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Authors: Roderick Benns
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pat-dried the old paper on the frill of her dress. âItâs just a little smeared â but I think itâs okay!â
âGood,â said John. âWhat happened, anyway?â
âWe fell,â said George, still gasping.
â We didnât,â said John, also breathing hard while floating in the cool lake. âYou did and then I tried to save you and that made me fall!â
âBut â â
âNever mind that,â John said, âwhy did Owen leave so fast?â
âI donât know. I saw him look that way andâ¦â George looked over Johnâs shoulder, out into the lake. âWhatâ¦what is that?â George began.
Johnâs eyes adjusted and stared out toward the middle of the water. The sun was low and the shadows were thick. But in the subdued light of the lake there was no mistaking it. A huge, curved hump emerged from the water. As it moved the hump dipped below the surface of the lake. In its place, a long serpent-like neck emerged. The creature was swimming toward them. âGo! Go!â John yelled.
Both boys sloshed and swam their way to the shore while Lou moved as quickly as possible down the oak toward its base. John chanced a look behind him, even as he arrived on shore. The long neck of the creature bent down, completely submerging in water. As it did, a hump rose up behind it at the same time. It was still coming.
âFaster!â yelled John.
âCome on, hurry!â yelled Lou who had already made it to shore.
As John and George reached land they looked back. The lake creature had also changed direction. It turned, as if to follow the boys. It moved toward them in the water while John, George and Lou ran on land.
With firm land beneath their feet, the three of them blurred across the edge of the lake until they reached the lip of the mountain. Without a backward glance, they slipped over the great forested hill in descent.
Chapter 10
The Admiral
September 22, 1759
(69 years ago)
The French admiral stood straight as an arrow on the bow of his ship, peering onto the shoreline of Lake Ontario. Now, just as the dayâs light ascended, was when he felt most at home on his vessel. His men knew to leave him alone while he gathered his thoughts. Usually he would make his way to his cabin now to write. But not this evening. He did not want to lose the setting before him. The admiral sat down and picked up his quill and began to write.
Dear Annette,
I am sorry for this distance between letters, but circumstances have intervened more than once.
The British choke off our trading channels at every opportunity. It is a maddening war. I told you in an earlier letter that we lost Fort Niagara this summer to the British and abandoned Fort Rouillé at Toronto.
A few weeks ago, in port, I was made an admiral. There was little formality, not like it would have been in France, had I been home. I would like to think of this as a show of confidence and yet I know how many men we have lost to battle, disease and despair. I fear I am but the latest choice and I have no illusions about being divinely different from those who have come before me. However, I do harbour hope that I shall outlast this war and be with you soon.
How lovely the land is here! As I write this, we have been lying low along the shore of Lake Ontario between Kingston and York in a land of bays the British have dubbed Prince Edward County. For now, I have directed most of the fleet further into Lake Ontario while we explore here.
I have a French map created just two years ago and it has been some help. Although, realistically, this is Indian country after all, no matter what either we or the British say.
I am astonished by the bay we have sailed into.
Rising up before me as I pen these words is a magnificent hill, heavily wooded and green with promise. From the hill, a wide waterfall careens over the side and makes its way to the bay down a crooked stream.
For
âGood,â said John. âWhat happened, anyway?â
âWe fell,â said George, still gasping.
â We didnât,â said John, also breathing hard while floating in the cool lake. âYou did and then I tried to save you and that made me fall!â
âBut â â
âNever mind that,â John said, âwhy did Owen leave so fast?â
âI donât know. I saw him look that way andâ¦â George looked over Johnâs shoulder, out into the lake. âWhatâ¦what is that?â George began.
Johnâs eyes adjusted and stared out toward the middle of the water. The sun was low and the shadows were thick. But in the subdued light of the lake there was no mistaking it. A huge, curved hump emerged from the water. As it moved the hump dipped below the surface of the lake. In its place, a long serpent-like neck emerged. The creature was swimming toward them. âGo! Go!â John yelled.
Both boys sloshed and swam their way to the shore while Lou moved as quickly as possible down the oak toward its base. John chanced a look behind him, even as he arrived on shore. The long neck of the creature bent down, completely submerging in water. As it did, a hump rose up behind it at the same time. It was still coming.
âFaster!â yelled John.
âCome on, hurry!â yelled Lou who had already made it to shore.
As John and George reached land they looked back. The lake creature had also changed direction. It turned, as if to follow the boys. It moved toward them in the water while John, George and Lou ran on land.
With firm land beneath their feet, the three of them blurred across the edge of the lake until they reached the lip of the mountain. Without a backward glance, they slipped over the great forested hill in descent.
Chapter 10
The Admiral
September 22, 1759
(69 years ago)
The French admiral stood straight as an arrow on the bow of his ship, peering onto the shoreline of Lake Ontario. Now, just as the dayâs light ascended, was when he felt most at home on his vessel. His men knew to leave him alone while he gathered his thoughts. Usually he would make his way to his cabin now to write. But not this evening. He did not want to lose the setting before him. The admiral sat down and picked up his quill and began to write.
Dear Annette,
I am sorry for this distance between letters, but circumstances have intervened more than once.
The British choke off our trading channels at every opportunity. It is a maddening war. I told you in an earlier letter that we lost Fort Niagara this summer to the British and abandoned Fort Rouillé at Toronto.
A few weeks ago, in port, I was made an admiral. There was little formality, not like it would have been in France, had I been home. I would like to think of this as a show of confidence and yet I know how many men we have lost to battle, disease and despair. I fear I am but the latest choice and I have no illusions about being divinely different from those who have come before me. However, I do harbour hope that I shall outlast this war and be with you soon.
How lovely the land is here! As I write this, we have been lying low along the shore of Lake Ontario between Kingston and York in a land of bays the British have dubbed Prince Edward County. For now, I have directed most of the fleet further into Lake Ontario while we explore here.
I have a French map created just two years ago and it has been some help. Although, realistically, this is Indian country after all, no matter what either we or the British say.
I am astonished by the bay we have sailed into.
Rising up before me as I pen these words is a magnificent hill, heavily wooded and green with promise. From the hill, a wide waterfall careens over the side and makes its way to the bay down a crooked stream.
For
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