In yet another volume, the experiences of the lads with the rurales of Mexico were set forth. This book was called “The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers,” and painted a picture of life in the wilder parts of old Mexico amid rugged mountains and brigand-infested plains. A clever use of an extemporized heliograph was made by the lads and saved them from a predicament into which they had been forced by a stupendous cloud-burst which swept their camp away. At a lone ranch, too, they met with some surprising adventures which culminated in a ride for life across the plains. At a grand fiesta they won several of the prizes, a feat which earned them the still further enmity of men who had good reason to dislike and fear them. In old Mexico, the land of fascinating romance, the boys surely had their full share of incident and adventure, and their experiences served to strengthen their characters and broaden their minds. To cope successfully with difficulties forms the best sort of training for lads, and our Border Boys showed that when it came to the test they were not lacking in energy or grit.
A fifth volume, called forth by the demand on the part of our readers to follow the boys still further through their lives, dealt with a different phase of their existences altogether. In “The Border Boys in the Canadian Rockies” the lads traveled on their sturdy little mustangs through a wild and rugged country. Not the least interesting phase of their experiences dealt with the mystery surrounding Jimmy, the waif, who came into their lives when they landed at a tiny way station on the Canadian Pacific Railroad. Several mysterious happenings, too, puzzled and annoyed them not a little while they were on their journey to the Big Bend of the Columbia River. These incidents involved a man of strange personality who, for no apparent reason, harassed and alarmed them on numerous occasions. However, in the end all that had appeared inexplicable was cleared up, and Jimmy, the waif, came into his own at last.
About two months before the present volume dealing with their adventures opens, the lads had accepted the invitation of Ralph Stetson’s father to spend some time with him at his estate on Dexter Island, in the wonderful St. Lawrence River, that mighty outlet of the Great Lakes, which rolls its turbulent current along the border line between the United States and Canada. The scene of much historical interest in the past, the making of history is still going on along the St. Lawrence. Both the United States and Canada keep a sharp lookout for smugglers and other evildoers along the line which extends through the exact center of the great river. Interesting adventures are of almost daily occurrence in that region.
Beginning with the night upon which we encountered them in the rapids, the boys were destined to be plunged into experiences along the international boundary line that would demand all the resourcefulness and efficiency which had been developed in them by the scenes through which they had already passed.
But for the time being, at any rate, the mystery of the ghostly craft had to wait for a solution. The next day was the one selected by the boys for a joyous excursion on their swift, sure craft down the historic waters of the St. Lawrence, which has been called “the noblest, the purest, the most enchanting river on God’s beautiful earth.”
For a thousand miles from Lake Ontario to the sea the mighty current of the great waterway runs, embellished with islands and made beautiful by leaping rapids and swirling whirlpools. Except to the specially built river steamers these rapids, that is the larger ones, are not navigable except on the way down the river. Coming up, even the most powerful craft have to take to the canals, of which there are several, all on the Canadian side and free to all commerce.
The boys planned a quick trip down to Montreal and thence to Quebec. The return trip would have to be made more slowly, owing to the obstacles already mentioned.
Having provisioned the River Swallow, on which they intended to make their home during the cruise, there was nothing left to do but to start up the engines and set out. For this trip Malvin and Hansen were left behind, as Mr. Stetson needed them to do some work about the island and they were not actually required on the river craft.
It was a glorious morning when the boys started out. The sun lay glitteringly on the clear, swiftly flowing waters, and the River Swallow glided from her dock as if she were as pleased with the prospect of the cruise as were the boys.
Ralph Stetson, naturally studious, had found much to interest him in the history of the great river they were navigating; and, indeed, no stream in the world has more storied interest than the mighty water course that marks the border of the United States and Canada.
Jacques Cartier is generally given the credit of the discovery of the St. Lawrence, although some historians mention other candidates for the honor. Ralph’s studies told him that little is known of Cartier, beyond the fact that he belonged to a hardy race of French fishermen.
By some writers he is even referred to as a corsair, although there does not appear to be much evidence to support this theory. It was not until his second voyage, however, that Cartier really entered the river, to the mouth of which he gave the name of the Bay of St. Laurens.
With the spirit of exploration strong upon him, Cartier pushed onward, hugging the southern shore of a river eighty miles wide. To his mind, he had found the Mecca of every explorer of that day: the visionary passage to Cathay. For to discover a waterway to the far east was the dream of every early voyager.
As he sailed onward, mighty rock walls rose up majestically on each side of the great stream he was traversing. Gray rocks piled themselves tier upon tier, topped by huge forests and backed by glimpses of mountains beyond.
Then came bold headlands, thrusting their fronts into the river. From day to day the scene shifted, with the current ever increasing in swiftness. The rocky headlands gave way to long level reaches of swampy land. Cartier, in his records, speaks of the innumerable crows that haunted these marshes, although there were plenty of duck and other wild fowl.
But at last Cartier began to realize that he had not stumbled on the passage to Cathay as he had fondly dreamed.
The year before he had taken two Indians captive. They were still part of his crew. He summoned them before him.
“What river is this?” he asked.
One of the Indians pointed majestically to the west.
“The river without an end,” he said solemnly.
Cartier found the Indians extraordinarily skillful in managing their frail birch bark canoes, even in the wildest of the rapids. He was greatly interested in all the different tribes which he encountered. Many of them were at war with each other, although all sprang, according to present-day opinion, from the Cree stock.
The old French traveler says that he found the Indians friendly. He describes a visit to one of their towns, which stood at the base of a hill surrounded by cornfields, with the river and the primeval forest beyond. This village, occupied by a tribe known as the Amerinds, was well fortified, as were all the villages of this tribe, by a high stockade.
With a body guard of twenty of his men Cartier entered the walled village. They found inside the stockade a gallery from which missiles could be hurled down on any foe. Piles of stones lay in readiness for this purpose.
Behind the village stood an imposing height of land which Cartier, impressed by the noble view from its summit, named Mont Royale. This was the origin of Montreal, which city stands on the site of the stockaded Indian village of Hochelaga.
It was too late in the season when the bold investigator reached this village to press on further, and he therefore made his way back to winter quarters at Havre de St. Croix on the St. Charles River. His experiences during the “white winter,” as he called it, were enough to daunt even his courageous spirit. To add to his troubles, his men contracted scurvy, and many died before spring came, from the close confinement and lack of proper food.
The Indians brewed for the sufferers a sort of tea of pine boughs and bark called “ameda,” which appeared