Miss Bingley's Banishment by Ronald McGowan

Author:Ronald McGowan [McGowan, Ronald]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2022-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-five :A Boating Party

Captain Morton was as good as his word. The next morning we found a canoe waiting for us at the quayside, with a pair of native soldiers standing next to it.

“Two Bears, corporal, Third Ontario Auxiliaries, Mr Brandon Sir” one saluted our officer. “ This Tall Tree, private. Where new recruit Tommy Hawks?”

The latter joined us within minutes, and it was quite affecting to see what was evidently a family reunion. We could not understand a word of it, naturally, but it was evident from the hugging and the backslapping that all three had met before.

“These my cousins,” Hawks told us at length. “They joke me about my new rifle, call it baby gun, not like their big muskets. We see when we meet Americans.”

Captain Morton now appeared to see us off, but just as Mr Tree was untying the painter, another Canadian, with a sergeant’s stripes on his arm came running up.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, with a salute, “there’s a scout just come in and I think you’d best hear what he has to say.”

“What’s it all about, sergeant?”

“Best not say, out in public like this sir, excuse me, sir.”

“Very well, I shall come directly.”

“I am sorry,” he continued, “but I had best see to this. It will be something and nothing, I dare say. The tribesmen love to exaggerate, but it is best to humour them. I look forward to hearing all about your day when I see you tonight.”

And so, with the comforting arm of Mr Brandon to assist us we boarded our bark, and set off, into a beautiful morning of late summer.

Bark, it turned out, was definitely le mot juste for our craft, for, as I was interested to learn, that is what it was made of. The paper-thin hull seemed very fragile to me, and I perched rather uncomfortably on the blanket Mr Brandon had folded on the floor, and found I could not stop my fingers drumming on the papier maché sides. Fanny, meanwhile, sat stock still ,as if any movement would doom us all to a cold, watery grave.

Mr Brandon assured us that these conveyances were perfectly safe, and had been used locally for hundreds of years, but the sighs of relief we both gave when at last we came within sight of a sandy beach and drew up to it so that our paddlers could pull us ashore were perfectly genuine.

“We go top of hill now, see my home, see my people. Come!” said Hawks, and motioned us to follow. Taking one end of the picnic hamper while Two Bears took the other, he led the way.

“Is Mr Tree not coming with us?” enquired Fanny.

“He watch canoe, see no thieving redskins take it. We change later.”

The shore was rather steep as all the lakeside had been as we travelled there, and a narrow path climbed up it, zigzagging between crowded trees and scattered rocks. We had turned several corners, and our landing point was out of sight, when we heard shouting behind us, followed by what sounded ominously like gunshots.

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