“Goodness! I can hardly wait for the end of August when our scoutmaster will get his vacation and we’re to camp out on the Sugarloaf Dunes,” said Leon Chase. “You can see the white dunes from here, Nix. It’s a great old Sugarloaf, isn’t it?” pointing across broad, pearly plains of water which at high tide spread out on either side of the central tidal channel, at the crystalline sand-pillar, guarding the mouth of the tidal river.
“The other sand-hills look like a row of tall, snowy breakers at this distance. Whew! aren’t they splendid—with that bright blue sky-line behind them? I expect we’ll just have the ‘time of our lives’ when we camp out there!” came in blissful accents from the patrol leader.
“Well! we’re not going to land on the dunes to-day,” said Captain Andy, who was standing up forward, steering the gasolene launch, his keen eyes scanning the plains of water from under his visored cap, in search of Spotty Seal’s sleek dog-like head cleaving the ripples as he swam, with his strong hind-flippers propelling him along.
“Whoo’! Whoo’! she threw the water a bit that time; didn’t she, lads?” alluding to his motor-boat, as the April breeze plucked a crisp sheet of spray from the breast of the high tide, like a white leaf from a book, and laughingly threw it at the occupants of the launch. “But that’s nothing!” went on the old skipper. “Bless ye, boys, I’ve been down this river in a rowboat when the seas would come tumbling in on me from the bay, each looking big as a house as it shoved its white comb along! ’Twould rear itself like a glassy roof over the boat and I’d think it meant ‘day, day!’ to me, but I’d crawl out somehow. An’ I’ve lived to tell the tale.
“But I’m gettin’ too old for such scrapes now,” went on the old sea-fighter. “I’m going to turn ‘Hayseed!’ You mayn’t believe it, but I am!” glowering at the laughing, incredulous scouts. “I’m about buying a piece o’ land that’s only half cleared o’ timber yet, up Exmouth way; going to start a farm. But, great sailor! how’ll I ever get along with a cow. That’s what stumps me.”
“We’ll come out an’ milk her for you, Captain Andy,” volunteered with one breath the boy scouts, their merry voices ringing out over the mother-of-pearl plains of water, bounded on one side by the headlands of a bold shore, on the other by green peninsulas of salt-marsh, insulated at high water by the winding creeks that burrowed among them, and farther on by the radiant dunes.
“I’ll t’ink he no lak’ for be tie to cow, me!” Toiney nodded mischievously at the sea-captain. Then, all of a sudden, his voice exploded gutturally like a bomb: “Gard’ donc! Gard’ donc, de gros seal! Sapré tonnere! deux gros seal. Two beeg seal! V’là V’là! shes jomp right out o’ reever—engh!”
The excited Canadian’s gesticulating hands drew every eye in the direction he indicated, which was a little to the left of the central tidal channel, between them and the straying creeks.
And the scouts’ excitement fairly fizzed like a burning fuse as, mingled with Toiney’s cry, sounded a hoarse bark, wafted across the plains of water, the harsh “Beow!” or “Weow!” according as the semi-distant ear might translate it, of an angry bull-seal.
Each boy’s heart leaped into his distended throat at the sound, but not so high as leaped the bull-seal, to whom the other term significant of his male gender—that of dog-seal—hardly applied, for he outweighed half a dozen good-sized dogs.