Glengarry Schooldays | Page 7

fling
taunts and stones at Alan, till he would pull out his long, sharp cooper's
knife and make at them. But if they met him in the woods they would
walk past in trembling and respectful silence, or slip off into hiding in
the bush, till he was out of sight.
It was always part of the programme in the exploring of the Lumber
Camp for the big boys to steal down the path to Alan's cabin, and peer
fearfully through the brush, and then come rushing back to the little
boys waiting in the clearing, and crying in terror-stricken stage
whispers, "He's coming! He's coming!" set off again through the bush
like hunted deer, followed by the panting train of youngsters, with their
small hearts thumping hard against their ribs.
In a few minutes the pine woods, with its old Lumber Camp and Alan's
fearsome cabin, were left behind; and then down along the flats where
the big elms were, and the tall ash-trees, and the alders, the flying,
panting line sped on in a final dash, for they could smell the river. In a
moment more they were at the Deepole.
O! that Deepole! Where the big creek took a great sweep around before
it tore over the rapids and down into the gorge. It was always in cool
shade; the great fan-topped elm-trees hung far out over it, and the
alders and the willows edged its banks. How cool and clear the dark
brown waters looked! And how beautiful the golden mottling on their
smooth, flowing surface, where the sun rained down through the
over-spreading elm boughs! And the grassy sward where the boys tore
off their garments, and whence they raced and plunged, was so green
and firm and smooth under foot! And the music of the rapids down in

the gorge, and the gurgle of the water where it sucked in under the jam
of dead wood before it plunged into the boiling pool farther down! Not
that the boys made note of all these delights accessory to the joys of the
Deepole itself, but all these helped to weave the spell that the
swimming-hole cast over them. Without the spreading elms, without
the mottled, golden light upon the cool, deep waters, and without the
distant roar of the little rapid, and the soft gurgle at the jam, the
Deepole would still have been a place of purest delight, but I doubt if,
without these, it would have stolen in among their day dreams in after
years, on hot, dusty, weary days, with power to waken in them a vague
pain and longing for the sweet, cool woods and the clear, brown waters.
Oh, for one plunge! To feel the hug of the waters, their soothing caress,
their healing touch! These boys are men now, such as are on the hither
side of the darker river, but not a man of them can think, on a hot
summer day, of that cool, shaded, mottled Deepole, without a longing
in his heart and a lump in his throat.
The last quarter of a mile was always a dead race, for it was a point of
distinction to be the first to plunge, and the last few seconds of the race
were spent in the preliminaries of the disrobing. A single brace slipped
off the shoulder, a flutter of a shirt over the head, a kick of the trousers,
and whoop! plunge! "Hurrah! first in." The little boys always waited to
admire the first series of plunges, for there were many series before the
hour was over, and then they would off to their own crossing, going
through a similar performance on a small scale.
What an hour it was! What contests of swimming and diving! What
water fights and mud fights! What careering of figures, stark naked,
through the rushes and trees! What larks and pranks!
And then the little boys would dress. A simple process, but more
difficult by far than the other, for the trousers would stick to the wet
feet--no boy would dream of a towel, nor dare to be guilty of such a
piece of "stuck-upness"--and the shirt would get wrong side out, or
would bundle round the neck, or would cling to the wet shoulders till
they had to get on their knees almost to squirm into it. But that over, all
was over. The brace, or if the buttons were still there, the braces were

easily jerked up on the shoulders, and there you were. Coats, boots, and
stockings were superfluous, collars and ties utterly despised.
Then the little ones would gather on the grassy bank to watch the big
ones get out, which was a process worth watching.
"Well, I'm going out, boys," one would say.
"Oh, pshaw! let's have another