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Presently Phil was able to recognize the familiar words of an old voyageur chantey, a paddling song of the French-Canadian rivermen: "En roulant, ma boulé, roulant; En roulant, ma bo-u-lé." With paddles swinging in unison to the rhythm came four men in a large Indian canoe, speeding with the current down the centre of Indian creek.
Achille Picard raised a high tenor voice, fixing the air, "En roulant ma boule roulante, En roulant ma boule." And the voyageurs swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducks and the naughty prince with his magic gun. "Derrièr' chez-nous y-a-t-un 'ètang, En roulant ma boule." The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes. "I shall never see them again," she explained, wistfully.
Reaching the shore, we marched together, I singing the refrain of an old French song as we went, En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule so attracting the attention of the Indians. The better to deceive, we all were now dressed in the costume of the French peasant I had taken pains to have Mr.
Reaching the shore, we marched together, I singing the refrain of an old French song as we went, En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule so attracting the attention of the Indians. The better to deceive, we all were now dressed in the costume of the French peasant I had taken pains to have Mr.
The sharp click of the iron hoofs on the road; the strong rush of the river; the sweet smell of the maple and the pungent balsam; the dank rich odour of the cedar swamp; the cry of the loon from the water; the flaming crane in the fishing-boat; the fisherman, spear in hand, staring into the dark waters tinged with sombre red; the voice of a lonely settler keeping time to the ping of the axe as, lengthening out his day to nightly weariness, he felled a tree; river-drivers' camps spotted along the shore; huge cribs or rafts which had swung down the great stream for scores of miles, the immense oars motionless, the little houses on the timbers blinking with light; and from cheerful raftsmen coming the old familiar song of the rivers: "En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant ma boule!"
Six paddlers there were for this great canot du Nord, and steadily enough they sent the thin-shelled craft along over the curling blue waves of the great inland sea. And now their voices in one accord fell into the cadences of an ancient boat-song of New France: "En roulant ma loule, roulant, Roulant, rouler, ma boule roulant."
Then one might have heard all the picturesque songs of the Far North "A la claire Fontaine"; "Ma Boule Roulant"; "Par derrier' chez-mon Pere"; "Isabeau s'y promene"; "P'tite Jeanneton"; "Luron, Lurette"; "Chante, Rossignol, chante"; the ever-popular "Malbrouck"; "C'est la belle Francoise"; "Alouette"; or the beautiful and tender "La Violette Dandine."
Malo, within the walls, is ancient and picturesque enough, and dirty, too, if one be speciously critical; but the fact is that the modern Pont Roulant, and the omnific toot of the steam-tram, ever present in one's sight and hearing, are forcible reminders of the march of time. St. Servan, so far as its cathedral is concerned, may be dismissed in a word. The ancient see of St.
And with sympathetic exhilaration, I swing into the old life again on the current of the jovial chorus: "En roulant, ma boule roulant: En roulant, ma boule!" Roll, roll on, my rolling ball." .... "Pourvu qu'ils vivent noblement et ne fassent aucun acte dérogeant
When lunch was over, and we had again set forth upon the Whi-Whi, I asked Ruth to sing an old French-Canadian song which she had once before sung to us. Many a time the woods of the West had resounded to the notes of 'En Roulant ma Boule', as the 'voyageurs' traversed the long paths of the Ottawa, St. Lawrence, and Mississippi; brave light-hearted fellows, whose singing days were over.
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