Camping on the St. Lawrence; Or, On the Trail of the Early Discoverers

by Everett T. Tomlinson

On the way home Mr. Clarke had related the further story of the exploits of the “pirate,” Bill Johnston, but it is doubtful whether any of the party retained a very clear recollection of the dark doings of the aforesaid Bill, and even Bob himself had only a dim impression that after various brilliant-hued deeds, in the so-called patriot war, he had been captured and taken to Albany, but had soon procured a release and returned to the Thousand Islands, where among his various occupations he had been keeper of one of the lighthouses to the day of his death.

Miss Bessie had not entered the canoe races, as her father had objected, but she had expressed her willingness to race with Ben whenever he felt disposed to enter into a contest with her. Whether it was her challenge or not, I cannot say, but in the days which followed there were many hours spent by our boys at “The Rocks,” or in coursing over the river in Mr. Clarke’s fleet yacht.

And what days they were! Every morning brought its own fresh experiences, and it was the regular thing for the boys to declare at night when they returned to the camp and prepared for bed, that this was the best day yet.

But all things are said to have an end, and certainly the camp on Pine Tree Island proved to be no exception to the rule. The September days had come, and though the crowds about the river became decidedly thinned, our boys still remained, and Jock’s mother was still at the hotel at Alexandria Bay. Only one week remained before the beginning of the fall term in college, and it was at last decided that on the morrow the camp should be broken.

It was with special pleasure the last evening in camp that Jock broached a subject to Ethan and Tom in which he had been deeply interested, and concerning which he had had much correspondence with his father, and that was the promise of a position for Tom in Mr. Cope’s office in New York.

Ethan at first was inclined to demur, but at last gave his consent, inasmuch as the position promised to be one which eventually might yield even more than the marvellous “dollar and a half a day,” to which he had made such frequent references during the summer.

The last visit to the Clarkes had been made, the last sail taken in Ethan’s catboat, the last spin enjoyed in the canoes, and now the boys were seated together for the last time before the roaring camp-fire, which in honor of the occasion had been made even larger than usual. Far out over the river the flickering lights cast their shadows. The moaning in the tree tops was more pronounced, as was only fitting in a September evening and before the departure of the boys. The sound of the laughter in the camp was more subdued, and all seemed to feel the sadness of parting, even from such inanimate objects as the rushing river and the green-covered islands.

For a time the boys were silent, then Ben, who could not long refrain from talking, said, “It’s been a great summer, Jock. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you.”