man, and, as my time is short, you must not complain if my story is short, too.

"I am not so imaginative as the captain; I haven't pestered all the old men and women of the island to death for legends and stories, like my friend Charley here, who will surely bore you to death when his turn comes; I am sure I cannot make you laugh as Hughie and Mr. Risk have done with their very interesting narratives, and I can only detail a little adventure which I unexpectedly got into on this coast last summer, and which I as unexpectedly got out of alive."

"You mean your crossing the straits in a sixteen-foot boat?" said Captain Lund. "I want to hear about that myself."

"Well, in the early part of last August, my wife and I decided to visit some friends, who reside a few miles up the River Jean, on the opposite side of the straits, I suppose about twenty miles from here. We could reach no port by steamer that was nearer our destination than Pictou, and there remained a long, tedious stage ride when we got there. I concluded to take a boat, and procured of Frank Stanley a little row-boat, with a spritsail for running before the wind; for I intended to choose my own time for crossing. We set out from C. early one morning, and arrived in the afternoon after a very pleasant passage, and we enjoyed our visit to that section very much.

"After waiting a day or two for a fair wind down the river, we set sail, but, owing to the lightness of the breeze, were nearly all the afternoon in getting down. Still, on reaching the harbor, I determined to proceed, as the lights on both shores could be plainly seen, and I did not like to lose a favorable wind.

"Accordingly I put boldly out, heading for Point Prime Light, although my mind misgave me a little as I got clear of the lee of the land; for the sea rose rapidly, and a tremendous breeze, each moment growing stronger, carried us on with frightful rapidity. When we were about half way across, the wind was blowing a gale, and it was only for a moment, while on the crest of the waves, that I could see the light for which I was steering.

"The spray was breaking over us so that my wife had to bale continually to keep our craft free, and I dared not leave the helm to lessen sail, although I expected that each slat of the canvas, as we took the wind on the crest of a wave, would run us under, or carry away the mast, and leave us at the mercy of the waves.

"On we went before the breeze, darting down into the hollow between two seas, toiling heavily up the next wave, with death apparently close behind on the crests of two or three pursuing breakers, and then, with a puff which made every timber and plank quiver, the gale would almost lift us through a breaking wall of white foam, and, with more or less of the sea aboard, away we would go down the incline, a plaything of a boat, with a frightened little man at the tiller, and a little woman baling incessantly, with nerves that never gave way for a moment in our long struggle for life.

"I felt that if I could get that sprit down we were safe; but my wife dared not attempt it, and she would not trust herself at the tiller. Fortunately the boat steered 'very small,' and seizing my opportunity, I set the tiller amidships, darted forward, cleared the end of the sprit from its becket, and got back just in time to meet her as she began to broach to, on the crest of a wave, which nearly half filled us with water.

"I felt now as if we were safe; for no longer cumbered with a press of sail, we shipped less water, and had a better chance to lay out our course. Keeping Point Prime Light, as I supposed, well to starboard, I headed up the bay, seeking to make the Blockhouse Light, when suddenly I saw the coast dead ahead, and a bar, which must have been the West Bar, which I dared not attempt to cross.

"I therefore bore away until I made a harbor, and running in, got aboard a vessel, from whose captain I learned that we had mistaken the Blockhouse Light for that on Point Prime, and had at last made Crapaud River."

"Leaving the boat to be brought around by the next steamer, we drove up to town the next day, and found, to our surprise, that we had crossed close on the heels of that hurricane, which unroofed so many buildings, and uprooted so many trees. I consider that passage as the most stirring incident in my short life, gentlemen, and in the language of an old story, 'my wife thinks so, too.'"

* * * * *

"And you may well think so, Mr. Kennedy," said Lund. "For all the money in the banks of C. wouldn't tempt me to run the risk, the almost certainty, of death, I mean, that you two did. Your wife is a brave woman, sir, and there are very few men who would have borne themselves as she did."

"Well, gentlemen, I see Pat is ready, and I must bid you good night. Charley, I'll give the boys the list of things you want them to bring out Monday. I suppose you'll get through in a couple of weeks, and come back to civilized life. Good night."

Followed by a dozen expressions of adieu and goodwill, the travellers entered the sleigh, and drove merrily off on the ice. Charley stood still a moment alone in the moonlight, listening to the last tinkle of the bells as they died away in the distance.

"What nonsense to stand here bareheaded, and getting cold! and yet it seems as if something urged me to go back to the city. Yet, why should I dread anything here? or rather, why should I fear anything with such a prospect as I have before me?"

He turned, and entered the house; a dainty letter from his betrothed, brought that night from the city, lay upon his breast; but honey and gall mingled strangely in its offerings, and many a bitter word bore heavy on his heart. No one of all that merry party was readier for song, or jest, or manly sport, than he; and yet he, too, had his share of that bitter cup which mortals call sorrow.



CHAPTER VI.

ADDITIONS TO THE PARTY.—AN INDIAN OUTFIT.—A CONTESTED ELECTION.

The following day was Sunday, and was spent as most Sabbaths are spent by similar parties in such out-of-the-way places. A few members of the household drove off across the ice of the Western Bar to a little country church; but the goose-shooters cared not to display their half savage dress, and tanned and blistered faces, to the over-close inspection of the church-going farmers and their curious "women folks."

Accordingly, Risk passed most of the day luxuriously stretched out on the sofa, reading the Church Magazine, while Davies, on the opposite side of the fire, in the recesses of an arm-chair covered with a buffalo robe, devoted the larger portion of his time to the Weekly Wesleyan. Creamer, after a cursory glance at a diminutive prayer-book, spent most of the day in a comparison of sea-going experiences and apocryphal adventures with Captain Lund, in much the same manner as two redoubtable masters of fence employ their leisure in launching at each other's impregnable defence, such blows as would prove mortal against less skilled antagonists.

By the middle of the afternoon Lund had related his sixth story, being the veracious history of how one Louis McGraw, a famous fishing-skipper of Mingan, rode out a tremendous gale on the Orphan Bank, with both cables out, the storm-sail set, her helm lashed amidships, and the crew fastened below as tightly as possible. It is hardly worth while to detail how the crew were bruised and battered by the terrible rolling of the schooner; it may be left to the imagination of the intelligent reader when he learns that, when the storm abated, the skipper found, besides innumerable "kinks" in the cables, and sea-weed in the rigging, both topmasts broken short off, indubitable proof, to the nautical mind, that the Rechabite had been rolled over and over again, like an empty barrel, in that terrible sea.

Creamer had just begun, by way of retaliation, his favorite "yarn" of the ingenious diplomacy of one Jem Jarvis, his father's uncle, who, being wrecked "amongst the cannibals of Rarertonger," with a baker's dozen of his shipmates, escaped the fate of his less accomplished comrades by his skill on the jewsharp, and an especial talent for dancing the double-shuffle, so that they gave him a hut to himself, two wives, and all he could eat, until he broke his jewsharp, and got fat and lazy, and then there was nothing to do but to run for it.

How Creamer's paternal relative extricated himself from his precarious position will never be known, as, at this juncture, Ben and La Salle, respectively, weary of playing a limited repertoire of psalm-tunes on the concertina, and reading the musty records of a long-forgotten "Sederunt of the quarterly Synod," as detailed in an old number of the Presbyterian Witness, interrupted the prolonged passage at arms by an invitation, to all so disposed, "to take a walk around the island."

Lund, who had misgivings as to his ability to give Creamer "a Roland for his Oliver," rose at once, and Creamer acceding more reluctantly, the four set off, through a narrow wood-path, to a cleared field near the western extremity of the island.

At the verge of this field, a cliff of red sandstone, ribbed and seamed by centuries of weather-wear and beat of sea, overlooked the ample bay which opens into the Straits of Northumberland at their widest point. Before them it lay covered with huge level ice-fields, broken only where tide and storm had caused an upheaval of their edges, or a berg, degraded and lessened of its once lordly majesty, it is true, but still grand even in its decay, rose like a Gothic ruin amid a snow-covered and desolate plain.

The sun was declining in the west, but his crimson rays gave warmth to the picture, and the still air had, as it were, a foretaste of the balmy revivifying warmth of spring. In the woods, close at hand, were heard the harsh cawing of the crow, the shrill scream of the blue-jay, and the garrulous chatter of many a little family of warm-furred, pine-cone-eating little red squirrels.

Neither was animal life wanting elsewhere to complete the picture. On the ice could be counted, in different directions, no less than seventeen flocks of Canada geese, some of them apparently on the watch, but the major part lying down, and evidently sleeping after their long and wearisome migration. In a single diminutive water-hole below the cliff, which probably marked the issue of one of the many subterranean springs of the islet, a half-dozen tiny ouac-a-wees, or Moniac ducks, swam and dove in conscious security.

"I can't see any open water yet," said Creamer, "although it looks to me a little like a water-belt, alongshore, inside Point Prime."

"There's no more water-belt there," said Lund, "than there was music in your great-uncle's jewsharp; but there's a spot off to the sou'-west that looks to me a little like blue water."

"Blue water, indeed!" retorted Creamer; "who ever saw blue water on soundings! I'll lay a plug of navy tobacco there isn't open water enough there away to float La Salle's gunning-float comfortably."

"Well, Hughie," slowly replied the practiced pilot, who was really little disposed to vaunt his knowledge of coast and weather, "the tide will soon decide whether you or I, or both of us, are right. It is just full flood now, and the ice is pressed in so against the land, that I know there can be no openings along the Point, and but very small ones where I think it looks like one. It seems to me that a water-vapor is rising out there, by yonder high pinnacle just in range of the pool below the ice-foot; but the tide will soon let us know if there are any large leads open within a dozen miles."

"There's a sign in your favor," cried La Salle, pointing in the direction of the supposed 'lead.' "There's a flock of Brent geese, and they can't live away from open water. See, Ben, they are heading right in for the East Bar, and if we were only there we might depend upon a shot."

La Salle was right; the flock of birds, identified plainly by their smaller size, their tumultuous order of flying, and especially by their harsh, rolling call, like a pack of hounds in cry, swept in from sea, wheeled around one of the resting flocks of Canada geese, alighted near them, took flight again, and, sweeping in an irregular course over and among the higher points of the icy labyrinth, disappeared behind the eastern promontory, as if in search of the open water, which winter had so securely locked up in icy bonds.

As the sun sank behind the neighboring firs, his reddening light fell on a bright blue streak, which seemed to glow like a stream of quicksilver between two heavy bodies of "piled ice." With the ebb, the narrow, glittering canal began to widen, piercing nearer to the islet, until, heading towards the westward, it lay little more than four miles from the interested spectators. The shadowy pinions of many flocks of water-fowl were seen exploring its course, and the neighboring geese, one by one, took flight, and, with clamorous calls, winged their way to its borders.

"I give it up," said Creamer.

"Never mind, Hughie," said Ben, "I'll pay the wager; for, with open water so close to us, the first good storm will soon sweep the bay clear to the bar."

"Yes, a sharp north-easter would soon do that for you; but all the heavy winds may be northerly and westerly for three weeks to come yet," said Lund; "I've known the ice to hold here until the first week of May."

"Well," returned La Salle, "I'm sure I hope it won't be so late this year, for the stock of flour on the island is very small, and many of the poor folks can't afford to buy any, and are living on potatoes almost altogether. They say, too, that there is much suffering among the farmers at the North Point."

"Yes," said Ben; "I saw a man from Lot Ten last week, and he said that the French were eating their seed-grain, and feeding their cattle, or such as were left alive, on birch and beech tops."

"That has happened often, since I can remember," said Lund, "and I suppose is likely to after I am gone; but it seems to me that those stupids might learn something by this time."

"It will occur to a greater or less degree, just as long as the island is shut out from the rest of the world for nearly half the year. There are few men who have any just estimate of the amount of provisions and fodder necessary for the sustenance of a family and its cattle for so long a period as a half year, and when accident, or the unwonted backwardness of the season, increases the number of mouths, or the length of the cold term, it is hard for the farmer to decide on sacrificing the life of even a superannuated horse, or weakly yearling, in time to benefit the more valuable survivors."

"You're right, Charley," said Creamer; "that's what my father's uncle said, when he was a mate on board the Semyramsis, in the Ingy Ocean. The ship was lost in a harricane, sir, and only seven was saved in the captain's gig—six able-bodied seamen and one passenger, a fat little army ossifer. So my great-uncle, who were bosin, made an observation, and says he, 'There's just ten days' provision for seven men, and we're twenty days to looard of Silly Bes (Celebes), if we only row ten miles a day. Now, we must row twenty miles a day; an' to do that, we must have full rations an' somethin' to spare. Besides, the boat ort to be lighter to row well. So, as passengers don't count along of able-bodied seamen, I move we just get rid of the major on economical principles. All in favor say "Ay;" and they all said "ay" except the major, an' he just turned as white as a sheet.' An' then my great-uncle asked him if he'd got anything to say why the resolution o' that meetin' shouldn't be carried out. Well, the major just grinned kind o' uggly, an' said that 'he liked to see things done methodistically, if it were a little irregular, an' he'd give his 'pinion after the rest.' So my uncle went on, an' said, 'All contrary say, "No."' Well, no one said 'no;' an' then my great-uncle said, 'Well, major, nothin' remains but to carry out our resolution; so please to vacate this boat; although, seein' as it's not dinner time for some hours yet, there's no need of hurry, unless you wish to have it over with.'

"'But,' says the major, 'your action is altogether unparlymentary. You haven't heard a word from my friends.'

"'Friends! there ain't any one here on your side o' the question.'

"'You're mistaken, my friend,' said the major; an' he drew from his belt a long Indian dagger that had been hid under his coat; 'there's one, any how.'

"'That ain't much account against a boat-hook,' said one of the men, as he took one with a sharp spike from beneath the gunwale.

"'Lay that down, you beggar!' cried the little red-coat; and he pulled out of each side-pocket a four-barreled pistol,—for there were no revolvers in them days,—and the man laid down the boat-hook as quick as a flash. 'Now, men,' said the little ossifer, 'you'll see that we number at least ten, and there's only six of you. Ah, here's to make us a little more ekil;' and he just fired at a noddy that was flying over, and dropped him right into the stern-sheets. 'That'll help out our rations some,' says he; 'and besides, you don't see what I'm sittin' on;' and, sure enough, he had histed into the boat a basket of port an' a whole case of cap'n's biscuit. 'Now,' says he, 'reconsider your vardick.'

"An' they all voted down the first resolution, and he gave them a bottle of port to mix with their water every day, and when they were drinking the last bottle, they made Silly Bes, and got ashore all right; but my uncle always said that his calculations was right, and that it showed great weakness on the part of the men not to carry them out."

"Well, Hughie," said Ben, "you've kept us here a good half hour later than tea time, and Mrs. Lund will think we've done well to waste her time in listening to your stories."

"Well, we can see enough to assure us that the ice won't break up on the bar to-morrow," said Lund; "but you may get your ice-boats ready at once, for the next thaw, with a north-easter after it, will leave all clear along the ship channel to the harbor's mouth."

There was quite a pleasurable excitement among the stay-at-homes at the tea table, when the incipient breaking up of the ice was declared; for on the proximity of narrow feeding-grounds to the ice-houses depended the hopes of good sport of our adventurers. To be sure they had thus far had nothing to complain of; but the geese killed had been merely "flight" geese, weary with long migration, thin with want of food, and seeking among the treacherous lures only a rest from their long wandering in the safe companionship of their own kind.

Very shortly after supper the whole household retired, but, save the accustomed prayers, which few, either Catholic or Protestant, forget in that still "unsophisticated" land, it is to be feared that the Sabbath was to them little but a literal "day of rest," in its purest physical sense.

Monday morning a glassy look to the snow-crust induced the younger members of the party to use their skates in going to their stands, and as La Salle drew his from his feet to deposit them in his undisturbed stand, his eyes caught, amid the distant ice-spires, the mazy flight of what he took to be a flock of brent, headed in-shore.

Signaling to Davies to get under cover, he sprang into his own stand, and, crouching amid the straw, hastily drew over his black fur cap his linen havelock, and looking well to the priming of his gun, sought the whereabouts of the swift-flying birds.

Unlike the slower Canada geese, these birds seldom fly high above the surface of the water or ice when seeking food; and several times he lost sight of the flock, as it darted around a berg, or swung round the circle of some secluded valley of the ice-field.

"H-r-r-r-r-huk! H-r-r-r-r-huk!" Their barbarous clamor, insufficiently rendered in the foregoing, suddenly sounded close to leeward, and close up against the light north-wester then blowing came the beautiful quarry, their small, black heads and necks showing as glossy as a raven's wing, in contrast with the asheous hue of their wings, and the pure white of other parts of their plumage. With a wild, tumultuous rush, they circled in head-on over the decoys; and it was so quickly done, that they had swept on fifty yards before La Salle could realize that the leader of the flock was heading for Davies, and had no intention of surging around to his lures again.

"It will never do to let them get the first brent," muttered La Salle. "She has a long-range cartridge in, and I'll try them."

Turning on his knees, he raised the ponderous gun until it "lined" the retreating flock, but elevated at least five feet above the birds, now nearly two hundred yards away. The heavy concussion reverberated across the ice, and the fatal cartridge tore through the distant flight, picking out two of the twelve which composed the flock; and some of the shot, as both Davies and Creamer afterwards averred, rattled smartly in among their decoys nearly four hundred yards away. The remaining birds, hurrying away from the dangers behind them, passed within range of Davies and his companion, and left several of their number dead and dying on the ice; but the first brent of the season had fallen to La Salle's gun.

The day was mild and without wind, and as but few birds were flying, La Salle coiled himself down in the sunny corner of his stand, and drawing from his pocket the letter of which we have spoken in the last chapter, gave it a careful and deliberate perusal. As he closed, a smile, strangely expressing contempt, pity, and admiration, curled his lips, as in low but audible tones, as is often the habit of the solitary hunter or fisherman, he communed with his own heart.

"Ah, Pauline! time has brought no change to thy passionate, impulsive, unreasoning heart; and what thy biting tongue may not say, the pen will utter, though lapse of years and the waves of the Atlantic roll between us. Is it not strange that a woman's letter to her betrothed, beginning with 'My own love,' and ending 'Until death,' can contain eight double-written pages of unreasonable blame, cruel innuendos, and despicable revenge on the innocent? Well, we are betrothed, and should have been married years ago, had not Fate or Providence stood in the way; and I suppose her life at home is far from pleasant, for her step-mother is not one to let a good marriage go by, without reminding poor Paulie of my general worthlessness; but I must say that my better financial and matrimonial prospects offer little hope of added happiness."

His eye lit up a moment, and an expression of keen and almost cruel intent contracted his gaze; then, with a look of disdain, he seemed to throw off some evil influence, and a look of pity softened his face.

"Yes, if I were to resent these affronts—for such they are—with one half the virulence which animates them, her pride would alienate us forever, and I should be free. There are few who would blame me, and many who would scorn to do aught else. In truth I am almost decided to answer this precious billet-doux in the same vein in which it was written. Ah, it was not all delusion that made yonder madman think that evil spirits haunt these icy wastes. It was not thus I felt when together we voyaged across that summer sea; and the vows we plighted then may not lightly be broken. I will answer patiently, and as becomes the past. As to the future, it will bring due reward or punishment here or hereafter."

From these somewhat morbid self-communings, which we introduce for a purpose hereafter to be disclosed, La Salle started, seized his glittering skates, and taking his gun, glided with long, powerful strokes across the inner bay towards the ice-houses of the other party, which lay within the embouchure of Trois-Lieue Creek. The ice was almost perfectly level, save where a heavy drift had formed a small mound around which it was better to steer, although the sleety crust had frozen so hard that the broad-runnered Belgian skates would run almost anywhere. At the first ice-house he found Risk and Davies, who had done little or nothing for some days, and talked of going home at the end of the week.

"Indian Peter gets about all the geese that go through here, and there's little show for us," said Davies.

"Where is his ice-house?" asked La Salle.

"Just up the cove—the nearest of those two," answered Risk.

"I guess I'll have a look at his outfit, and then go and meet the boys at the block-house, for they have never been here before, and the track can't be very plain now." So saying, La Salle skated up to the Indian stand, almost half a mile distant.

"One-armed Peter," as he was commonly called among his tribesmen, had neither the means nor the inclination to deviate much from the traditionary usages of his tribe, and was found kneeling, or, rather, "sitting man-fashion," as the vernacular Micmac hath it, although we call it "tailor-fashion," within a circular, fort-like enclosure, some twelve feet in circumference, and with walls about three feet high.

The latter were composed of thick slabs of ice placed on edge, and cemented together by frozen water, while tiny apertures, cut here and there, enabled the crouching hunters to note every foot of the approach of their wary game. A few of the decoys were of pine wood, rudely carved out and burnt to something like the natural coloring of the bird they were intended to represent; but a large proportion of them were "sea-weed" or "spruce" decoys; that is, bunches of the weather-bound sea-wrack, or bundles of evergreen twigs, made about the shape and size of the body of a goose.

These were elevated on blocks of snow-ice, which strikingly imitated, at a little distance, the hue of the under feathers, and a fire-blackened stake set in the ice, at one end, with a collar of white birch bark at its junction, completed the rude but effective imitation. Such are the appliances which a hundred years ago brought the geese in thousands under the arrows of all the many tribes which range between the Straits of Canso and the most northern inhabited regions about Hudson's Bay.

Within the enclosure a few armfuls of fir branches—laid upon the hard ice, and kept carefully clear of snow, formed a soft floor, on which now sat three hunters, Peter, and Jacob, and Louis Snake, much younger men than he of the one arm. Each sat enveloped in the folds of a dingy blanket, and their guns rested against the icy walls—two of them rickety, long-barreled flint-locks; but Peter's new acquisition, a true "stub-twist," Hollis's double, was as good a fowling-piece as any sportsman needs.

True to their customs, the Indians were taciturn enough, although Peter thanked La Salle rather warmly for his new weapon.

"I find 'em good gun; not miss since I got 'em. Give t'other gun my nethew." And he pointed to the worst looking of the two antiquated weapons, as Cleopatra may have surveyed her rather costly drink-offering, with visible misgiving as to such reckless liberality.

"You were very kind, Peter. I suppose he has no family," said La Salle, smiling.

"Yes, me berry kind my peeple," suavely responded the chief, a just pride beaming in his eyes. "That young man no family yet—only squaw now."

"It is evident that the average Indian doesn't understand a joke," muttered La Salle, as he said "Good by" to the motley trio, and darted off to meet a distant group, which he rightly judged to be the expected boys.

Twenty minutes later he had joined the little party, who were proceeding at a slow dog-trot around the shores, instead of taking the direct course across the ice, which, being deemed unsafe by them, had wisely been avoided; for no one can be too cautious on ice of which they know nothing.

George Waring, the only son of La Salle's employer, skated ahead of his companion, who was evidently of other than Caucasian origin, in part at least. The skater was a tall, fresh-complexioned, slender youth, of about seventeen, bold, active, and graceful in his movements, but having the appearance of one whose growth had been a little too rapid for an equal development of health and strength; and indeed it was only on condition that he should submit carefully to the directions of La Salle that his father had consented to the present expedition.

His companion was, perhaps, a year older, but rather short and thick-set, with features in which the high cheek-bones and coppery hue of the American showed very prominently. La Salle had fallen in with him at the Seven Islands, on the Labrador coast, the year before, and employed him as a pilot to the Straits of Belle Isle. He called himself Regnar Orloff, was of tremendous strength for one of his years, and although apparently lazy, and somewhat fleshy, could move quickly enough, and to purpose, in time of need.

Now, however, he rested one knee on the only unoccupied portion of a large, light sled, drawn by the third member of the party, a powerful dog of the Newfoundland species, which he was evidently training into some little excellence as a sledge-dog. It was only an added virtue, even if complete; for noble old Carlo had already excellences enough to canonize a dozen individual canines. He was strong, sagacious, peaceably inclined, but a terrible foe when aroused; could eat anything, carry a man in the water, watch any place, team, or article, hold a horse, beat for snipe or woodcock, lie motionless anywhere you might designate, retrieve anywhere on land, water, or ice, and loved a gun as well as his young master, La Salle.



"Well, George, you're here at last," cried La Salle, as he came up. "How is everything in town, and what's the news?"

"O, nothing out of the common. All are well. The governor gave a ball Wednesday, and the House dissolves next week. We've had plenty of geese to eat, but we wanted to kill some; and so here we are."

"How are you, Regnie? Getting tired of civilization, and wanting to get back to the ice?"

"Ha, ha, ha! Yes, master, just so. After I see Paris and Copenhagen, I do very well, keep quite satisfied. But when I shut up in large city like C., I think it too much. I feel lonesome, want to get back to the wild'ness."

"And how does Carlo learn sleighing?"

"O, he does well enough. He can't be taught right, for it would be too bad to use Greenland whip; but I make this little one, and can drive very well;" and as he spoke, he held up a wand of supple whalebone, tipped with a slender "snapper" of plaited leather, and lightly touching the noble animal with the harmless implement, the dog gave a playful bark, and started off on an easy trot.

"We strike off here for those black specks yonder," said La Salle; "but what is coming behind us, George?"

"O, that is Dolland, Venner, and that set; and I guess they'll have 'a high old time,' and no mistake."

"Well, let's take an observation, boys, and then we'll set off."

And, stopping, the party turned to survey a spectacle truly annoying to any true sportsman, whatever may be his views on the temperance question.

Advancing in their rear came a truck-sled, loaded with what, although evidently a miscellaneous freight, was largely composed of liquor; for a goodly ale-keg formed the driver's seat, a bottle-hamper the pinnacle of the load, and a half dozen young men, who were perched wherever a seat presented itself, filled the air with loud, and oft-repeated shouts and roaring songs, whose inspiration could plainly be traced to certain bottles, jugs, and flasks, with which each in turn "took an observation" of the heavens, at about every other hundred yards. An expression of disgust on La Salle's deeply-tanned face gradually gave way to resignation, and then a well-founded hope irradiated his features; a new movement of the crowd attracted his attention.

"Well, boys," he exclaimed, "you're in luck to have such a gang to come out with, and you may count on having little or no sport to-day and to-morrow; but they'll have to go in, in three days at farthest."

"Why so?" asked the boys, in a breath.

"Because their rum won't last them more than forty-eight hours, especially with the amateur aid they'll get from the driver; and twelve hours after that event takes place, they'll be in town again. But come, they are getting near us, and are loading their guns; so let's leave before the vicinage is dangerous."

"Why, Charley," said Waring, in astonishment, "there's no danger. Those fellows wouldn't shoot at us. I know them."

"And so do I, my dear fellow; and that's just the reason I want to get out of the way. If I didn't know what drunken men will do in the way of 'sporting casualties,' or felt certain that their object was to shoot us, I should feel perfectly easy on the subject;" and setting off at full speed, followed by Waring and the sledge, La Salle led the way to the ice-houses, which they reached about an hour before sunset.

Drawing up by the boat, La Salle examined the load of the day, and from it took a little case made of a candle-box with stout hinges and a padlock. He opened it, and found, as he had ordered, a "Crimean cooking-lantern," with spring candlestick and a pound of candles, a small tin canister of coffee, another of sugar, some pilot bread, and several boxes of sardines. Taking all but two of the latter from the box, he relocked it, and carefully removing the matted straw in the stern of his boat, placed the box under the decking, and replacing the compressed straw, effectually hid it from sight.

"We can now have a lunch, with a hot cup of coffee, whenever we please, and you will find some weather even yet when it will be very welcome. Come, let us go home to-night, and get ready for to-morrow's charivari, for noise will not be wanting, although game may;" and adding his brent to the load, La Salle covered his boat, and, joined by Davies and Creamer, who greeted the boys warmly, all went up to their welcome, if somewhat narrow, quarters.

After tea, which boasted of fried bacon and eggs, the usual circle was formed, and Mr. Davies, being called upon to entertain the company, said that he was "not much of a story-teller, but had learned some facts relating to a terrible political tumult, which took place years ago, but was still spoken of everywhere on the island as the great 'Belfast Riot.' I shall term it, unless some one offers a better name, the most lively specimen we ever had of

"A CONTESTED ELECTION.

"It need hardly be said, in this company, that an election among us is a far more exciting occasion than among our less-favored American neighbors, who ignore the superior advantages of voting viva voce, and adopt the less manly and unobtrusive medium of the ballot.

"Why, gentlemen, I venture to say, that our little capital town of C., with its thousand votes, presents more stir, makes more noise, drinks more whiskey, and is the arena of more fistic science and club play, during an ordinary election, than any city in New England, of four times the population, during a presidential struggle. The open polling-booths in the heart of the city surrounded by crowds of intelligent (and highly-excited) voters; the narrow gangways crowded, rain or shine, by those immediately claiming the right of suffrage; the narrow precincts of the sheriff's court, the sublime majesty of that important officer; the ineffable serenity of the city clerk; the various bearings of the candidates or their representatives; the frantic efforts of a few uniformed police to keep order; the evident and good-natured determination of the crowd that the aforesaid officials shall 'have their hands full;' the loud voices and sharp questions of the challengers and their victim; the dainty bits of family history made public property; the overbearing insolence of the old lawyers, and the overweening impudence of the young ones; the open taverns; the rival carriages for the accommodation of doubtful, drunken, and lazy voters, together with the lively little incidents which diversify the picture as the culminating glory of these various provocative elements,—form a picture which it hath not entered into the heart of the average American citizen to conceive of.

"But, however lively the picture, an election in these degenerate later days is but a tame affair compared with those which took place during my first years of labor in political matters. As all know, the island was given away on one day to certain individuals, on conditions of which nothing more may be said here than that one was, that a certain number of settlers were to be placed on each estate within a given number of years. Accordingly, from almost every section of the British Isles, the proprietors sought out such emigrants as could most easily be procured.

"The result was, that we still have settlements in close proximity to each other, whose peoples use different languages in daily conversation, who vary radically in religious belief, have few natural traits in common, and are almost, if not altogether, 'natural enemies' each to each. Thus we have a settlement of Protestant Highland Scotch close by a large estate peopled with Monaghan or Kilkenny Irish Catholics; and perhaps a little farther on is a hamlet of Low-landers, or a village of thrifty English folk.

"But in those days these distinctions were yet more marked, and the feuds of Orange and Ribbon-man, Scotch and Irish, Englishman and French Acadian, had not then given way before the softening and concealing hand of 'Time, the great leveler;' and so some twenty years ago, during a close contest between the then rising liberal party and the conservatives, a riot took place near the polling-booth in the Highland Scotch settlement of Belfast. All the combined strength of both parties was present; the canvassing had been of the most thorough nature, and all the antipathies of race and religion appealed to for electioneering purposes.

"It is said that the Catholics went there expecting a fight, each armed with a well-balanced, tough shillelagh, and that they made a general attack on the Scotch. At all events, it is certain that the larger number of the latter had to betake themselves to the nearest available weapon, and that many were cut and bruised by the skilfully-handled weapons of the active Irish cudgel-players. One Scotchman, however (a fellow of unusual stature), seized a fence-rail, and, by his single arm, stayed the tide of flight in his part of the fray. Almost frantic with apprehension, rage, and the desire for revenge, he wielded his ponderous weapon as if it were an ordinary club, striking such tremendous blows that tradition has it that not one of a half-score of the best and bravest of the Irish leaders survived the effects of those terrible and crushing blows. Profiting by his prowess, the Scotch procured the heavy stakes of their sleds, tough poles, pieces of firewood, and similar ponderous weapons, and, headed by the hero of the day, made a charge, returning with terrible severity the comparatively slight damage inflicted by the light cudgels of the Irish.

"The details of that day of blood—how the fray began, and between whom; the varying records of its progress as victory inclined first to one side, and then to the other; the number of the killed and wounded, and the names of the fallen—have never been generally known, and probably never will be; for many of the principal actors in that savage drama have passed away 'into the dread unknown.'

"But it is still commonly believed, and so reported, that over a score of the Irish were killed on the field, or died of their wounds; that no Scotchman perished; that the field where the deadliest part of the work was done became accursed, and has lain barren to this day; and that the leader of the Scotch became insane with the memory of his own terrible prowess.

"Among those who have reason to remember that dreadful affair, however, may be numbered C." (Here the narrator named an influential and wealthy business man.) "He was travelling in that section, and being ignorant of what had taken place, stopped at a country town to bait his horse, and warm and refresh himself. Entering, he found the reception-room filled with Irish, whose harsh features were inflamed with varied passions, while the persons of many bore marks of recent injury. No one replied to his friendly greeting, and their whole conversation was carried on in Erse, although every intonation and gesture was replete with passion. Suddenly he saw the landlady beckoning him out of the room, and, rising, he approached her as if to give directions about his horse.

"Trembling with agitation, she addressed him:—

"'O, Mr. C., for the love of Heaven, run to your sleigh, and leave at once, or your life isn't worth an hour's purchase!'

"Then, in a few words, she gave him some idea of the day's events, and taking the measure of oats provided, Mr. C. passed on through his enemies to the shed, where, beside a number of rude country sledges, stood his own fleet horse and light cutter. Taking the bells off his horse, he backed him out of the shed, and was ready for flight. On the nearest sledge was bound a long, oblong parcel, covered with a rug. Curiosity proved stronger than fear, and lifting a loose corner of the scanty covering, Mr. C. found himself face to face with a corpse!



"Springing into his sleigh, he put his horse to his utmost speed, and when day dawned was a score of miles from the scene of his unexpected danger and appalling night adventure."



CHAPTER VII.

A CHANGE IN THE WEATHER.—BREAKING UP OF THE ICE.—JIM MOUNTAIN'S FIGHT WITH THE DEVIL.

The boys awoke somewhat disappointed the next morning, for the heavy rain was falling, and the wind blew hard from the south-east, so that no one in his senses would think of facing such discomfort for the sake of sport.

"Don't look blue, George," said La Salle; "we've enough to do to prepare for the open water, which this gale will probably lead up to the outer edge of the bar, at least. There's the float to be painted and fitted, and the floating decoys to be put in order; and while I use the white paint, you and Regnie must rope and repair the decoys."

Accordingly the four sought the barn, whither Ben and Creamer had preceded them on a similar errand. La Salle's boat was a flat-bottomed "sculling-float," twelve feet long by three feet beam, and ten inches deep, with a hole through the stern-board, through which, with a short, crooked oar, a man could silently propel himself within shot of a flock of fowl. Davies's boat aimed at the same end in another way, being a large side-wheel paddle-boat, propelled by cranks, for two persons. Both boats were painted white, so as to be indistinguishable from the floating ice at a little distance. Besides these two, there were a double boat with centre paddle-wheel, and a side-wheel worked by the feet on the velocipede principle, belonging on the island.

The forenoon was spent as proposed, and as the bad weather still held, a target was set up for practice with the rifle, and many excellent shots were made from the great door of the barn. At last, however, the impatience of the party overcame all fears of exposure, and, donning their water-proof clothing, all went down to the East Bar to watch its effect on the ice.

The huge floe had given way at last, and broken into many floating islets of varied size, had become a scene of life and animation, in striking contrast to its late icy desolation. In every direction geese, singly and in flocks, fed along the edges of the still immovable inner ice-fields; swam placidly among the narrow leads, or in huge bodies blackened the open pools or the projecting points of ice. Among them, too, wheeled many flocks of clamorous brent, while, from time to time, the desolate cry of the Moniac duck, or the shrill, monotonous, strident flight of the "Whistler" warned the sportsmen that new visitants were about to greet their vision.

"You will have to change your location, Risk," said Lund, who had accompanied them; "for you must shoot on the water-line, now the ice has opened."

"Davies and I go home to-morrow," answered he. "I regret to leave with such a prospect before us, but business presses; and besides, there are new dangers now which I care not to face."

"Ay, ay! you're right, Mr. Risk," said Lund; "and although I am glad to have you around me, I shall be glad this year when I see the last of you safely across the Western Bar."

"There, there, Lund," said Risk; "they're young, smart, have good boats, and, what is more, know well how to use them; and if I were less clumsy and old, I would no more fear any danger here than I would at home. Don't frighten the young lads with your nonsense, but let us get home to supper, and, as it is our last night together, have a cosy evening in the kitchen, and a good story from Ben and Charley here."

The proposition was acceded to, and after supper, Ben, with little urging, commenced a legend of the North Shore, even now related by the farmers around the winter's hearth with full faith in its veracity. He termed it by its local name

"JIM MOUNTAIN'S FIGHT WITH THE DEVIL."

"Fifty years ago Jim Mountain, of Goose Creek, was as stout and jovial a young farmer of twenty-five, as there was in his section. No ship-launch frame-raising, logging-bee, or dance, was considered complete without him, and while his strength was almost equal to that of any two of his companions, his merry laugh was so infectious that even envy couldn't resist joining in, when public opinion pronounced him 'the best man in the county.'

"He soon married the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, and then, for the first time, it appeared that his love of 'divershin' and whiskey, had grown by what it fed on, and poor Mary dreaded the approach of market-day, as he seldom returned from the shire town altogether sober, and often not until late into the next day.

"It was in vain that his blooming Mary entreated, coaxed, cried, and threatened; he never lost his temper; often, indeed, promised amendment, but did in the end about the same as usual. At last the merchant with whom he traded, a man of some little medical knowledge, finished their business interview with the following bit of advice:—

"'Jim, it's none of my business, but you are ruining your health and breaking your wife's heart. You are not one of the kind that show how much they do drink; but no man in your district can match you, and when you do get sick, I shan't expect to see you alive.'

"'An' do ye think so, then, Mr. B.?'

"'I am almost sure of it, for Long Tom Cunningham, the big ship carpenter that you've heard your father tell of, was just such a man, and the first touch of "the horrors" carried him off.'

"'Well, sir, I'm much obliged for your good will, any how, and after my cousin Johnny McGrath has his bit of a spree, I'll try and leave it off for a while, any way.'

"Johnny McGrath's 'spree,' a fulling-frolic, came off one Saturday night, about a fortnight after this; and while the web of strong, coarse homespun cloth, which was to furnish Mac and his boys with their year's stock of outer clothing, was being duly lifted, rubbed, banged on a bench, and twisted by the strong hands of about thirty men and women, Jim led the roaring choruses, and manipulated his end of the cloth with a vigor which at once delighted and alarmed the fair weaver thereof.

"In the dancing and whiskey-drinking which followed, Jim was in his element; and it was nearly midnight before the party broke up, and he was left alone with the rest of his relative's household.

"'Well, Johnny,' said he, 'you've done the decent thing this time, and I'm glad my last spree has been at your place, for I'm going to quit grog for a while. Give me a coal for my pipe, Jane, for it's late, and I've a good five miles' of beach atween me an' home.'

"'Is the man mad?' said Jane, good-naturedly. 'Surely, John, you'll not let him out of the house to-night.'

"'No, no, Jim,' said McGrath, getting between him and the door; 'out of this you don't stir to-night; so sit down, have another drop, and tak' a quiet night's rest.'

"'Come, John, don't anger or hinder me, for I feel strangely to-night, and I must go home.'

"'Faith, that's all the more reason I have to keep you here. Come, sit down, you obstinate fellow, and don't be waking the wife up just before daybreak, only to let in a man that must be out walking all night. Confound it, would you hit me, Jim? Sure, now, you're not angered—are you?'

"'No, I'm not angry; but I'll not be treated like a child, nor lectered, neither. Let me go, I tell you, or there'll be ill blood between us. Home I'll go, I tell you!' shouted the excited man. 'Home I'm going, although the devil tried to stop me;' and flinging his cousin aside as if he were a child, he rushed out of the house, and took a narrow path which led down to the moonlit sea-beach.

"About an hour after, a despairing cry at the door awakened McGrath and his wearied household, and, opening it, they found a bruised, bloody, and literally naked man, lying senseless on the threshold. With some difficulty they recognized the features of Mountain, and it was broad daylight before he came to himself. His story was short, but strange.

"'I took the path down to the beach, thinking to wade the narrow run at Eel Pond, and so save a mile or two of road. It was light as day, and I went along well enough, though I felt sad-like, an' as if somethin' were about to happen me.

"'It's an unchancy place there, near the pond, where the great san'-hill blew over the birch grove an' killed the trees; and last night, as I went through them, the tall, white, broken trunks seemed almost alive. Why, man, I'd have sworn that some of them had a dozen faces grinnin' and laughin', and I felt all the while as if I was a fool; for, whenever I stopped an' looked close, there was nought but knots, an' bark, an' gnarly limbs. Still, although I'd been through them a thousan' times, I felt afraid, for it seemed to me as if there was somebody near me that I couldn't see.

"'Well, at last I got through the dead grove, an' came to the san'-plain wher' the ribs of the old ship are stannin', an' I got to thinkin' what she might hev' bin, fer none o' us know how many years she lay in the san' before the great gale swept the san' off of her white bones. I looked at her close as I passed, an' although I saw nauthin' but her ribs, she made me think o' a 'natomy; an' I looked all around, but saw no one, an' went down into the water, hevin' first ta'en off my shoes.

"'The cool water did feel nice; an' as I stepped ashore, I whistled up "The Devil's Dream," an' struck out across the beach, when, looking back, I saw, between me an' the stream, a man who made at me with terrible ferceness. I can tell you nauthin' about him, 'cept that his clothes were black an' strange, his face dark an' savage, an' his eyes almost like fire. I had no doubt that he meant me harm, an' as he cam' up, I struck out wi' all my strenth. Ye mind when I hit big Jack Ready, an' thought I should have to flee the country. Well, I hit him twicet as hard, an' he never stopped, but came in an' clinched. My God! I'm breathless now wi' the squeezin' I got there. I'm afraid of no man standin' within twenty mile, at ayther Ingin hug, collar an' ilbow, or side-hold, but I was like a child in its grip.

"'Still I fought on, though the san' flew into the air; an' through it, like a fog, I saw the old wrack an' the dead grove, an' the fiery eyes that glared into mine, an' I felt the grasp of a han' that seemed to burn into my hip; an' then I knew I couldn't fight fair wi' that. I drew my knife an' opened it, an' three times I thrust it to the hilt into the side o' the black man, or devil, an' he only glared at me fercer, an' took a stronger hold on my hip. Just at this moment I felt the cool water at my feet, an' wi' one tremendous effort, I whirled myself into the stream to fight it out there. A moment I lay on my back in the shallow stream, an' then I rose to my feet. I was alone wi' nauthin' o' what had happened, save the open knife in my han', the trampled beach, an' my torn an' ruined clawthin'.

"'Then I remembered that old McGregor used to say that nauthin' bad could pass runnin' water, an' I thought I'd get back to ye if I could. I remember somethin' of tearin' through the lonely beach an' blasted woods, of seein' more faces in the trees, an' hearin' quick footsteps on my track, but I remember nauthin' more. Look at my hip, will you, wi' the cannle there? It hurts me awfully.'

"The candle fell from Jane's shaking hands, but was caught by her husband before it was extinguished.

"'As God lives, ye have spoken the truth, for there is the mark o' the devil's grip;' and greatly to the terror of all, there appeared on the hip of the exhausted man the black imprint of a thumb and four fingers.

"My informant told me that, fifty years later, after Mountain had raised a large family of children, and passed a life subsequently innocent of his youthful excesses, the same indelible marks were left to tell of the terrible conflict of that memorable night; and none of his neighbors ever doubted the literal truth of his strange story, save one.

"That man was B., who never undeceived Mountain, or tried to do so; but in detailing the story to my father, closed the recital thus: 'I have always thought that he had an attack of delirium tremens, and that he fancied the assault of the goblin; for I forgot to tell you that next morning they followed his track, finding his shoes and fragments of his attire on the opposite side of the run, which was torn up, with the marks of a terrible struggle and many feet. Probably he tore off his own clothes in the fancied fight, drew his knife, struck at "an air-born fantasy," and was finally partially restored by falling into the water, after which he completed his exhaustion by running back to the house.'

"'Have you seen the marks?' asked my father.

"'Yes; I saw them at the time,' slowly answered Mr. B.

"'Were they as described?'

"'Very like the grip of a hand; one dark impression on the back of the left hip, and four smaller ones in a row on the front,' said B.

"'And how do you account for those?' asked my father.

"Mr. B. hesitated, and then answered candidly, 'I don't know what to think of that myself. I have sometimes thought that a fall among the many roots and fallen trunks of trees, which then strewed that desolate place, may have caused such injuries; but why did they remain apparent long after discolorations of such a nature should have disappeared? Perhaps imagination may have had its effect, and made the impressions indelible. But if there is any truth in old-world stories, few places fitter for such horrors can be found than was that drear waste of sand, destitute of all signs of man's proximity, bounded on one side by a blackened forest, on the other by the sailless sea, and containing only the whitened ribs of a long-forgotten wreck. None of the folk around here, sir, join in my doubts as to the reality of Mountain's fight with the devil.'"

* * * * *

As Ben closed, a sound of sleigh-bells came up the road, and Lund opened the door, at which appeared a light sleigh driven by one of Risk's sons.

"You and uncle are wanted in town at once. L. has sent you this letter, and says—" And he whispered a few words in his father's ear.

"I came out to-night, for the ice is getting very bad, and a horse was lost crossing the North River at Duckendorff's to-day. It is freezing to-night, but the moon shows at times through the clouds, and we can get home before one o'clock."

An hour later, Risk and the elder Davies bade a regretful farewell to their young companions. "I am sorry," said the former, "that as yet we have had no story from you, La Salle; but I hope to see you at my house in C., and hear it there when your trip is over. Take care of yourself, and make Lund out a false prophet. Good night, captain, you old croaker;" and the sleigh disappeared in the shadows of the forest-covered lane which led to the beach.

"Well, boys," said La Salle, "the best of our evenings are over, and we must look to boat and gun for our best sport."

"We must have your story, though," said Ben.

"O, of course; but not to-night, for we have much to do to-morrow, to get our boats down for the open-water shooting."

With this no one disagreed; and half an hour later, all were fast asleep.



CHAPTER VIII.

FLOAT-SHOOTING.—A GENERAL FIELD-DAY.—CHANGES OF THE ICE.

The next morning, the boats, which were all provided with runners, were drawn to the bar, and Carlo's sled carried, besides the lunch and ammunition of the party, a dozen wooden duck decoys, weighted and roped, for open water.

Davies and Creamer gave up their box and outfit to one-armed Peter, as they were about to try their new paddle-boat. She was duly launched, and Ben placed himself forward, between the paddle-boxes, ready to do the steering and shooting, while Creamer acted as the motive power, transmitted by a belt and pulleys. Although somewhat high out of water, she moved off easily, and made little noise when running slowly; and taking the first of the ebb, the pair moved eastward into the opening ice.

George and Ben Lund, in their new-fashioned centre-wheel, made poorer progress, but hurried out "to get ahead of the skimmin'-dish," as they styled La Salle's light, shallow craft. He let them go, and stationing George and Regnar in the ice-boat, put out his floating decoys in the nearest waters, and, cutting slabs of ice, built a high wall around his own boat, which he drew up on the ice. Carlo incontinently plunged into the straw under the half-deck of the larger boat, and soon all was ready for the expected birds.

Meanwhile, upon the stranded berg which lay immovable off the southern face of the island, gathered the new comers, whose Bacchanal approach has of late been chronicled. Had they had any outfit of decoys, and known how to use them, they could not but have had good sport; and even as it was, so many birds passed and repassed them, that a good shot could not have failed to secure at least a few ducks. But, however unfortunate in securing any trophies, they failed not in the weight or constancy of their fire.

Not a flock passed within a quarter of a mile but received a volley; not a loon that showed his distant head above water but went down under the fire of a platoon; and not a frightened duck darted overhead but heard the air behind him torn with whistling shot enough to have exterminated his whole tribe.

From time to time a lull in the storm would occur, and then peals of laughter would come across the intervening waters; and looking up, the irritated sportsmen generally beheld a tableau of inverted pocket-flasks, and feats of strength with a rapidly lightening ale-keg. But, although our friends bore the proximity of these city gunners with great patience for a while, an event soon occurred which brought matters to a focus.