Part 7 (1/2)
which certainly seemed much more in harmony with the exquisite summer evening and the light, gliding motion of the little canoe, as it bounded forward so noiselessly under the ashen paddle, over the purple and crimson tide.
Neither seemed disposed to talk. The beauty of the evening, for one thing, was too absorbing to encourage much conversation. Moreover, May was still worrying a little over the three-cornered problem of Kate and Hugh and Mr. Winthrop, and thought that Hugh's meditations were possibly wandering in a somewhat similar direction. They entered the ”Lonely Bay” very quietly, as was their wont. The spot seemed like a church, in which loud tones or careless words were a desecration. As the canoe glided noiselessly into the deep shadow of the high crags, they both became aware that another boat had come in before them, and was lying motionless in the inmost recess of the little basin. The occupants were unconscious of any intrusion on their solitude, and, as Hugh paused, irresolute whether to proceed or not, a few low spoken words reached their ears in Mr. Winthrop's very distinct enunciation--words that both thought were: ”Then I need not altogether despair!”
May colored to the very roots of her hair, feeling by proxy the ”pang”
which she believed Hugh must experience, as he silently but swiftly rowed away, lest they should involuntarily hear any more of so very confidential a conversation. Whether the other pair heard the sound of the light dip of the retreating paddle they could not tell; and not a word was exchanged between them concerning the unexpected _rencontre_, both feeling the subject too delicate to touch.
But as they were rowing slowly homeward, by a circuitous route, the other boat overtook them, and they rowed side by side for the remainder of the way, Mr. Winthrop evidently exerting himself to talk, while Kate remained unusually silent. The moon--rather more than half full, flooded the air and river with her silvery light; and on one side of them lay a glittering expanse, studded with the dark silhouettes of islands. Mr. Winthrop quoted some of the well-known lines from the Merchant of Venice, ”On such a night,” etc., Hugh helping him out when he halted for a line. And then Kate asked Hugh whether he could not recite something appropriate to the scene.
”Original, if possible; if not, then quoted. And we won't even ask you whether it is original, or not,” she added. ”You know, we can't _hear_ the quotation marks.”
”On that condition, I will,” said Hugh, and, after a few moments'
thought, he began:--
”Never a ripple on all the river As it lies like a mirror beneath the moon, Only the shadows tremble and quiver, With the balmy breath of a night in June; All dark and silent, each shadowy island Like a silhouette lies on the silver ground, While, just above us, a rocky highland Towers grim and dusk, with its pine trees crowned.
Never a sound, save the oar's soft splas.h.i.+ng, As the boat drifts idly the sh.o.r.e along, And the arrowy fireflies, silently flas.h.i.+ng, Gleam, living diamonds, the woods among!
And the night-hawk darts o'er the bay's broad bosom, And the loon's laugh breaks on the midnight calm, And the luscious breath of the wild vine's blossom, Wafts from the rocks, like a tide of balm!
Drifting, why cannot we drift forever Let all the world and its worries go!-- Let us float and float on the flowing river, Whither,--we neither care nor know;-- Dreaming a dream, might we ne'er awaken!
There's joy enough in this pa.s.sive bliss; The wrestling crowd and its cares forsaken Was ever Nirvana more blest than this?
Nay! but our hearts are forever lifting The screen of the present,--however fair,-- Not long, not long, may we go on drifting,-- Not long enjoy surcease from care!
Ours is a n.o.bler task and guerdon Than aimless, drifting, however blest; Only the heart that can bear the burden Can share the joy of the victor's rest!”
”Well, I appreciate the poetry, of course,” said Mr. Winthrop, when Kate had duly thanked the reciter, ”but, I am glad _that_ did not come from _me_! We Americans are always getting the credit of being too restless for repose,--for enjoying anything in a leisurely manner. But it seems there are other people who, like Faust, cannot say to the present moment, 'Stay, thou art fair!'”
”I'm afraid that's a trait of the age,” replied Hugh. ”But I rather think it is n.o.bler, on the whole, to be always 'pressing on to the things that are before.'”
”We look before and after And pine for what is not!”
quoted Mr. Winthrop--”even in the beauty of this exquisite night.”
And after that no words were spoken till the two canoes grated, almost at the same moment, on the pebbly beach.
The sojourn at Sumach Lodge was now nearly at an end, for our party had still far to go, and much to see. The next day was to be devoted to an excursion in the steam-yacht to a bit of very picturesque scenery some few miles down the main sh.o.r.e of the river--”a miniature Saguenay,” as Mr. Leslie described it, and, at the same time, they were to get a glimpse of the Canoe Camp which had been just opened, and which was to have an illumination in the evening that they all wanted to see.
They started early next morning for Halstead Bay, where the picturesque little ”rift” or _canon_ began. The _Oneida_ carried them swiftly down the few miles of river, till within the curve of the bay which was hemmed in by high wooded hills, where they disembarked from the yacht, in which they could not proceed much further, and had recourse to the skiffs which they had brought in tow. As they rowed farther up, the hills drew nearer to the bay or creek until they became almost sheer precipices, rising up, weather-worn and splintered, from the narrowing channel, which was full of reeds and water plants and fleets of water-lilies, from which they supplied themselves to their hearts' content. Here and there the stern rugged crags were festooned with trailing plants and delicate harebells, in what May declared were natural hanging baskets. Cranes and water-hens flew up from the tall sedges, and Kate pointed out to Mr. Winthrop a fine loon diving for his food. ”Very likely you will hear him laugh, by and by,”--said Kate, for he had been expressing some curiosity as to the loon's laugh in the verses Hugh had recited. ”We often hear its 'laugh' at Sumach Lodge,” she said, ”and very weird it sounds at night. I don't know whether its elfin 'laugh' or its cry seems the most uncanny. It has interested Hugh so much, and so has the old legend of Clote-scarp and the loon.”
And as Mr. Winthrop had never heard this legend, Hugh told the Indian story, how Clote-scarp, or Glooscap--the Micmac Hiawatha, had at length, wearied with the cruelty and wickedness of man and the savage warfare of the brute creation, departed from the land until the reign of peace should be re-established; and that the loon awaits his return, and laments his absence in the melancholy cry which it utters from time to time. ”Curious,” he added, ”how that idea of the Deliverer, temporarily departed, seems to have taken root in all lands, from Arthur and Barbaroosa to Hiawatha and Clote-scarp. But what a magnificent cliff that is!” for now they had nearly reached the head of the little _canon_, and the higher bluffs seemed to grow grander and more picturesque as the channel narrowed.
”It is really a very good reduction of the Saguenay,” said Mr.
Winthrop, ”and the scale of proportion is very well carried out. That, for instance, would do very well for a miniature Cape Eternity. But it is as well to see _this first_!”
At the head of the _canon_ the crags closed up, leaving only a narrow channel, through which a tiny stream struggled through the great rugged boulders in a miniature cascade. They all landed and amused themselves for some time in scrambling about among the rocks, trying to thread the course of the streamlet, or climbing the neighboring hill, from which some of the young men, including Hugh and Mr.
Winthrop, reported a magnificent view. The less ambitious of the party strolled about at the lower level, plucking raspberries which grew in great abundance among the rocks, while Flora tried to sketch roughly the charming view from the high ground above the little waterfall. Too soon, as it seemed, the order was given to re-embark and descend the _canon_ to the bay, where the steam-yacht had been left, and where their lunch was also awaiting them. Mrs. Leslie with Mrs. Sandford and one or two ladies who had visited the place before, had remained near the steam-yacht, and when the party in the skiffs returned,--a little hot and very hungry,--they found a most attractive-looking luncheon, with fresh fruit, iced milk and various other luxuries most tempting to tired sight-seers on a warm day, spread on a charming point, with glimpses of still waters and beds of snowy water lilies on both sides of its wooded slope.
After thoroughly enjoying their luncheon, they all had a long rest under the softly waving trees, through which a light breeze was whispering, cooling the noontide heat of the August day. Then they re-embarked on the steam-yacht and directed their course across the river towards the Canoe Camp, which was pitched on a picturesque island most admirably adapted for its purposes. They soon encountered token of its presence, in the light canoes which darted gracefully hither and thither, some of them winged by the daintiest little snowy sails, looking like white b.u.t.terflies as they danced over the sparkling blue waves rippled by the freshening afternoon breeze. The steam launch soon glided up to the landing pier, in a sheltered bay overlooked by charming wooded slopes, on which gleamed the white tents which dotted the island. It abounded in pretty sheltered coves, each of which formed the harbor for a little fleet of canoes belonging to some particular club--all nearly uniform in pattern. Some of the clubs used ”Rob Roy” canoes, which were marvels of beauty, with their finely polished wood, and paddles, and luxurious silver mountings. Each club had its tents near its harbor, and a large marquee did duty as a common dining-hall. The lady members of the a.s.sociation had their own particular little settlement, which was called the ”Squaw's Point.”
Camp fires were lighted here and there, carrying out the primitive Indian character of the whole. The party had just time for a hasty stroll about the island before the beginning of the races, which they had the best opportunity of witnessing from their steam-yacht, carrying them from point to point, in order to extend their view at will.