Upon leaving Sam the boys went down to the river front where they had left their canoes.
“We had better get out of the city before dark,” said Chot, “and find a good camping place, if possible.”
“Yes; for if we spent the night in the city we would have to leave our canoes with a stranger, and I’m not in favor of that,” said Bert.
They found their canoes in the same condition as when they left them, floating alongside the fishing sloop. The captain of the sloop, a French-Canadian, sat on the deck nearby, smoking a short-stemmed pipe. When the boys appeared he arose with a grunt and helped them from the wharf on to the deck.
“You lak de ceetey—eh?” he inquired, leering at them through beady black eyes.
“Yes; it’s a fine town,” said Chot. “We like it very much.”
“Oh, Montreal, she pretty good place,” said the captain. “I leeve here all my life. I lak it, too.”
The boys asked the captain to direct them to the Lachine Canal, which he did. Then they paid him for keeping the canoes while they were up town. He pocketed the change with an indifferent gesture, as much as to say that money did not represent a great deal to him. Then the boys paddled off up the river, past steamers and other crafts, large and small. Entering the canal, which runs right through the heart of the city of Montreal, to enter the river again at Lachine, on the southern shore of the island, the boys paddled rapidly along.
There was a difference in the atmosphere, now; the humidity in evidence during certain portions of the day in the early stages of their trip, was now absent, the air was cool and invigorating, and while the sun was rather warm at times, it was not that suffocating heat that made them stop all labor until the air grew cooler.
Soon they arrived at the Lachine end of the Canal, and as they paddled out into the open water again, and headed for Isle Perrot, which could be seen in the distance, they could see the dangerous Lachine Rapids off to their left, churning the river into foam, and roaring like a miniature Niagara.