My sister laughingly said, “What if we climb on to the large piece of ice that seems ready to crack?” No sooner thought of than done. And behold, both of us walking on the ice trying to break it loose. All of a sudden, a loud shout from Jarrett made us understand that we had succeeded. As a matter of fact, our ice bark was already floating free in the narrow channel of the river that remained always open through the force of the current. My sister and I sat down, for the piece of ice rocked about in every direction, making both of us laugh inordinately. Jarrett’s cries caused people to gather. Men armed with boat hooks endeavored to stop our progress, but it was not easy, for the edges of the channel were too friable to bear the weight of a man. Ropes were thrown out to us. We caught hold of one of them with our four hands, but the sudden pull of the men in drawing us toward them cast our raft so suddenly against the icy edges that it broke in two, and we remained, full of fear this time, on one small part of our skiff. I laughed no longer, for we were beginning to travel somewhat fast, and the channel was opening out in width. But in one of the turns it made, we were fortunately squeezed in between two immense blocks, and to this fact we owed being able to escape with our lives. The men who bad followed our very rapid ride with real courage, climbed on to the blocks. A harpoon was thrown with marvelous skill on to our icy wreck so as to retain us in our position, for the current, rather strong underneath, might have caused us to move. A ladder was brought and planted against one of the large blocks, and its steps afforded us means of delivery. My sister was the first to climb up and I followed, somewhat ashamed at our ridiculous escapade.
During the length of time required to regain the bank, the carriage, with Jarrett in it, was able to rejoin us. He was pallid, not from fear of the danger I had undergone, but at the idea that if I died the tour would come to an end. He said to me quite seriously, “If you had lost your life, madam, you would have been dishonest, for you would have broken your contract of your own free will.”
We had just enough time to get to the station where the train was ready to take me to Springfield.
An immense crowd was waiting and it was with the same cry of love, underlined with au-revoirs, that the Canadian public wished us good-by.
CHAPTER XXVIII
MY TOUR OF THE WESTERN STATES
After our immense and noisy success at Montreal, we were somewhat surprised with the icy welcome of the public at Springfield.
We played “La Dame aux Camélias,” in America “Camille”—why? No one was ever able to tell me. This play, that the public rushed to see in crowds, shocked the overstrained Puritanism of the small American states. The critics of the large cities discussed this modern Magdalene. But those of the small towns began by throwing stones at her. This stilted reserve on the part of the public, prejudiced against the impurity of Marguerite Gautier, we met with from time to time in the small cities. Springfield at that time had barely thirty thousand inhabitants.
During the day I passed at Springfield I called at a gunsmiths to purchase a Colt gun. The salesman showed me into a long and very narrow courtyard where I tried several guns. On turning round, I was surprised and confused to see two gentlemen taking an interest in my shooting. I wished to withdraw at once, but one of them came up to me—“Would you like, madam, to come and fire off a cannon?” I almost fell to the ground with surprise, and did not reply for a second. Then I said, “Yes, I would.”
An appointment was made with my strange questioner, who was the director of the Colt gun factory. An hour afterwards I went to the rendezvous.