Chapter 4 CONCERNING A LOST CHANNEL

The men from the steamer took possession of the Rambler impudently, acting like ignorant men clothed with small authority. The boys were ordered to the cabin and the door locked.

"We left our manacles on board the Sybil," one of the men announced, "or we'd rig you out with some of the King's jewelry."

"We'll overlook the slight for the present," Case flared back, "but you be sure and bring the jewels at the first opportunity."

"You'll get them quick enough," snarled one of the men. "Three days ago we received notice that you were coming, and we've been watching for you ever since. You came along just in time to be nicely trapped."

"Do you mean that you were watching for the Rambler?" asked Clay, lifting his voice in order that he might be heard through the glass panel of the door. "I'd like to have you tell me about that."

"No one knew the shape you would come in," was the gruff reply. "We only knew that a band of pirates and wreckers who had been luring vessels on the rocks along the bay was preparing to visit the St. Lawrence. Perhaps you will tell me where you stole this fine boat?"

"They must have a big foolish house in this province," Alex taunted, "if all the King's officers are as crazy in the cupola as you are."

"Let them alone," urged Clay. "No use in talking to men of their stripe. Wait until we get to the captain of the steamer."

The sailors continued to question the boys, resorting now and then to insulting epithets, but the lads sat dumbly in the cabin until the arrival of Captain Morgan, in charge of the steamer Sybil. To express it mildly, they were all very much elated at the appearance of Captain Morgan, who unlocked the cabin door, called them out on deck and greeted them pleasantly. They all wanted to shake hands with him.

"It seems," Clay said to the captain, as the latter motioned to the sailors to move up to the prow, "that your men have captured a band of bold, bad men. It was a daring thing for them to do!"

The captain laughed until his sides shook, and the men, gathered on the forward part of the deck, scowled fiercely, to which the captain paid no attention at all.

"Perhaps there is an excuse for the men," Captain Morgan finally said, suppressing his laughter. "We heard firing as we came up the river, and wreckers are known to be about."

"If you have any doubt as to the presence of wreckers," Clay explained, "just send your ruffians over on the island. The men who did most of the shooting are there. They may also be able to find the ashes of the signal fire the outlaws lighted."

"That will be good exercise for them," Jule cut in, "and perhaps they won't be so brave when they find they haven't boys to deal with."

"Do you mean to tell me that the wreckers are now on the island?" asked the captain. "If they are, we may yet be able to make a capture."

"They were on the island just before you came up," Clay answered, "and I presume they are there yet. We'll help you take them."

The captain laughed and looked critically at the slender, well-dressed youngsters, then his eyes turned to the white bulldog and the bear, now sniffing suspiciously at his legs.

"It seems to me," he said, "that I have heard of this outfit before! When I came aboard I thought I recognized the name of the Rambler. This menagerie of yours settles the point. You brought Captain Joe, the dog, from Para, on the Amazon and Teddy, the cub, from British Columbia."

"You've got it," Alex cried, "but how did you come to know so much about us? We rather expected to get away from our damaged reputations up here," he added with a wink and a grin.

"You have long been famous in these parts," the captain answered, "Ever since the Rambler came riding up to the Newfoundland coast on a flat car. It is a wonder that my men did not recognize you."

"I don't believe they can read," laughed Alex. "Suppose you send them over on the island to see if they can recognize some of the outlaws."

One of the sailors approached Captain Morgan, saluted, and pointed to the narrow channel between the island and the mainland. The sun was now shining brightly in the sky, and the whole landscape lay bright under its strong and rosy light. Half way across the channel, its rays glinted on splashing oars, and from the shore came hoarse commands.

"There are men leaving the island, sir," the sailor said. "Perhaps we did get hold of the wrong fellows."

"I should think you did," laughed the captain, "but there may be time to correct the error. Signal to the steamer for more men, and drift down in your boats. You may be able to capture some of those outlaws, and," he added with a smile as the sailor turned away, "don't forget that there is a reward offered for every one of them."

"Perhaps we'd better go with the men," suggested Case. "We aren't anxious to get where there's shooting going on, but we need the money."

"I prefer," the captain replied, "that you come on board the Sybil with me. I'll have the cook get up a fine breakfast, and you boys can tell me all about your river trips. I have always been interested in such journeys and have long planned to take one myself."

The boys readily agreed to this arrangement, Alex declaring that it would save the washing of at least one mess of dishes, and all were soon seated in the captain's cosy room.

"I'll wait here an hour," Captain Morgan said, "to give my men a chance to gather in some of the rewards, but after that I must be on my way. We shall be late now, on account of this delay."

The boys briefly described their river trips on the Amazon, the Columbia, the Colorado and the Mississippi, and were rewarded with a breakfast which Alex admitted was almost as good as he could cook himself.

"And now," Clay said, as they all stood on the deck, watching the sailors returning empty-handed from their quest of the outlaws, "I wish you would tell me what all this rural free delivery business we've encountered means. We've been puzzling over it all night."

As he spoke he handed the first letter-the one delivered by the mysterious canoeist-to the captain, who smiled as he looked at it.

"I'll tell you about that," he said. "There is a man over in Quebec who claims that he owns about half of the province under a grant of land made to Jacques Cartier in 1541 by Francis I. of France. This grant, or charter, he claims, was confirmed to his family, the Fontenelles, in 1603 by Samuel de Champlain, who was sent to Canada by de Chaste, upon whom King Louis XIII. had generously bestowed about half of the new world.

"Fontenelle claims that all the kings and presidents of France from 1541 down to the present time have confirmed this grant so far as certain mineral and timber properties are concerned. For years Fontenelle has been trying to gain possession of the original charter brought to this country by Cartier, but has never succeeded."

"Would he secure a large amount of property if he found it?" asked Alex. "How did it ever become lost?"

"It disappeared from Cartier's hands," was the reply. "It is believed that the recovery of the original charter would make the Fontenelles very wealthy, especially as the family jewels, worth millions of francs, are said to have been lost with the important document."

"I think they had their nerve to send family jewels to America in 1541," Case cut in. "Might have known they would be lost."

"You must remember," Captain Morgan replied, "that for years during and following the reign of Francis I. the protestant persecutions kept France in a turmoil. It was hinted that the Fontenelles did not favor these persecutions and that the jewels were shipped to the new world for greater safety. What I am telling you now, remember, is only tradition, and not history. To be frank with you, I will say that I don't believe it myself. It is too misty."

"It is interesting, anyway," Clay declared, "and I'd like to hear more about it, but tell me this-why should the Fontenelles, or their agents, send this letter to us? And why should they send it, if at all, in so mysterious a manner?"

"I have heard," Captain Morgan replied, "that an expedition for the recovery of this original charter was being fitted out at Quebec. Your boat may have been mistaken for the one carrying the searchers."

"Searching in this wild country?" questioned Alex. "Where do they think this blooming charter is, I'd like to know?"

Captain Morgan took the crude map into his hands and pointed to an egg-shaped peninsula reaching out into the St. Lawrence between the mouths of two rivers.

"There is said to be a lost channel somewhere in that vicinity," he said, "and tradition has it that the papers and the jewels were hidden on its shore. The searchers, for years, have been in the hope of finding this lost channel. They have never succeeded."

"Then we're almost on the ground," cried Jule. "Where do we go to reach this peninsula? We might be lucky enough to find this channel."

"It doesn't exist," smiled Captain Morgan. "Every inch of that country has been gone over with a microscope, almost, and there is no lost channel there. At least, it can't be found."

"There is one on the map, anyway," Alex observed.

"Well," Clay laughed, "we have been mixed up with some one else's affairs on every one of our river trips, and we may as well keep up the record, so I propose that we spend a few days looking for this lost charter and these family jewels."

The boys all agreed to the proposition, and even Captain Morgan seemed to gain enthusiasm as they talked over their plans.

"I wouldn't mind being with you," the captain said, "but of course, I can't go. However, if you keep on across the river, straight to the north, you'll come to the egg-shaped peninsula. Keep to the right of it, and you'll enter a broad river. This map shows you where the lost channel is claimed to have existed. Go to it, kids, and good luck go with you!"

"Now then that point is settled," Clay smiled, taking the second letter from his pocket, "tell us what this means."

Captain Morgan looked over the paper carefully before making any reply. His face clouded and an expression of anger came to his eyes.

"The fact of the matter is," he said, "that for two hundred years the Fontenelles have met with opposition in their search for the lost channel. Some of the land claimed under the charter is now held by innocent purchasers who believe their title to be perfect.

"There is no doubt that such might come to a fair understanding with the Fontenelles if the charter should ever be found, but it is alleged that an association has been formed by the wealthier persons who are interested to defeat any attempt made to discover the charter. They claim, of course, that with the charter in their possession the Fontenelles would be able to make their own exorbitant terms."

"I knew it!" Alex cried. "We are in between two hostile interests again! It always happens that way. But we like it!"

"I have been thinking," Captain Morgan went on, "that the men who attempted to wreck the Rambler are not river pirates at all, but men sent here to obstruct, as far as possible, those in search of the lost channel. It certainly looks that way."

"Well," Clay remarked, "they haven't got any motor boat, and we've got one that can almost beat the sun around the earth, so we'll just run away from them. In an hour after you leave here, we'll be in the east river looking for the channel which is said to have connected it in past years with the one paralleling it on the west."

The sailors who had been searching now reported to the captain that no strangers had been seen by them on the island, and it was agreed that the outlaws, whether wreckers or men employed to obstruct the search for the lost channel, had taken to the south shore. Captain Morgan shook the boys warmly by the hand as they parted.

"If you say any more about your plans," he said, "I'll be going with you. Already I can sense the smoke of your campfire, and smell the odor of the summer woods. There are fine fish up in those rivers, boys, great shiny, gamy things that fight like the dickens in the stream and melt like butter in the mouth."

"We'll send you out some," promised Clay, and the steamer's boat carried the boys back to the Rambler.

The needed repairs were soon accomplished, and when night fell the motor boat lay under a roof of leaves in a deep cove on one of the rivers behind the egg-shaped peninsula. Just above the anchorage the water tumbled, from a high ledge. The boys had no idea of remaining on board that night, so they built a roaring campfire on shore and stretched hammocks from the trees.

"Right here," Clay said as the moon rose, "right about where we are sitting, there may be a lost channel!"

"That's all right," grinned Alex, "but I don't see myself getting very wet sitting on it."

"I don't blame any old channel for getting lost in this wild country," Case contributed. "We'll be lucky if we don't get lost ourselves. Hear the owls laughing at us!"

"I've been listening to the owls," Clay said, "and I have concluded that they are fake owls. If you'll listen, you will hear signals."

The boys listened for a long time, and then above the rush of the river and the murmur of the leaves in the wind, came a long, low call which seemed to them to be a very bad imitation of owl talk.