gation, and whether it would
ever come on the St. Lawrence as it had on rivers in Russia. A pilot in
coon-skins was sure it would come; they would put on one of these
new-fangled ice-crunching steamers to keep the main channel open, and,
_sacre bleu_, there you are! That would save five months every year. But
the others shook their heads; they didn't believe it, and didn't want it
anyway. A pilot, sir, must have a certain time to smoke his pipe!

Then one man told what the ice did to a sailing-vessel he was taking
down the river late one season. He hoped never to take another down so
late. He had got out of his course one night in the dangerous ways off
Crane Island, and finally dropped anchor to hold her against the crush
of ice. But the anchor chain snapped like shoe-string under the ice
pressure, and they were borne along on a glacier-field until they struck
on a reef--just what he had feared. Now, the ice could neither break
the reef nor drive them over it, but it ground its way right through the
schooner's stern, ripping her wide open, so that the river poured in,
and down they went until the yard-arms touched the hummocks, with pilot
and crew left to scramble over the floe as best they could in the
darkness, and wait for daylight on the frozen rocks.

At this the others, taking up the cue of thrilling happenings, told
stories of dangers on the river one after another until the tardy pilot,
who had jingled up meanwhile unnoticed, was in his turn forced to wait
for them.

"I was just putting off one night," began a tall man, who spoke better
English than the rest, "just putting off from this very place--"

"Thash nothing," interrupted the later comer, "I shaw sh-sword fish
clashe a wh-whale once off Saguenay River, an wh-whale--an sh-sword
fish--" then he mumbled to himself and dozed by the stove.

The tall man went on with his tale, which described how, on the night in
question, he was about to board a down-coming steamer of the Leyland
line (he was to take the place of the Montreal pilot), when she crashed
into a tramp steamer coming up in a head-on collision, and two sailors
sleeping in their bunks were instantly killed. He described the panic
that ensued, and told what they did, and wound up with a queer theory
(which he declared perfectly sound, and the others agreed with him) that
the growth of cities along the river is every year increasing the danger
of such night collisions through the dazzle of lights.