“Boat ahoy!”
For an instant I stared at Alec stupidly, and then, realizing how careless we had been, I sprang to my feet, looking wildly about.
The cry was repeated, and by bending outboard ever so slightly I saw just ahead of us, where we must have run her down had we held the course two or three minutes longer, a small boat, better known to us in Presque Isle by the name of bateau—a craft half canoe, half skiff, such as the Canadians use on swiftly running water—and in her, but making no effort to paddle out of the way, was a lad of about my own age, who waved his arms frantically to attract our attention.
I pulled the tiller up so that we might pass him on the starboard side, and as our boat swung off I understood why he had remained idle until we were near to running him down.
In the bateau was not so much as a paddle. The lad was powerless to direct her movements, and I stared at him stupidly in amazement, wondering how it chanced that he should thus be drifting so far from land at the mercy of wind and wave.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Afterward renamed the Trippe.
CHAPTER VI.
LEON MARCHAND.
While Alec and I gazed at the frightened-looking occupant of the bateau, our craft was gliding swiftly by, and the lad, believing we intended to leave him in his plight, shrieked wildly:—
“In the name of mercy take me aboard your boat! Do not desert me!”