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Updated: May 1, 2025
The last mile of the river's course before joining the lake consisted of deep, smooth "dead-water"; but, a strong wind from the north-west having sprung up toward the end of the day, the bateau drove on with undiminished speed.
"Here's Major Skeene's big bateau an' Major Skeene's nigger, too!" as the loud and angry voice of a black man was heard across the calm water. "The boys are having a hard time with our black-and-tan friend," said Bolderwood with a chuckle. Then he held up his hand for silence. "Hark! there's the ring of a horse's hoof and the tramp of feet. The troops are coming."
Tom was making an effort to be very kind, and even lover-like to his fiancée, who was easily comforted, and who, on her return to Le Bateau told her father plainly that the party must be given up, as it would be sadly out of place and deeply offend the Tracys. Very unwillingly Peterkin gave it up, and sent word to that effect to Mrs.
David's feet trod in thick rugs of fur; he saw the dim luster of polished birch and cedar in the walls, and over his head the ceiling was rich and matched, as in the bateau cabin. They drew nearer to the music and came to a closed door. This Black Roger opened very quietly, as if anxious not to disturb the one who was playing. They entered, and David held his breath.
It was decided that Dan and Quin should try their luck on the following day; and having taken an early breakfast, they started in the bateau, rowing down the bayou in the direction of the lake. Dan was provided with a fowling piece, while Quin was to try his luck as a fisherman.
Here, too, was the second divan, and he saw the meaning now of two close-tied curtains, one at each side of the cabin. Drawn together on a taut wire stretched two inches under the ceiling, they shut off this end of the bateau and turned at least a third of the cabin into the privacy of the woman's bedroom. With growing uneasiness David saw the evidences that this had been her sleeping apartment.
There was silence of human voice ashore, but under him he heard the lapping murmur of water as it rustled under the stern and side of the bateau, and from the deep timber came the never-ceasing whisper of the spruce and cedar tops, and the subdued voice of creatures whose hours of activity had come with the dying out of the sun. For a long time he sat in this darkness.
Is the ferryman your father?" "Yes, sir; he is." "Well, the money's gone," added Mr. Randall. "We will go back to the ferry-boat." "Did you find it?" asked John Wilford, as the bank director stepped into the bateau. "No; but I'm certain it has not gone to the bottom." "Where is it, then?" "I don't know; can you tell me?" Mr. Randall looked at the ferryman very sharply.
One of the earliest American sailors on a lake ship bigger than a bateau, was "Uncle Dacy" Johnson, of Cleveland, who sailed for fifty years, beginning about 1850. "When I was a chunk of a boy," says the old Captain in a letter to a New York paper, "I put a thirty-two pound bundle on my back and started on foot to Buffalo.
A flood of sunlight burst in at the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a shout, and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart started again the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was plucked of everything it had. Carrigan found himself grinning. They were a queer people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners still moved by the superstitions of children.
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