VIEW THE MOBILE VERSION of Informational Site Network Informational
   Home - Science Fiction Stories - Western Stories

The Canoe

From: After London

Felix had scarcely worked half an hour before Oliver returned and threw
himself on the ground at full length. He had wearied of fishing, the
delicate adjustment of the tackle and the care necessary to keep the
hook and line from catching in the branches had quickly proved too much
for his patience. He lay on the grass, his feet towards the stream which
ran and bubbled beneath, and watched Felix chipping out the block
intended to fit into the secret opening or locker.

"Is it nearly finished, then?" he said presently. "What a time you have
been at it!"

"Nearly three months."

"Why did you make it so big? It is too big."

"Is it really? Perhaps I want to put some things in it."

"Oh, I see; cargo. But where are you going to launch it?"

"Below the stones there."

"Well, you won't be able to go far; there's an old fir across the river
down yonder, and a hollow willow has fallen in. Besides, the stream's
too shallow; you'll take ground before you get half a mile."

"Shall I?"

"Of course you will. That boat will float six inches deep by herself,
and I'm sure there's not six inches by the Thorns."

"Very awkward."

"Why didn't you have a hide boat made, with a willow framework and
leather cover? Then you might perhaps get down the river by hauling it
past the shallows and the fallen trees. In two days' time you would be
in the hands of the gipsies."

"And you would be Sir Constans' heir!"

"Now, come, I say; that's too bad. You know I didn't mean that. Besides,
I think I'm as much his heir as you now" (looking at his sinewy arm);
"at least, he doesn't listen as much to you. I mean, the river runs into
the gipsies' country as straight as it can go."

"Just so."

"Well, you seem very cool about it!"

"I am not going down the river."

"Then, where are you going?"

"On the Lake."

"Whew!" (whistling) "Pooh! Why, the Lake's--let me see, to Heron Bay
it's quite fifteen miles. You can't paddle across the land."

"But I can put the canoe on a cart."

"Aha! why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because I did not wish anyone to know. Don't say anything."

"Not I. But what on earth, or rather, on water, are you driving at?
Where are you going? What's the canoe for?"

"I am going a voyage. But I will tell you all when it is ready.

Meantime, I rely on you to keep silence. The rest think the boat is for
the river."

"I will not say a word. But why did you not have a hide boat?"

"They are not strong enough. They can't stand knocking about."

"If you want to go a voyage (where to, I can't imagine), why not take a
passage on board a ship?"

"I want to go my own way. They will only go theirs. Nor do I like the

"Well, certainly the sailors are the roughest lot I know. Still, that
would not have hurt you. You are rather dainty, Sir Felix!"

"My daintiness does not hurt you."

"Can't I speak?" (sharply)

"Please yourself."

A silence. A cuckoo sang in the forest, and was answered from a tree
within the distant palisade. Felix chopped away slowly and deliberately;
he was not a good workman. Oliver watched his progress with contempt; he
could have put it into shape in half the time. Felix could draw, and
design; he could invent, but he was not a practical workman, to give
speedy and accurate effect to his ideas.

"My opinion is," said Oliver, "that that canoe will not float upright.
It's one-sided."

Felix, usually so self-controlled, could not refrain from casting his
chisel down angrily. But he picked it up again, and said nothing. This
silence had more influence upon Oliver, whose nature was very generous,
than the bitterest retort. He sat up on the sward.

"I will help launch it," he said. "We could manage it between us, if you
don't want a lot of the fellows down here."

"Thank you. I should like that best."

"And I will help you with the cart when you start."

Oliver rolled over on his back, and looked up idly at the white flecks
of cloud sailing at a great height.

"Old Mouse is a wretch not to give me a command," he said presently.

Felix looked round involuntarily, lest any one should have heard; Mouse
was the nick-name for the Prince. Like all who rule with irresponsible
power, the Prince had spies everywhere. He was not a cruel man, nor a
benevolent, neither clever nor foolish, neither strong nor weak; simply
an ordinary, a very ordinary being, who chanced to sit upon a throne
because his ancestors did, and not from any personal superiority.

He was at times much influenced by those around him; at others he took
his own course, right or wrong; at another he let matters drift. There
was never any telling in the morning what he might do towards night, for
there was no vein of will or bias running through his character. In
fact, he lacked character; he was all uncertainty, except in jealousy of
his supremacy. Possibly some faint perception of his own incapacity, of
the feeble grasp he had upon the State, that seemed outwardly so
completely his, occasionally crossed his mind.

Hence the furious scenes with his brother; hence the sudden
imprisonments and equally sudden pardons; the spies and eavesdroppers,
the sequestration of estates for no apparent cause. And, following these
erratic severities to the suspected nobles, proclamations giving
privileges to the people, and removing taxes. But in a few days these
were imposed again, and men who dared to murmur were beaten by the
soldiers, or cast into the dungeons. Yet Prince Louis (the family were
all of the same name) was not an ill-meaning man; he often meant well,
but had no stability or firmness of purpose.

This was why Felix dreaded lest some chance listener should hear Oliver
abuse him. Oliver had been in the army for some time; his excellence in
all arms, and especially with lance and sword, his acknowledged courage,
and his noble birth, entitled him to a command, however lowly it might
be. But he was still in the ranks, and not the slightest recognition had
ever been taken of his feats, except, indeed, if whispers were true, by
some sweet smiles from a certain lady of the palace, who admired
knightly prowess.

Oliver chafed under this neglect.

"I would not say that kind of thing," remarked Felix. "Certainly it is

"Annoying! that is a mild expression. Of course, everyone knows the
reason. If we had any money, or influence, it would be very different.
But Sir Constans has neither gold nor power, and he might have had

"There was a clerk from the notary's at the house yesterday evening,"
said Felix.

"About the debts, no doubt. Some day the cunning old scoundrel, when he
can squeeze no more interest out of us, will find a legal quibble and
take the lot."

"Or put us in the Blue Chamber, the first time the Prince goes to war
and wants money. The Blue Chamber will say, 'Where can we get it? Who's
weakest?' 'Why, Sir Constans!' 'Then away with him.'"

"Yes, that will be it. Yet I wish a war would happen; there would be
some chance for me. I would go with you in your canoe, but you are going
you don't know where. What's your object? Nothing. You don't know


"No, you don't; you're a dreamer."

"I am afraid it is true."

"I hate dreams." After a pause, in a lower voice, "Have you any money?"

Felix took out his purse and showed him the copper pieces.

"The eldest son of Constans Aquila with ten copper pieces," growled
Oliver, rising, but taking them all the same. "Lend them to me. I'll try
them on the board to-night. Fancy me putting down copper! It's
intolerable" (working himself into a rage). "I'll turn bandit, and rob
on the roads. I'll go to King Yeo and fight the Welsh. Confusion!"

He rushed into the forest, leaving his spear on the sward.

Felix quietly chipped away at the block he was shaping, but his temper,
too, was inwardly rising. The same talk, varied in detail, but the same
in point, took place every time the brothers were together, and always
with the same result of anger. In earlier days Sir Constans had been as
forward in all warlike exercises as Oliver was now, and being possessed
of extraordinary physical strength, took a leading part among men.
Wielding his battle-axe with irresistible force, he distinguished
himself in several battles and sieges.

He had a singular talent for mechanical construction (the wheel by which
water was drawn from the well at the palace was designed by him), but
this very ingenuity was the beginning of his difficulties. During a long
siege, he invented a machine for casting large stones against the walls,
or rather put it together from the fragmentary descriptions he had seen
in authors, whose works had almost perished before the dispersion of the
ancients; for he, too, had been studious in youth.

The old Prince was highly pleased with this engine, which promised him
speedy conquest over his enemies, and the destruction of their
strongholds. But the nobles who had the hereditary command of the siege
artillery, which consisted mainly of battering-rams, could not endure to
see their prestige vanishing. They caballed, traduced the Baron, and he
fell into disgrace. This disgrace, as he was assured by secret messages
from the Prince, was but policy; he would be recalled so soon as the
Prince felt himself able to withstand the pressure of the nobles. But it
happened that the old Prince died at that juncture, and the present
Prince succeeded.

The enemies of the Baron, having access to him, obtained his confidence;
the Baron was arrested and amerced in a heavy fine, the payment of which
laid the foundation of those debts which had since been constantly
increasing. He was then released, but was not for some two years
permitted to approach the Court. Meantime, men of not half his descent,
but with an unblushing brow and unctuous tongue, had become the
favourites at the palace of the Prince, who, as said before, was not
bad, but the mere puppet of circumstances.

Into competition with these vulgar flatterers Aquila could not enter. It
was indeed pride, and nothing but pride, that had kept him from the
palace. By slow degrees he had sunk out of sight, occupying himself more
and more with mechanical inventions, and with gardening, till at last he
had come to be regarded as no more than an agriculturist. Yet in this
obscure condition he had not escaped danger.

The common people were notoriously attached to him. Whether this was due
to his natural kindliness, his real strength of intellect, and charm of
manner, or whether it was on account of the uprightness with which he
judged between them, or whether it was owing to all these things
combined, certain it is that there was not a man on the estate that
would not have died for him. Certain it is, too, that he was beloved by
the people of the entire district, and more especially by the shepherds
of the hills, who were freer and less under the control of the patrician
caste. Instead of carrying disputes to the town, to be adjudged by the
Prince's authority, many were privately brought to him.

This, by degrees becoming known, excited the jealousy and anger of the
Prince, an anger cunningly inflamed by the notary Francis, and by other
nobles. But they hesitated to execute anything against him lest the
people should rise, and it was doubtful, indeed, if the very retainers
of the nobles would attack the Old House, if ordered. Thus the Baron's
weakness was his defence. The Prince, to do him justice, soon forgot the
matter, and laughed at his own folly, that he should be jealous of a man
who was no more than an agriculturist.

The rest were not so appeased; they desired the Baron's destruction if
only from hatred of his popularity, and they lost no opportunity of
casting discredit upon him, or of endeavouring to alienate the
affections of the people by representing him as a magician, a thing
clearly proved by his machines and engines, which must have been
designed by some supernatural assistance. But the chief, as the most
immediate and pressing danger, was the debt to Francis the notary, which
might at any moment be brought before the Court.

Thus it was that the three sons found themselves without money or
position, with nothing but a bare patent of nobility. The third and
youngest alone had made any progress, if such it could be called. By
dint of his own persistent efforts, and by enduring insults and rebuffs
with indifference, he had at last obtained an appointment in that
section of the Treasury which received the dues upon merchandise, and
regulated the imposts. He was but a messenger at every man's call; his
pay was not sufficient to obtain his food, still it was an advance, and
he was in a government office. He could but just exist in the town,
sleeping in a garret, where he stored the provisions he took in with him
every Monday morning from the Old House. He came home on the Saturday
and returned to his work on the Monday. Even his patience was almost
worn out.

The whole place was thus falling to decay, while at the same time it
seemed to be flowing with milk and honey, for under the Baron's personal
attention the estate, though so carelessly guarded, had become a very
garden. The cattle had increased, and were of the best kind, the horses
were celebrated and sought for, the sheep valued, the crops the wonder
of the province. Yet there was no money; the product went to the notary.
This extraordinary fertility was the cause of the covetous longing of
the Court favourites to divide the spoil.

Next: Baron Aquila

Previous: The Stockade

Add to Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network

Viewed 493