The monotony of the night march to the fishery was enlivened by the unexpected apparition of a boat.  There was just enough of moonlight to render it dimly visible a few hundred yards from the shore.

“Indians!” exclaimed Ladoc, breaking silence for the first time since they set out.

“The stroke is too steady and regular for Indians,” said Jack.  “Boat ahoy!”

“Shore ahoy!” came back at once in the ringing tones of a seaman’s voice.

“Pull in; there’s plenty of water!” shouted Jack.

“Ay, ay,” was the response.  In a few seconds the boat’s keel grated on the sand, and an active sailor jumped ashore.  There were five other men in the boat.

“Where have you dropped from?” enquired Jack.  “Well, the last place we dropped from,” answered the seaman, “was the port quarter davits of the good ship Ontario, Captain Jones, from Liverpool to Quebec, with a general cargo; that was last night, and ten minutes afterwards, the Ontario dropped to the bottom of the sea.”

“Wrecked!” exclaimed Jack.

“Just so.  Leastwise, sprung a leak and gone to the bottom.”

“No hands lost, I hope?”

“No, all saved in the boats; but we parted company in the night, and haven’t seen each other since.  Is there any port hereabouts, where we could get a bit o’ summat to eat?”

“There is, friend.  Just pull six miles farther along shore as you are going, and you’ll come to the place that I have the honour and happiness to command ­we call it Fort Desolation.  You and your party are heartily welcome to food and shelter there, and you’ll find an Irishman in charge who will be overjoyed, I doubt not, to act the part of host.  To-morrow night I shall return to the fort.”

The shipwrecked mariners, who were half-starved, received this news with a cheer, and pushing off, resumed their oars with fresh vigour, while Jack and his man continued their journey.

They reached the fishery before dawn, and, without awakening the men, retired at once to rest.

Before breakfast, Jack was up, and went out to inspect the place.  He found that his orders, about repairing the roof of the out-house and the clearing up, had not been attended to.  He said nothing at first, but, from the quiet settled expression of his face, the men felt convinced that he did not mean to let it pass.

He ordered Ladoc to repair the roof forthwith, and bade Rollo commence a general clearing-up.  He also set the other men to various occupations, and gave each to understand, that when his job was finished he might return to breakfast.  The result of this was, that breakfast that morning was delayed till between eleven and twelve, the fishery speedily assumed quite a new aspect, and that the men ate a good deal more than usual when they were permitted to break their fast.

After breakfast, while they were seated outside the door of their hut smoking, Jack smoked his pipe alone by the margin of the river, about fifty yards off.

“Monsieur be meditating of something this morning,” observed little Francois Xavier, glancing at Rollo with a twinkle in his sharp grey eye.

“He may meditate on what he likes, for all that I care,” said Rollo with a scornful laugh.  “He’ll find it difficult to cow me, as I’ll let him know before long.”

Ladoc coughed, and an unmistakable sneer curled his lip as he relighted his pipe.  The flushed face of Rollo showed what he felt, but, as nothing had been said, he could not with propriety give vent to his passion.

At that moment Jack Robinson hailed Ladoc, who rose and went towards him.  Jack said a few words to him, which, of course, owing to the distance, could not be heard by the men.  Immediately after, Ladoc was seen to walk away in the direction of an old Indian burying-ground, which lay in the woods about a quarter of a mile from the fishery.

Five minutes later Jack hailed Rollo, who obeyed the summons, and after a few words with his master, went off in the same direction as Ladoc.  There seemed something mysterious in these movements.  The mystery was deepened when Jack hailed Francois Xavier, and sent him after the other two, and it culminated when Jack himself, after allowing five minutes more to elapse, sauntered away in the same direction with a stout cudgel under his arm.  He was soon lost to view in the woods.

Each of the three men had been told to go to the burying-ground, and to wait there until Jack himself should arrive.  Ladoc was surprised on receiving the order, but, as we have seen, obeyed it.  He was more than surprised, however, when he saw Rollo walk into the enclosure, and still more astonished when Francois followed in due course.  None of the three spoke.  They felt that Jack would not keep them long in suspense, and they were right.  He soon appeared ­smoking calmly.

“Now, lads,” said he, “come here.  Stand aside, Francois.  I have brought you to this place to witness our proceedings, and to carry back a true report to your comrades.  Ladoc and Rollo, (here Jack’s face became suddenly very stern; there was something intense, though not loud, in his voice), you have kept my men in constant hot water by your quarrelling since you came together.  I mean to put an end to this.  You don’t seem to be quite sure which of you is the best man.  You shall settle that question this day, on this spot, and within this hour.  So set to, you rascals!  Fight or shake hands. I will see fair play!”

Jack blazed up at this point, and stepped up to the men with such a fierce expression, that they were utterly cowed.

“Fight, I say, or shake hands, or ­” Here Jack paused, and his teeth were heard to grate harshly together.

The two bullies stood abashed.  They evidently did not feel inclined to “come to the scratch.”  Yet they saw by the peculiar way in which their master grasped his cudgel, that it would be worse for both of them if they did not obey.

“Well,” said Ladoc, turning with a somewhat candid smile to Rollo, “I’s willin’ to shake hands if you be.”

He held out his hand to Rollo, who took it in a shamefaced sort of way and then dropped it.

“Good,” said Jack; “now you may go back to the hut; but, walk arm in arm.  Let your comrades see that you are friends.  Come, no hesitation!”

The tone of command could not be resisted; the two men walked down to the river arm in arm, as if they had been the best of friends, and little Francois followed ­chuckling!

Next day a man arrived on foot with a letter to the gentlemen in charge of Fort Desolation.  He and another man had conveyed it to the fort in a canoe from Fort Kamenistaquoia.

“What have we here?” said Jack Robinson, sitting down on the gunwale of a boat and breaking the seal.

The letter ran as follows: ­

  “Fort Kamenistaquoia, etcetera, etcetera.

  “My Dear Jack,

“I am sorry to tell you that the business has all gone to sticks and stivers.  We have not got enough of capital to compete with the Hudson’s Bay Company, and I may remark, privately, that if we had, it would not be worth while to oppose them on this desolate coast.  The trade, therefore, is to be given up, and the posts abandoned.  I have sent a clerk to succeed you and wind up the business, at Fort Desolation, as I want you to come here directly, to consult as to future plans.

  “Your loving but unfortunate friend,

  “J.  Murray.”

On reading this epistle, Jack heaved a deep sigh.

“Adrift again!” he muttered.

At that moment his attention was arrested by the sound of voices in dispute.  Presently the door of the men’s house was flung open, and Rollo appeared with a large bundle on his shoulders.  The bundle contained his “little all.”  He was gesticulating passionately to his comrades.

“What’s wrong now?” said Jack to Francois, as the latter came towards him.

“Rollo he go ’way,” said Francois.  “There be an Indian come in hims canoe, and Rollo make up his mind to go off vid him.”

“Oh! has he?” said Jack, springing up and walking rapidly towards the hut.

Now it must be told here that, a few days before the events we are describing, Jack had given Rollo a new suit of clothes from the Company’s store, with a view to gain his regard by kindness, and attach him to the service, if possible.  Rollo was clad in this suit at the time, and he evidently meant to carry it off.

Jack crushed back his anger as he came up, and said in a calm, deliberate voice, “What now, Rollo?”

“I’m going off,” said the man fiercely.  “I’ve had enough of you.”

There was something supernaturally calm and bland in Jack’s manner, as he smiled and said ­

“Indeed!  I’m very glad to hear it.  Do you go soon?”

“Ay, at once.”

“Good.  You had better change your dress before going.”

“Eh?” exclaimed the man.

“Your clothes belong to the company; put them off!” said Jack.  “Strip, you blackguard!” he shouted, suddenly bringing his stick within three inches of Rollo’s nose, “Strip, or I’ll break every bone in your carcase.”

The man hesitated, but a nervous motion in Jack’s arm caused him to take off his coat somewhat promptly.

“I’ll go into the house,” said Rollo, humbly.

“No!” said Jack, sternly, “Strip where you are.  Quick!”

Rollo continued to divest himself of his garments, until there was nothing left to remove.

“Here, Francois,” said Jack, “take these things away.  Now, sir, you may go.”

Rollo took up his bundle and went into the hut, thoroughly crestfallen, to re-clothe himself in his old garments, while Jack strolled into the woods to meditate on his strange fortunes.

That was the end of Rollo.  He embarked in a canoe with an Indian and went off ­no one knew whither.  So, the wicked and useless among men wander about this world to annoy their fellows for a time ­to pass away and be forgotten.  Perhaps some of them, through God’s mercy, return to their right minds.  We cannot tell.

According to instructions, Jack made over the charge of his establishment that day to the clerk who had been sent down to take charge, and next morning set out for Fort Kamenistaquoia, in the boat with the shipwrecked seamen.

Misfortune attended him even to the last minute.  The new clerk, who chanced to be an enthusiastic young man, had resolved to celebrate his own advent and his predecessor’s departure by firing a salute from an old carronade which stood in front of the fort, and which might, possibly, have figured at the battle of the Nile.  He overcharged this gun, and, just as the boat pushed off, applied the match.  The result was tremendous.  The gun burst into a thousand pieces, and the clerk was laid flat on the sand!  Of course the boat was run ashore immediately, and Jack sprang out and hastened to the scene of the disaster, which he reached just as the clerk, recovering from the effects of the shock, managed to sit up.

He presented a wonderful appearance!  Fortunately, none of the flying pieces of the gun had touched him, but a flat tin dish, full of powder, from which he had primed the piece, had exploded in his face.  This was now of a uniform bluish-black colour, without eyelashes or eyebrows, and surmounted by a mass of frizzled material that had once been the unfortunate youth’s hair.

Beyond this he had received no damage, so Jack remained just long enough to dress his hurts, and make sure that he was still fit for duty.

Once more entering the boat, Jack pushed off.  “Good-bye, boys!” said he, as the sailors pulled away.  “Farewell, Teddy, mind you find me out when you go up to Quebec.”

“Bad luck to me av I don’t,” cried the Irishman, whose eyes became watery in spite of himself.

“And don’t let the ghosts get the better of you!” shouted Jack.

O’Donel shook his head.  “Ah, they’re a bad lot, sur ­but sorrow wan o’ them was iver so ugly as him!”

He concluded this remark by pointing over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction of the house where the new clerk lay, a hideous, though not severely injured, spectacle, on his bed.

A last “farewell” floated over the water, as the boat passed round a point of land.  Jack waved his hand, and, a moment later, Fort Desolation vanished from his eyes for ever.

Readers, it is not our purpose here to detail to you the life and adventures of Jack Robinson.

We have recalled and recounted this brief passage in his eventful history, in order to give you some idea of what “outskirters,” and wandering stars of humanity sometimes see, and say, and go through.

Doubtless Jack’s future career would interest you, for his was a nature that could not be easily subdued.  Difficulties had the effect of stirring him up to more resolute exertions.  Opposition had the effect of drawing him on, instead of keeping him back.  “Cold water” warmed him.  “Wet blankets,” when thrown on him, were dried and made hot!  His energy was untiring, his zeal red hot, and when one effort failed, he began another with as much fervour as if it were the first he had ever made.

Yet Jack Robinson did not succeed in life.  It would be difficult to say why.  Perhaps his zeal and energy were frittered away on too many objects.  Perhaps, if he had confined himself to one purpose and object in life, he would have been a great man.  Yet no one could say that he was given to change, until change was forced upon him.  Perchance want of judgment was the cause of all his misfortunes; yet he was a clever fellow:  cleverer than the average of men.  It may be that Jack’s self-reliance had something to do with it, and that he was too apt to trust to his own strength and wisdom, forgetting that there is One, without whose blessing man’s powers can accomplish no good whatever.  We know not.  We do not charge Jack with this, yet this is by no means an uncommon sin, if we are to believe the confessions of multitudes of good men.

Be this as it may, Jack arrived at Fort Kamenistaquoia in due course, and kindly, but firmly, refused to take part with his sanguine friend, J Murray, who proposed ­to use his own language ­“the getting-up of a great joint-stock company, to buy up all the sawmills on the Ottawa!”

Thereafter, Jack went to Quebec, where he was joined by Teddy O’Donel, with whom he found his way to the outskirt settlements of the far west.  There, having purchased two horses and two rifles, he mounted his steed, and, followed by his man, galloped away into the prairie to seek his fortune.