My Strange Rescue and other stories of Sport and Adventure in Canada

"No apples for me on that tree," said Tom; adding with rather a rueful smile, "If Mr. Thomson would only offer a prize for the most lickings and impositions, I guess I'd run the best chance for it."

"Never mind, old boy," said Frank, consolingly. "You weren't cut out for a scholar, that's clear; but you'll come out all right at something else, and perhaps make a bigger name than even 'Yankee' himself, although it wouldn't do to let him hear you say so."

"I'm 'fraid I'd have a poor sight to beat Yankee at anything," answered Tom. "But say, Frank, how do you feel about giving him the go-by for the Starr prize? It 'ud break my heart if you didn't come out first."

"Well, to tell the truth, Buntie, I don't feel any too cocky about it. Yankee's a tough customer to beat," replied Frank. "But, hush! he's coming right behind us. Must be going down to the river too, though it's more like him to stick in his room and grind."

And as a tall, slight, dark-faced lad of about sixteen went past them without exchange of greetings, the two friends stopped talking and went on in silence.

"Yankee" was the nickname given to one of the American boys at the school. He had been thus distinguished because both in face and figure he bore some resemblance to the typical Uncle Sam, being longer, leaner, and sallower than any of his companions. He was of a quiet, reserved disposition, and had few friends. Indeed, he did not seem to desire many, but kept very much to himself, so that a lot of the boys disliked him. Yet, on the other hand, others respected although they might not love him; for not only did he divide with Frank Hamilton, whom they all worshipped, the highest honours in scholarship, but once, when scarlet fever broke out and seized upon six of the smallest boys before they could escape to their homes, "Yankee," or, to give him his proper name, Emory Haynes, although he had never had the fever himself, stayed with Mr. Thomson through many anxious weeks, and watched night after night by the sufferers' bedsides, showing such tact and devotion as a nurse that the doctor said at least two of the boys would never have been saved from death had it not been for his help.

Walking with a rapid, almost impatient step that was characteristic of him, Emory Haynes passed the two friends, all three directing their course toward the Gaspereaux River, which cuts a wide red gash through the Grand Pré before adding its turbid torrent to the tossing waters of Minas Basin.

"If Yankee beats me for the Starr prize, it will be the biggest disappointment of my life," continued Frank. "It's not every day that a fellow can get hold of five pounds in bright big gold pieces; and father has promised if I win it to chip in as much more and buy me a splendid boat."

"O Frank, you're sure to get it. Yankee works like a slave, to be sure, but he hasn't half as good a head on him," answered Tom confidently.

"I'm not by any means certain of that, Tom. Just see how easily he gets through his mathematics. He's sure to beat me on that, and I'll have to make up for it by beating him in classics. Anyhow, it is no use worrying about it now. Let's hurry up and have a dip."

So dropping the subject, the two boys ran off at a rate that soon brought them to the river bank.

Here a lovely picture awaited them. From their feet the red banks of clay and sand stretched hundreds of yards away (for the tide was out), until they were lapped by the river, now shrunk into a narrow, sluggish stream. To right and left and beyond the river the wide, level marsh lands, redeemed from the water by the patient toil of the Acadians, were waist-deep in verdure that swayed in long lines of light and shadow before the summer breeze. Not far off began the great dikes that sweep clear round the outer edge of the Grand Pre, the only elevation on all that vast plain, and now waving to their summits with "dusty-blossomed grass." Behind them the hills rose gently in fold upon fold, their broad shoulders flecked with frequent patches of golden grain or the dark foliage of the orchards; while over all rose a glorious summer sun that seemed to thrill the whole landscape with life and warmth and glory.

But the boys had no eyes for all this beauty. They were far more concerned about the tide, and felt inclined to resent very warmly the fact that it should be out just when they wanted to have a swim.

"What a fraud!" exclaimed Frank. "'Pon my word, I believe the old tide is twice as much out as it is in; now isn't it, Buntie?"

"It is, sure's you're born," assented Tom. "There's nothing for it, I suppose, but to wait;" and so saying, he threw himself down in the long grass, his friend immediately following his example.

Twenty yards away Emory Haynes was already seated with his face turned riverward, apparently lost in deep thought.

"Wonder what Yankee's thinking about?" remarked Tom. "Puzzling out some of those confounded problems he does so easily, perhaps," he added feelingly, for he had had some humiliating experiences of his own inability to get over the Pons Asinorum safely, or to explain why awas equal to x under certain perplexing circumstances.

"More probably planning what he'll do with that five pounds," said Frank, half petulantly. "I guess it's more likely to go into books than into a boat if he gets hold of it."

"But he isn't going to get hold of it," objected Tom; and then, without giving Frank a chance to reply, he burst out, "Oh, I say, Frank, suppose instead of waiting here we go down to meet the bore and have a race back with it."

Frank hesitated a moment before answering, for what Tom proposed was a very rash thing to do. What is known as the "bore" is the big wave produced by the onrush of water in a place where the tides rise forty, fifty, or even sixty feet, according to the time of year. The Bay of Fundy, of which Minas Basin is a branch, is famous for these wonderful tides, and the movements of the water make a sight well worth watching. The two boys had often looked on with lively interest as the returning flood rushed eagerly up the channel and over the flats, until in an incredibly short time what had been a waste of red mud was transformed into a broad expanse of turbid water.

"Rather a risky business, Tom, but I don't mind trying it. I'm in the humour for almost anything to-day; so come along."

And without more ado the boys doffed their boots and stockings, rolled up their trousers, and set out for the water's edge. Emory Haynes watched them in silence until they had gone about fifty yards. Then, as if divining their foolish design, he called after them, —

"Frank – Tom – where are you going to?"

"Going to meet the bore. Don't you want to come?" Frank shouted back. "Come along, Yankee, if you're not afraid," he added, in a half scornful tone.

Not the words, but the tone in which they were uttered, brought an angry flush out on Emory's sallow cheeks, and without stopping to think of the folly of the thing, he too flung off his boots and started after the others.

"Blessed if Yankee isn't coming, after all," said Tom, under his breath, to Frank. "The chap's got plenty of grit in him."

Side by side, but in silence – for somehow or other they felt ill at ease – the three boys picked their way carefully over the slippery mud and soft sand, keeping a sharp look-out for the sink-holes or quicksands, in which they might easily sink to their waists, or even deeper, at one plunge. Hardly had they reached the edge of the channel when Frank, who had been gazing down intently toward the Basin, called out, —

"There it comes, fellows. Doesn't it look grand?"

A good way off still, but drawing nearer with astonishing speed, a wall of dark foam-topped water came rushing up the channel and over the thirsty flats. It was several feet in height, and behind it followed the whole vast volume of the tide.

The three lads had never been so close to the bore before, and they stood still and silent watching the grand sight until a shout from Emory broke the spell.

"Now then, boys, let's run for it."

As fast as their feet could carry them they sped over the treacherous greasy flats, leaping the gaping gullies, turning aside from the suspicious spots, and steering straight for the place where they had left their shoes. Frank and Tom were both famous runners, and soon outstripped Emory; in fact, they were more than half-way to the bank, when a sharp cry of alarm made them stop and turn to see what was the matter. One glance was enough to tell them. Twenty yards behind they saw their companion embedded nearly to the waist in a quicksand, from which he was madly struggling to extricate himself, while his efforts seemed only to sink him the deeper. His situation was one of extreme peril. The bore had somewhat spent its force, but still advanced steadily. Unless Emory was rescued without delay, he would be buried beneath its pitiless flood.

For one brief instant Frank hesitated, and Tom, as usual, waited for him to lead. Thoughts of the personal risk, the small chance of succeeding, and even – though ever after the mere recollection of it made his cheek burn with shame – of the advantage it would be to have his rival out of the way, throbbed through his brain. But it was only for an instant; and then with a shout of "Keep cool, Yankee; we're coming!" he grasped Tom's arm, and together they sprang to the rescue. Running with all their might, they reached their imperilled schoolmate just a second before the bore did, and standing on either side the treacherous spot were able to each seize a hand, and with one tremendous effort draw him out of its deadly embrace ere the great wave came sweeping down upon them, tumbling them over like nine-pins into the midst of its muddy surges. Fortunately, however, all three were good swimmers, and they had only to allow the water to work its will with them, for after a little tossing about it landed them safely on a sand-bank, whence they could easily wade ashore.

Emory did not say much to his rescuers. It was not his way. But no one could mistake the depth of feeling expressed in the few words, —

"Frank, you've saved my life, and I'll never forget it."

Two weeks later the examinations came off, and amid the applause of the school Frank Hamilton was declared winner of the Starr prize, Emory Haynes being only just a few points behind him. Mr. Thomson was very well pleased at the result; but there was one thing that puzzled him a good deal – Emory, who was by far the best mathematical scholar in the school, had somehow or other done by no means so well in that branch as usual. In fact, he had actually left several not over-difficult questions altogether unanswered, and this more than anything else had lost him the prize. Mr. Thomson mentioned the matter to Frank Hamilton, at the same time expressing his surprise.

"I'm not surprised," said Frank, as something that looked very like tears welled up in his eyes. "When I saved Yankee's life he said he'd never forget it. That's how he kept his word."

Mr. Thomson needed no further explanation.

THE GAME OF RINK HOCKEY

The part performed by Canada in making contributions to the list of the world's amusements has been by no means slight. Lacrosse and canoeing for the warm bright days of summer, snow-shoeing and tobogganing for the crisp cold nights of winter, these make up a quartette of healthy, hearty sports, the superiors of which, in their appropriate season, any other country might safely be challenged to show. But apparently this ambitious colony is not content with the laurels already won, and in the bringing of the game of rink hockey to perfection would add another to her garland; for this fine game, as played in the Canadian cities to-day, is, without question, a distinctly home product.

Not that hockey is native to the soil in the same sense as lacrosse. In a simpler form, and under different names, it has long existed in England; but the difference between the game as played there on the green and played in Canada on the ice, is as great as that between an old-fashioned game of rounders and a professional game of base-ball.

The most ancient account of hockey is to be found in that dear, delightful old book, Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes of the People of England," where it figures under the name of "bandy ball," – what is now called the hockey stick being then known as the "bandy;" and there is attached to the description a comical little woodcut representing two boys in short frocks, each wielding bandies almost as big as themselves, playing with a ball half the size of their heads.

As first played in Canada, hockey went by various names, some of which were apparently merely local – hurley, shinny, rickets, and so forth, It was played only upon the ice in winter-time, and there was not much pretence to rules, each player taking part as best he knew how. No effort toward systematizing the game appears to have been made until the year 1875, when the members of the Montreal Football Club, in search of some lively athletic amusement for the long winter months, recognized in hockey the very thing they wanted.

At first the rules adopted for the regulation of the game were modelled upon those of the English Hockey Association. But as the game developed, many changes were found necessary in adapting it to the requirements of a rink, and the rules now used by the Amateur Hockey Association of Canada are in the main original with it.

Starting from Montreal, the game has made its way to Halifax and St. John on the east, and to Ottawa and Toronto on the west, and from the enthusiasm with which it has been taken up at these cities, it actually threatens to displace tobogganing and snow-shoeing in the affections of the young men.

Let me now try to give my readers some idea of the game and the way in which it is played. Please picture to yourselves a skating-rink with an ice surface one hundred and fifty feet in length by seventy-five feet in width. At either end, close to the platform, are the goals, consisting of two slender poles placed six feet apart, and standing four feet high, with small red flags at their peaks. Such is the field of battle, and upon it the players take their places. They are dressed much as they would be for football, except that their feet are shod with skates of a peculiar make, the heel projecting more than in an ordinary skate, in order to guard against getting a nasty fall when heeling up suddenly. Each player is armed with a hockey stick, as to the size of which the only rule is that it shall not be more than three inches wide at any part. A good stick should be made of a single piece of ash, bent, not sawed, into the proper curve, of the length and weight the player finds to suit him best. The bone of contention between the contending sides is called the puck, and is a circular piece of vulcanized rubber one inch thick all through, and three inches in diameter. It is slightly elastic, and will rebound from the board sides of the rink if sent violently against them; a fact which enables an expert player to evade an opponent charging down to wrest it from him, as by striking the puck against the boards, and picking it up again on the rebound, he can keep on his way unchecked.

The teams are arranged in the following manner: – Goal-keeper takes his place between the posts, and a little forward of them; point stands about four yards out, and a little to one side, so as not to interfere with the goal-keeper's view down the centre; cover-point's position is from ten to fifteen yards out from goal, and on the opposite side to point; centre's post is indicated by his name; and the same may be said of the right and left forwards, and the half-back, who supports centre.

For the control of the game there are a referee, who follows it about as does the referee at football, and two umpires, one at either goal, the sole business of the latter being to decide whether or not the puck has passed between the posts, and not above the flags.

Play begins with a bully – that is, the puck is placed between the two centres in the centre of the rink, and they, after solemnly striking their sticks together, three times, scramble for its possession, trying either to drive it ahead into their opponents' territory, or behind to the half-back, who immediately passes it to one of the forwards. Then the game goes on in lively earnest; and when the teams are expert and well matched, there is nothing on ice to compare with it for brilliancy and excitement. The exceeding swiftness of the players' movements; the sudden variations in the position of the puck as, under the impulse of sinewy arms, it darts from end to end, from side to side, of the rink; the incessant grind and clatter and ring of the skates; the crack of the hockeys, and the shouts of the eager players – all combine to work up the deepest interest among the spectators; and the announcement of a match between two good teams always insures a large and enthusiastic attendance.

The rules by which the game is governed are easily understood. So long as the puck is on the ice it is in play, even though it be behind the goal line. Of course a goal can be won only from the front; but an opponent who is not off-side may follow the puck behind the goal line, and fight for the privilege of bringing it out again. The rules as to on-side and off-side are precisely the same as in Rugby football; that is to say, a player must always be between his own goal and the puck when he plays on it. A violation of this rule calls for a bully at the spot where the wrong stroke was made. The referee is the sole judge in all matters of this kind, and from his decision there is no appeal. The puck may be stopped, but not carried or knocked on by any part of the body. In striking it the stick must not be raised above the shoulder. The object of this rule is to check violence, and the effect of it is to make the stroke move of a push than a blow, insuring greater accuracy in shooting for goal or a fellow-player, and adding greatly to the grace of the game. A practised player will, with wonderfully little manifest effort, send the puck from end to end of the rink if the ice is at all in good condition.

Another mode of propelling the puck which is at present permissible, but is in danger of being ruled out, is "lifting." I cannot very well explain in words how it is done; but by a deft turn of the wrist, gained only by diligent practice, the rubber is made to spring into the air and fly in the desired direction. It is a very effective but dangerous way of gaining ground, the danger consisting in the liability of players to be struck by the weighty missile, and ugly blows have often been received in this way. A "lift" at the goals is very hard to stop, if sent in low and swift, as I know by personal experience; for once, when tending goal, the point of my opponents charged down the length of the rink, and, without slackening speed, "lifted" the puck, and sent it past me like a bullet, while I was making ready to receive it on the ice, not imagining that he could lift successfully while at full speed.

No charging from behind, tripping, collaring, kicking, or shinning is allowed; and if any player offends after two warnings, it is the duty of the referee to order him off the ice for the remainder of the match. If the puck goes off the ice behind the goals, it must be taken five yards out, at right angles from the goal line, and there "faced" as at the beginning of the game. When it goes off the ice at the sides, it must be faced five yards at right angles from the side boundary.

The goal-keeper must not during play lie, kneel, or sit upon the ice, but must maintain a standing position. He may stop the puck with his hands or feet, but may not throw or kick it away from the goal. He must play it properly with his stick.

Two half-hours, with an intermission of ten minutes to regain breath and wipe off the perspiration, is the time allowed for a match, the team winning the most goals being the victors. There are no other points than goals to be scored.

Such are the principal rules; and now for a few words in conclusion of a general character. Only those who are in good condition and at home on their skates should undertake to play hockey. It is a violent game, and tests both wind and muscle to the utmost. The player must make up his mind to many falls, and no lack of hard knocks on shins and knuckles; for such things will happen, however faithfully the contestants try to keep to the rules. At the same time, these very characteristics make hockey one of the manliest of sports. Strength, speed, endurance, self-control, shrewdness, are the necessary qualities of one who would excel in it. Combination play is just as effective in it as in football, and there is no practical limit to the skill that may be attained.

A very important feature of hockey is that it may be played at night. Since the introduction of the electric light our rinks are made as bright as day, and then the many hard-working young men who are too busy all day to take part in any sport have the opportunity of an hour's splendid exercise after their work is over.

Take it all in all, there is perhaps no winter sport exclusively for men that is destined to become more popular, or have more enduring favour. In Canada new associations are rapidly springing up, and local leagues that arrange a schedule of matches for the season. The boys are taking hold of the game with great zest, closely imitating the tricks and artifices of their big brothers, and it is safe to say that hockey has definitely taken its place among the national sports of Canada.

ON THE EDGE OF THE RAPIDS

"Hurrah, Lon! we've got the sort of day we've been looking for at last," cried Alec Pearson, as he met his chum one lovely still summer morning. "No trouble about getting over to Deschenes to-day."

"Right you are, Alec! This is just the correct thing. We'll start straight after breakfast – hey?"

"As soon as you like, provided mother's got the grub ready. Can't think of going without that, you know."

"No, sir. A basket of grub's half the fun. And mother's promised me a big one."

"Ditto mine," responded Alec. "So there's no fear of our starving for a while, even if we get cast away on one of the islands."

"Cast away on one of the islands!" echoed Lon. "That's a great idea! Wouldn't it make a great sensation?"

"Perhaps it would," replied Alec, who was of a more cautious and unimaginative cast of character. "But I'm not hankering to try it all the same. To get over to Deschenes will be enough fun for me."

The speakers were two boys of about sixteen years of age, sitting upon the front steps of a summer cottage, and looking out across the splendid stretch of water that flashed like a flawless mirror beneath the fiery morning sunshine.

They had come out to Britannia for the summer, and were enjoying its fine facilities for boating, bathing, and canoeing as only city boys, pent up in close quarters for three-fourths of the year, can enjoy such exhilarating sports.

The great Lake Deschenes filled them with profound admiration. They exulted in its magnificent breadth, its mighty length, its cool, limpid depths, and most of all the glorious rapids which marked the place where it gathered itself together to become the River Ottawa again, and resume its steady course seaward.

Nearly all their time they spent upon the water or in it, and in the course of a month had become tolerably expert canoeists, so that they did not hesitate to take long trips up the lake or across to the farther side.

The visit to Deschenes village, whose cottages were scattered along the lake shore almost opposite to Britannia, had been put off until they felt themselves to be thoroughly masters of their cranky craft; for in order to get there it was necessary to cross the head of the rapids, and to do this successfully would require both strength and skill.

For a week past Alec and Lon had felt themselves to be equal to the task, but had been delayed by unfavourable weather. Great, then, was their delight when this particular Saturday morning dawned clear and calm, promising to be the very kind of a day they desired.

They started at nine o'clock, taking with them for company, besides their well-filled baskets, Wad, Alec's handsome hunting spaniel, who had learned to behave perfectly on board the canoe.

Their craft was of the most approved make, of which they were joint-owners, completely equipped with paddles, cushions, sails, and steering-gear.