Story 3—Chapter 6.
Old Marks offered, the next morning, to go with them, telling them that the current in the river was so strong that they would not stem it by themselves. They saw that he spoke the truth, and were very glad to have his help. The rain ceasing, they started soon after breakfast with as much of Mr Landon’s goods as the canoe would carry.
Tony thought Rob a very good canoe-man, but he found the old trapper a far better; and it was curious to see the way in which he managed the canoe, even among rapids, into which few persons would have ventured. His strength, too, was very great—for he dragged the canoe, heavily laden as it was, all the way along the portage over the snow; for the frost came on again that evening, and in exposed places hardened the ground. They found it much colder camping out by the lake than they had done in the woods.
As soon as it was dark, the old trapper lighted a torch, and with a spear went out in the canoe. The fish came up to the light as moths do to a candle, and were seen by the old sportsman’s sharp eye; and in the course of a few minutes he had killed more fish than he and his two young companions could eat for their supper and breakfast. With the canoe to keep off the wind, and a blazing fire, they did not complain of the cold. The paddle across the lake, however, exposed to the biting wind, was the coldest part of the journey.
They had made some way along the lake, when Tommy, who had nothing to do but to look about him, said that he saw some one walking about on an island, and making signals.
“Some Indian just warming himself this cold day,” said Tony laughing.
“May be, it’s no business of ours,” said Tommy.
“Boys, if a fellow-creature is in distress, it’s our business to go and see if we can help him,” observed old Marks gravely, and turned the head of the canoe towards the island. “If he’s not in distress it is only a little of our time lost, and better lose a great deal than leave a human being to perish, whatever the colour of his skin.”
Tony and Tommy felt rebuked for their carelessness. On getting near the island, who should they see but Pat Honan, one of the men who had been employed chopping for Michael Hale. He now looked very blue. He could not speak, and could scarcely move his hands.
“He’d have been frozen to death in a few more minutes,” said Marks. “Light a fire, lads, quick, and we’ll warm him up.”
He threw one of the buffalo robes over the man, and poured a few drops of whiskey down his throat, while the boys made up a blazing fire. Marks turned poor Pat round and round before it, rubbing and beating him. As soon as Pat could speak, he cried out, “Arrah, it was the whiskey, the whiskey did it all; ahone, ahone! if it wasn’t for that, Pater Disney might have been alive and well.”
“What about Peter Disney?” asked Marks.
“Oh, ahone, ahone! he lies out there stark and cold,” answered Pat, pointing to the other end of the island.
As soon as Pat got well enough to be left for a little while, with Tommy to look after him and keep up the fire, Marks and Tony paddled round to where he pointed. There they found a boat knocking against some rocks, and, on landing, not far off was the body of Peter Disney, frozen stiff, though covered up with a blanket. He was sitting upright with his mouth open. A dreadful picture. Nothing could be done for him, so they again covered him up, and towed the boat out from among the rocks.
“I should like to write over his head, ‘Drink did it,’” said the old man: “if I was more of a scholar I would.”
As the canoe would not hold another passenger, they all got into the big boat and towed her. Marks, Pat, and Tommy took the oars while Tony steered.
“Well, Pat, how did it happen?” asked Marks.
“Why, do you see, Pater and I was going to do some work for a new settler at the farther end of the lake, and so we hired a boat to make a short cut—a long cut it’ll be for Pater, seeing he’ll never get there; och, ahone, ahone! Says Pater, ‘We’ll not do without provisions, Pat, and so I’ll be after getting Home, and jist a drop of whiskey to wash them down.’ I axes him if he’d got them all right. ‘All right,’ says he, as we shoved off. All right it wasn’t though, for when I came to axe for some bread and cheese and a slice of pork, he hadn’t got any. Indeed, faith, he’d forgotten all else but a big bottle of the cratur. ‘It’s a bad bargain,’ says I; but I thought we’d make the best of it. We rowed, and we took a pull at the bottle, and we rowed again, and then another pull; but Pater took two pulls for my one—worse luck for him,—and so we went on till somehow or other we both fell asleep. When we woke up, there we were in the middle of a rice-bed. How to get out was a hard job, when Pater, in trying to shove with the oar, fell overboard. I caught him by one leg just as he was going to be drownded entirely, but he was little better than a mass of ice in a few minutes, in spite of the whiskey inside of him. I at last got him on shore, and covered him up with a blanket, but before long he was as stiff as an icicle, and though I shouted as loud as I could, and bate him with a big stick, I couldn’t make him hear or feel. Ahone, ahone! och the whiskey! I’d rather that never a drop should pass my lips again, than to die as Pater Disney.”
Several families of Irish had lately arrived at the settlement, to some of whom Peter Disney was related.
As soon as Pat Honan drew near the shore, where many of them were standing watching the boat, he shouted out that Peter was dead. Forthwith they set up a fearful howl, in which others as they came up joined them, till the whole party were howling away in concert, led by Pat, who cried out, “Ah, it was drink—the cratur,—’twas drink, drink that did it.”
Rob and Susan had arrived safely with the sleigh. As soon as the ground hardened, Rob set off in the canoe, and brought the luggage-sleigh home by the snow road formed through the woods, along the borders of the lake.