A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration

by F. S. Brereton

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: HIS FINGERS HIT UPON THE MUZZLE OF THE WEAPON _Page 343_]

  A

  Boy of the Dominion

  A Tale of Canadian Immigration

  BY

  LT.-COLONEL F. S. BRERETON

  Author of "Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout" "With Shield and Assegai" &c.

  _ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._

  BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

  LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

  1913

  _Printed in Great Britain by_

  _Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_

  BY LT.-COLONEL BRERETON

  "F. S. Brereton is a famous hand with adventures of everysort."--_Morning Post_.

  Colin the Scout: A Tale of Adventure Abroad. On the Field of Waterloo. With French at the Front: A Story of the Great European War down to the Battle of the Aisne. With Joffre at Verdun: A Story of the Western Front. Under Foch's Command: A Tale of the Americans in France. With the Allies to the Rhine: A Story of the Finish of the War. With Allenby in Palestine: A Story of the Latest Crusade. Under French's Command: A Story of the Western Front from Neuve Chapelle to Loos. The Great Airship: A Tale of Adventure. From the Nile to the Tigris: A Story of Campaigning from Western Egypt to Mesopotamia. A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration. Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia. A Sturdy Young Canadian: A Story of Modern Canada. John Bargreave's Gold: A Tale of the Caribbean. How Canada was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec. Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout. Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico. Indian and Scout. The Rough Riders of the Pampas. In the King's Service: A Tale of Cromwell's Invasion of Ireland. With Shield and Assegai: A Tale of the Zulu War. With Rifle and Bayonet: A Tale of the Boer War. The Dragon of Pekin: A Tale of the Boxer Revolt. One of the Fighting Scouts: A Tale of Guerilla Warfare in South Africa. A Knight of St. John: A Tale of the Siege of Malta. The Great Aeroplane.

  LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.

  Contents

  CHAP.

  I. Finding a Profession II. An Ocean Voyage III. Volunteers called for IV. Joe Gathers Credit V. One of the Settlers VI. A Canadian Bad Man VII. Into the Backwoods VIII. Hank makes his Appearance IX. Lost in the Forest X. A Hand-to-hand Encounter XI. Investing Hard-Earned Dollars XII. The Canadian Winter XIII. A Co-operative Proposition XIV. Moose Hunting XV. Pursued by Unknown Enemies XVI. Choosing a Fortress XVII. Hurley's Conspiracy is Unfolded XVIII. On the Defensive XIX. Across the Snows for Safety XX. Back to the Farm

  Illustrations

  His Fingers hit upon the Muzzle of the Weapon . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  Joe Attacks the Fire at Close Quarters

  Peter and Jack Bailey find Joe Unconscious

  Joe Surprises Hurley

  The Moose charged Madly

  A Defence against Odds

  A BOY OF THE DOMINION

  CHAPTER I

  Finding a Profession

  It was just past ten o'clock on a chilly morning in the early springwhen Joe Bradley emerged from the shop door of the little house whichhad been his father's, and stepped, as it were, abruptly into life.The banging of the door and the turning of the key were a species ofsignal to him, as if to warn him that the past, however fair or foul itmay have been, was done with, and that the future alone stared him inthe face.

  "There it is," he said, somewhat sadly, handing the key to a man whoaccompanied him. "You've paid me the money, and have arranged aboutyour lease. The business is yours."

  "And you can wish me success," came the answer. "Hope I'll do betterthan your father."

  "I hope it, with all my heart," said Joe, his lip a little tremulous."Goodbye! Good luck!"

  He could hardly trust himself to say even that; for Joe was butseventeen years of age, and changes are apt to prove trying to one soyouthful. Moreover, there are few, fortunately, who at the age ofseventeen find themselves face to face with the future all alone.

  Joe pulled the collar of his overcoat up over his ears, for the windwas keen and cutting, and thrust his hands deep into his trouserpockets. For a little while he watched the retreating figure of theman to whom he had sold his father's business, and then glancedaimlessly up and down the single street of which this little northerntown boasted. Let us declare at once that hesitation was not a featureof Joe's character; but there was an excuse for such a display on thiscold morning. For, as we have just said, when he stepped out of hisshop he, as it were, stepped into this big world; he cut himself adriftfrom the past and all its pleasant memories, and faced the wide future.

  "What to do, that's the knotty question? Can't stay here, that's quitecertain. Then where do I go? It's a corker!"

  If one puts oneself in the place of Joe Bradley for a few moments,thoroughly understanding his position, it will be admitted that therewas good cause for hesitation, and that a dilemma such as he foundhimself in would puzzle anyone, and even one gifted with greater ageand discretion. For beyond the fair education which he had contrivedto pick up, and some knowledge of mechanics and cycle fitting, Joecould boast of no special training; in any case, he knew of nothing inthis little northern town which could give him employment.

  "I've simply got to move away--only where, that's the question," herepeated to himself for perhaps the fiftieth time that day. "I'vesixty pounds in my pocket. That's my capital. If I do nothing I liveon that money, and the day draws nearer and nearer when I must work orstarve; so work is the thing I want. Exactly so--work. What work?Where?"

  He pursed his lips up and whistled--a little habit of his--then helooked up and down the street again, his brows furrowed, evidentlythinking deeply. And while he stands there before the cycle shop whichhad been in his father's possession, we may as well take advantage ofhis indecision to take a careful look at Joe.

  Seventeen he called himself, and the face was that of a lad of aboutthat age, though perhaps, if anything, just a trifle too serious forone so young. But it was unlined, save for the wrinkles which were nowupon his brow while he was thinking. It was a frank, open face, andwhen one caught him smiling, which in other days was often enough,there was something particularly taking about Joe Bradley. Indeed, hewas a gay, light-hearted fellow, just the one, in fact, who, findinghis fortunes suddenly darkened, might very likely mope and pine andsuffer from a severe attack of the blues. But Joe had too muchcharacter for that. The shrill whistle he had given broke into ajaunty tune, while he plunged his hands even deeper into his pockets.No, there was no sign of the blues about him, but merely a show ofanxiety clearly reflected on a face which bade fair, one of these days,to be handsome. There was grit, too, about Joe's features; there wasbudding firmness about the jaw and lips, while the eyes belonged to onewho could look friend or foe in the face without flinching. Otherwisehe was rather tall for his age, squarely built, and decidedly active.

  "Hallo!" called someone to him, and swinging round Joe found himselffacing the doctor's assistant.

  "Hallo!" he responded, smiling.

  "Where away?" came the question, while the doctor arrested his bicycleand balanced it with one foot on either side.

  "That's just it," said Joe, looking serious. "I was just asking myselfthe same thing. It's a conundrum."

  "A conundrum, eh? Don't understand, Joe."

  "Then it's like this," explained our young friend, while the doctorregarded him closely. "I've just handed over the key of the shop toMr. Perkins. He's paid me sixty pounds for the business as a
goingconcern. So I'm out of work and homeless. I'm just wondering what todo and where to go. I've sent my box to the station, but exactly inwhich direction I shall travel is a toss up."

  "In fact, you've the world before you, and find it hard to say whichpart shall be honoured with your presence," smiled the doctor. "Well,Joe, one thing's certain--this place is no good to you. You'd collectdust here, and that's no good to anyone. Make for London,or--George!--why shouldn't you--why not emigrate?"

  "Emigrate?"

  "Yes; go to Canada or Australia. Strike out a line for yourself.There are thousands who are doing it--thousands who haven't got so muchas sixty shillings in their pockets. Think it over."

  "I will," declared Joe, his eyes shining.

  "Then come and see me to-night and we'll have a talk. Must move alongnow; I've a patient to visit."

  The doctor was off within a few seconds, leaving Joe still standingoutside the shop so recently vacated, still with his ears well withinhis collar and his hands deep in his pockets. But there was a newexpression on his face, while the eyes were distinctly brighter. Forhere was a suggestion; here was a way out of the dilemma which for thepast three weeks had faced him. Till then he had hardly known themeaning of the word trouble. He had been content to work in the cycleshop with his father. But the latter's sudden death, the necessity tosell the business and move away had thrown our young friend into awhirl that was bewildering. And this suggestion that he shouldemigrate was the first solid one that had been made to him.

  "Why not?" he asked himself. "Others have done so. Of course I could,if I liked, take the other course Father points out to me. Supposing Iwere to open the letter?"

  He withdrew one hand from his trouser pocket and plunged it into aninner one. When he brought it into the light again there was a longsealed envelope between his fingers. Joe turned it round and read somewriting on it carefully.

  "To my son, Joe Bradley," he read. "The contents of this letter willexplain to you many things which I have never cared to refer to. But Ibeg of you never to open it till you are in direst need, or have earnedthe right to do so. Make your way in the world; gather riches. Thenyou can open and read."

  "Make your way in the world and then open. I will," declared Joealoud, forgetful of his surroundings.

  "Will what? Eh? You ain't ill, Joe?" asked a man who had approachedfrom between the houses. In fact, he had suddenly emerged from analleyway that cut in between the shop which Joe had so recently vacatedand the next one, belonging to the nearest grocer. Swinging round, ouryoung friend found himself face to face with the local constable. Ahuge, hairy face was grinning at him from beneath an absurdly smallhelmet.

  "Will what?" demanded the constable, his smile broadening till heshowed an uneven array of teeth, from the centre of the upper row ofwhich one was missing. Joe's eyes were attracted by the gap, and in aflash he remembered that Constable Near had come by the injury during acontest with some poachers. "Will what?" demanded the hairy fellowagain. "It's a queer thing to hear a young fellow saying as you springout upon him. There was you, Mister Joe, standing all alone,wool-gathering I should reckon, and holding out a paper before you. 'Iwill!' you cries, as if you was gettin' married. What's it all about?"

  Joe told him crisply. "I'm wondering what on earth to do with myself,"he said. "Doctor Tanner suggests emigrating."

  "And why not?" exclaimed the constable. "Why not, me lad? If I wasyoung again, same as you, I'd go. Don't you make no error, I'd hook ittermorrer. And I'll tell yer fer why--this country's too full ofpeople. Out there, in Canidy, there's room for me and you, andthousands like us. There's free grants of land to be had; there'slabour fer all, and good wages."

  "And no failures?" asked Joe shrewdly.

  "In course there's failures. In course there's people too tired towork when they do get out, and there's others taken in and robbed bythose who should know better; but there's success fer most, Mister Joe.There's better than that; there's indipendence--indipendence, me lad!For two twos I'd sell up and be going. Now look you here, come alongto the station, where I'll show you a few figures."

  Here was a treasure; Joe snatched at the opportunity, and accompaniedhis old friend the constable to his own cosy little cottage. Nor washe there for long before he learned that it was possible to obtain anassisted passage to Canada, with the definite promise of work onlanding. Moreover, with the money he had he could easily pay his wayand still have enough to make him independent when he arrived.

  "You jest think it all over," said Constable Near, when he had shownJoe various papers. "You're young enough, and supposing you don't likeCanada, why, you could go along on to Australia. But like it you will;I've heard tell of it often."

  "Then I'll go into the matter," Joe answered. "If I want moreparticulars I'll call in again. Thanks, constable; I already feel thatI have fewer difficulties."

  It was with a lighter and a brisker step that he emerged into thestreet again. Cramming his hat down on his head, Joe tucked his collarabout his ears again--for it was very cold outside--and went stridingoff towards the country.

  "Can't think in this town," he told himself. "I always get back to theshop, as it were, thinking of Father and of his letter. That letter'sa temptation to me. I won't open it; I swear I'll make my way before Iventure to break the seals. Now about Canada--or shall it beAustralia?"

  It was a sensible idea of Joe's to clear out of the town and all itsold associations. For, recollect, he was young, and almost up tillthat moment had had a father to refer to in all his youthfuldifficulties. But Mr. Bradley, never a very robust man, had diedsomewhat suddenly some three weeks earlier, and Joe was now an orphan.As to his parentage, he was even then somewhat vague. His mother hehad never known. She was not even a memory to him, having died shortlyafter his birth. Of his father he knew little more. Obviously he wasone who had been born to better things than a cycle shop. There weremany in this northern town who wagged their heads when speaking of Mr.Bradley, and the doctor, a shrewd judge of character and of men, hadlong ago decided the point; only, being a discreet fellow, hadmentioned it to none other than his wife.

  "There's something about that Mr. Bradley that bothers me, my dear," hehad said. "He's a gentleman through and through, while his personalappearance, his reserve, and his manners generally proclaim that he hasseen better days. He never grumbles; but I know there is a historybehind his reserve. The boy takes after him, too; he keeps much tohimself, and is obviously superior to boys of a similar station."

  That was the general opinion of the keeper of the cycle shop, andseeing that Mr. Bradley gave himself no airs, and was always pleasantto all and sundry, he was, in his quiet, retiring way, a popularcharacter in the town. His death had been followed by the usualgossip. Then a buyer for the business had speedily turned up, and withhis help and that of a local solicitor Joe had had no difficulty insettling all his affairs and in paying all debts. As we have said,here he was with sixty pounds in his pocket, good health, good temper,and good appearance, and the world before him. But he had no fixedpurpose in life. He was like the man who enters upon business withouta plan of action; like the general without a settled scheme ofcampaign, and likely enough to expend his whole strength in useless andprofitless skirmishes. Joe, without a plan to work with, was certainto see his little fortune slip from between his fingers before he foundremunerative work.

  "Must get out of the place and think," he told himself. "Here's for asharp walk."

  Head buried in his collar still, and hands deep in his pockets, he wentstriding away into the country, nodding to those acquaintances who gavehim good day. It was a little later when he heard in the far distancethe echo of a motor horn.

  "Big car," he told himself, for his father had dabbled in motor-carrepairs, and Joe had learned more than a smattering of those useful andwonderful machines. "Coming along fast, too. Fellow's in a hurry.They'd better pull up soon, for the corner yonder is a sharp one, an
dthere are cattle on the road."

  His eyes followed the long greasy ribbon ahead, winding in between thehedges till it was cut off at an abrupt angle where the road doubledalmost upon itself. The corner was, in fact, one similar to those tobe found so often in England, perhaps a relic of the early days whenroads were first constructed, and some selfish owner declined to allowtheir passage, save and except they passed round the confines of hisproperty. Whatever the reason, here was a greasy strip of macadamdoubling upon itself, with a herd of cattle ambling aimlessly along it.Boom! The horn sounded again, while the whirr of machinery died down atrifle.

  "Driver has seen the triangle marking a dangerous corner and isslowing," Joe told himself. "He'll have a surprise when he gets round;it'll be a case of brakes hard on."

  Boom! Boom! The car was up to the corner. It came shooting round,not necessarily at too fast a pace; for your modern, low-hung car canlegitimately attack curves at a speed of twenty or more miles an hour.But the careful driver allows for the unexpected. Wagons are to bediscovered often enough at a corner, and invariably on the wrong sideof the road. Pedestrians, gifted with wonderfully thick heads and, onesuspects, with a degree often enough of stupid obstinacy, insist onadhering to the centre of the road. Yes, there are often unexpectedobstacles, and here there were cattle. Round the car came--a big redone--its glass wind shield flashing in the light. Burr! Screech! Thebrakes went on instantly, and the scream of metal came to Joe's ear.

  "Old car," he told himself again, with the air of one who has hadexperience. "New cars don't make a sound with their brakes. My! He'sput 'em on hard; he'll skid if he isn't careful."

  He just had time to observe the fact that there was a single individualin the car, seated in the driving seat, and then what any experiencedmotorist might anticipate happened. The car skidded; its nose shot toone side, and Joe got a glimpse of it broadside. Then it swung roundagain, slued across to the side of the road, turned completely till itsback passed before his eyes and was again replaced by the front.Whereupon, with irresistible impulse behind it, it charged the bank,ran up it and turned over with a thud, coming to a stop within ten feetof the nearest beast, with its four wheels still spinning. Joe jammedhis hat firmly on to his head and raced towards the scene of theaccident.

  "Chap killed, I expect," he said. "Anyway, he's under the car. I sawit come down over him; beastly place that corner! Besides, the fellowwas going too fast. His own fault; inexperienced, perhaps."

  It took him a matter of three minutes to reach the scene of the upset,when he found the drover gazing at the upturned car as if spellbound,his mouth wide open, his small store of intelligence utterly gone.

  "Drive the cattle into that field and then give me a hand," cried Joe,seeing that he must give a lead. "Quick with it! The driver is underthe car, and we must get him out. Don't stand gaping, man! Bustle!Bustle!"

  He pointed to a gate near at hand giving entrance to a grass field, andran on to the car. The wheels were still spinning, at least those infront were, while the back ones had come to a rest. A man's cloth capwas lying just outside the car, while the lifting trap, which oftenenough is fitted to the floor of the back part of cars, had swungdownward. Joe leaned over, thrust his head through the opening, andpeered beneath the car. There was a man's arm just beneath him, andfarther along he could see the rest of the unfortunate fellow's body.

  "Hallo!" he called. "Hurt?"

  A groan answered him. He heard the late driver of the car gasping,then he was answered in a weak voice, the words interrupted by gasps.

  "Wind knocked clean out of me," he heard. "Can't move; I'm pinned downby the top of the front seat. Get the car off me."

  Joe moved rapidly; slowness was not one of his failings. He vaulted tothe other side of the car and peered beneath it; then he lifted hishead and gazed around.

  "Hallo!" he called again, going to the opening he had used before."Where's the jack? Can I get at it?"

  "Back of the car," came the gasping answer. "Don't be long. I canscarcely breathe; the whole weight of the thing seems to be on mychest."

  Joe raced to the back of the upturned car, wrenched at the brass handlewhich operated the lock of the cupboard usually to be found there, and,tearing the door open, discovered a jumbled mass of rags, spare motorparts, an inflator pump, and a lifting jack. He whipped the latter outin the space of a few seconds, and darting round to the side of thecar, looked shrewdly at it. Then, careless of the damage he might doto the coachwork, he placed the jack beneath the lowest edge, pushed itinto position and rapidly worked the lever which operated it. Slowlyhe managed to raise the side of the car a matter of some three inches.

  "How's that?" he called.

  "Better," came the answer, in what seemed to be a tone of relief."There's not so much pressure on me now. But I'm pinned fast; I thinkmy trousers are under the other side. What'll you do?"

  "Leave it to me," called Joe. "I'll not go away till you are released.Still the car is a heavy one, and there are only two of us here. I'vetold the drover to put his cattle into the field near by and then comeand help. Stay still, or you may jerk that jack out of place. I'llget hold of the drover, and we'll see what can be done."

  "Be he killed, maister?" he heard, as he lifted his head. "He werecoming that tremendous fast, that I knew he'd smash. I hollered; butit warn't no sort o' good. He just come round like a rocket."

  "He's alive, but pinned down by the car," Joe explained. "We must havesomething to use as a lever. Look for a strong rail."

  They went together along the hedge seeking for something to suit theirpurpose, and presently came upon two lengths of timber beside a stackof hay. Joe led the way back to the car, running as fast as he could.

  "Now, we want something to use as a point for our levers," he said. "Apile of bricks would be best, but there are none hereabouts."

  "How'll stones do?" asked the countryman, his mouth still agape."There be plenty jest here."

  Close to the gate there were quite a number of squared blocks which hadprobably at one time been built as a support for the gate post. Joeseized upon one, while the lusty drover brought a couple.

  "Now, let's consider the matter," said Joe. "With these long poles weshall be able to lever the car up; but that isn't enough. We want toturn her clean over. We want a rope."

  The driver had that, for a wonder. "I be one of those careful sort,"he explained, with a giggle. "Most times there ain't no need fer arope. But still I carries one, 'cos you never do know, now do yer? Icarries one in case there's a fretful beast. And here it is."

  Joe already had his plans made. There was a tree on the opposite sideof the road, within five yards of the upturned car. He took the ropeand made it fast to the far edge of the car. Then he carried the otherend to the tree, passed a loop round it, and beckoned to the countryman.

  "Hold on," he said. "As I lever the car up, take in the slack and holdfast. Mind you don't bungle, or that poor chap may be killed."

  A minute later he had his long lever in position, with the end wellbeneath the edge of the car, and a pile of stones some fifteen inchesfrom the point of leverage. With such a pole as he had--for it wasfourteen feet long, perhaps--he had now tremendous power, and firmpressure at the end first caused the pole to bend, and then lifted thecar with ease.

  "Hold on!" he shouted, and, obedient to the word, the drover hauled inthe slack of his rope. "Again! Once more! Now stand fast; that'senough for the moment."

  By dint of careful effort Joe had now raised the edge of the car amatter of two feet, and having built his stone fulcrum still higher, hesoon had the space beneath even greater. Waiting to see that thedrover had firm hold of his rope, he then dropped his lever, and,stepping under the car, dragged the imprisoned driver out.

  "Much damage?" he asked.

  "Shaken, that's all. Nothing broken, I believe. I've been feelingmyself all over. Arms all right, you see; legs ditto. Chest, er--yes.No ribs
broken, I imagine, though I feel as if I had been under a steamroller. You're a fine fellow; I owe you a heap."

  "Then you rest there for a little," said Joe, dragging him to thehedge, and well out of harm's way. "We'll turn the car right side upif we're able."

  It was fortunate that at that moment two men came along the road in atrap. Dismounting, they assisted in the work, and very soon the carwas righted, coming down on to her four wheels with a bump which mighthave been expected to shake the engine out of her. But no harm wasdone; beyond badly-bent mud guards, there seemed to be no damage. Eventhe steering gear was unharmed. Joe busied himself with the engine,threw the gear lever into neutral, and soon had the motor running.

  "I'll take you along to the doctor," he said, going to the damagedstranger. "Like to come?"

  "You can drive? Got a licence?" came the questions--and then, as Joenodded--"Right! Here's something for the men who helped; please thankthem for me."

  Two minutes later Joe was driving the car back into the town he had sorecently left. His first day's battle with the world had resulted inan adventure.