Sam had turned now and was walking up the street with the boys. He was thoroughly familiar with Montreal, and learning that his friends wanted to see some of the interesting points in the city, agreed to pilot them around.
They visited, in turn, the great Church of Notre Dame; the old French-Canadian market place, with its French signs and throngs of French-Canadians, who still adhere to the tongue and customs of France; the Chateau de Ramezay, once the residence of the French governors, where the treaty was negotiated that lost an empire to France; the ancient Seminary of St. Sulpice, and many other spots, including a tour along the river front, where craft of all shapes and sizes, from ocean-going vessels to the smallest of fishing smacks, were to be observed.
“And you say you are bound for the Thousand Islands?” queried Sam, as the boys finally entered one of the city’s pretty parks and seated themselves on a bench for a chat.
“Yes; we expect to leave in the morning,” Chot replied.
“In your canoes?”
“Surely.”
“Of course, you know that you can’t canoe very far up the St. Lawrence?”
“We can’t? How is that, Sam?”
“The rapids, my boy. Fiercest things you ever saw. Reminds me of Niagara above the falls. I shot the Lachine Rapids, just above Montreal, in a steamer the other day, and I want to tell you there was some excitement on board.”
“And canoes cannot go through the rapids?”