Produced by Al Haines
THE RAPIDS
BY
ALAN SULLIVAN
AUTHOR OF "THE INNER DOOR," ETC.
THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED
TORONTO
Copyright, Canada, 1922, by
THE COPP CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED
TORONTO, ONTARIO
_The Copp Clark Press_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. CLARK DISCOVERS ARCADIA II. ARCADIA WAKES UP III. PHILADELPHIA HEARS ABOUT ARCADIA IV. PRELIMINARIES IN ST. MARYS V. THE BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA VI. CONCERNING IRON, WOOD AND A GIRL VII. THE BISHOP'S GARDEN PARTY--AND AFTERWARDS VIII. IRON IX. CONCERNING THE APPREHENSION OF CLARK'S DIRECTORS X. CUPIDITY VS. LOYALTY XI. CLARK EXPERIENCES A NEW SENSATION, ALSO HIS DIRECTORS XII. LOVE AND DOUBT XIII. THE VOICE OF THE RAPIDS XIV. AN ANCIENT ARISTOCRAT VISITS THE WORKS XV. CLARK CONVERTS TORONTO XVI. GOLD, ALSO CONCERNING A GIRL XVII. THE GIRL IN THE CANOE XVIII. MATTERS FINANCIAL XIX. THE WEB OF LACHESIS XX. THE CAR OF PROGRESS HALTS XXI. THE CRASH XXII. THE MASTER MIND AT WORK XXIII. CONCERNING THE RIOT XXIV. DESTINY XXV. THE UNCONQUERABLE SPIRIT EPILOGUE
THE RAPIDS
I.--CLARK DISCOVERS ARCADIA
Amongst the few who knew Robert Fisher Clark at all well, for therewere not many of them, there was no question as to his beliefs. It wastoo obvious that his primary faith was in himself. Nor is it knownwhether, at any time, he gave any thought or study to the character ofthose with whom, in the course of his remarkably active life, he cameinto association. Always it appeared that there was laid upon him theresponsibility of doing things which did not occur to the ordinary man,and he went about them with such supreme confidence and unremittingenthusiasm that he infused into his followers much of his communicablezeal. It appears now that Clark weighed a man by appraising the degreeto which he contributed to the work in hand, and automatically setaside those whom he considered contributed nothing to his object. Hewas the most unattached personality it is possible to imagine.Whatever passion or reaction he may have experienced was always amatter for him alone, and something that he underwent in the remotenessof an astonishingly exclusive brain. That he experienced them iswithout doubt, but they were revealed in the intensity of action andthe quick resiliency of renewed effort.
It was not known, either, whether he believed in chance, or in thosetiny eventualities which so often impress a definite color onsubsequent years. The trend of his mind was to move forward ratherthan back, and it is questionable if he gave much thought to secondcauses. The fruit dangled before his eye even as he planted the vine,and if this induced in him a certain ruthlessness it could only bebecause those who are caught up in high endeavor to reach the mountaintops must perforce trample many a lowland flower beneath their eagerfeet.
And yet it was chance that brought Clark to St. Marys, chance that heshould be in a certain train at a given time, and above all it waschance that he should overhear a certain conversation, but it was notby any means chance that he should interpret the latter as he did.
The train was lurching over an uneven track that wound through thewoods of western Ontario when, staring thoughtfully out of the windowat the tangled bush, he caught from across the aisle the drift of talkthat was going on between two strangers.
"And so," said one of them, "the thing went smash for lack of just twothings."
"And what were they?"
"Some more money and a good deal more experience."
Clark raised his head ever so slightly. Money and experience--the lackof them had, to his personal knowledge, worked disaster in a widercircle than that of St. Marys. He had heard of the place before, butthat was years ago. Presently one of the strangers continued.
"It was after the railway came that the people in St. Marys seemed towake up. They got in touch with the outside world and began to talkabout water power. You see, they had been staring at the rapids foryears, but what was the value of power if there was no use to which toput it? Then a contractor dropped in who had horses and tools but nojob."
"So that's what started it?"
"Exactly. The idea was small enough to begin with and the town justwanted power for light and water works, so they gave the contractor thejob, borrowed a hundred and thirty thousand dollars, and got thenecessary land from the Ottawa government. I've an idea that if thoserights ever get into experienced hands you'll hear a good deal more ofSt. Marys than you ever heard before."
"And then?"
"The town went broke on the job. Mind you, they had a corkingagreement with the government and a block of land alongside the rapidsbig enough for a young city. The mistake was they hadn't secured anyfactory. Also they needed about five times as much money."
The other man smiled reflectively. "The old story over again."
"That's about it. Credit ran out and the work stopped and things beganto rust, and now St. Marys has gone to sleep again and does a littlefarming and trade with the Indians."
"In fact, it's a sort of rural tragedy?"
"Yes. You'll see the half-finished ditch just before we cross thebridge. I'm afraid St. Marys has that kind of a sick feeling thatgenerally knocks the stuffing out of a municipality. Come on, let'shave some lunch."
The two disappeared toward the dining car, but Clark did not stir. Hiseyes, which were gray and keen, still fixed themselves contemplativelyon the ragged wilderness. His lips were pressed tight, his jawslightly thrust out. Water rights--industries--unlimited power--landfor an industrial city; all this and much more seemed to hurl itselfthrough his brain. Presently he took a railway folder out of his bagand examined one of those maps which invariably indicate that therailway which has published the folder owns the only direct routebetween important points and that all other lines meander aimlessly incomparison. He noted, although he already knew it, that St. Marys,Ontario, was just across the river from St. Marys, Michigan; that LakeSuperior flung itself down the rapids that roared between, and that tothe south the country was fairly well settled--but to the north thewilderness stretched almost unbroken to the sub-arctics.
A quarter of an hour passed when a long whistle announced the approachto the town. At the sound a new light came into the gray eyes, thetraveler closed his bag with a snap and began to put on his coat. Justat that moment the porter hurried up.
"This isn't Minneapolis, sir."
Clark drew a long breath. "I know it--have changed my mind. I'm forSt. Mary's now."
He stepped off almost before the train came to a halt and lookedcuriously about.
"Good day," he said to the nearest man. "Will you please tell me whois mayor and where I will find him?"
Now it happened that the individual to whom this query was addressedwas none other than Bowers, the town solicitor, for Bowers had a habitof deserting his office about train time and surveying new arrivalsfrom a corner of the platform with the lurking hope of unearthingsomething which might relieve the monotony of days which were not onlywearisome but unprofitable. When the stranger spoke to him, the lawyernoticed that he was of medium height with a strong barrel-like body andrather sloping shoulders. His face was smooth, his jaw somewhat heavy,his eyes exceedingly keen, and he carried with him an indefinable airof authority. He observed, also, that the voice had in it somethingpeculiarly clear and incisive. With a little thrill and a suddenflicker of the flame of hope, he pointed down the street that led tothe river.
"Filmer is the mayor and his store is at the second corner down. Hisoffice is just behind."
The stranger nodded and strode briskly off. Presently Bowers heardanother voice.
"Who's that, do you suppose, commercial?"
The lawyer wrinkled his brows. "In a way,
yes, but in another way, no.That fellow isn't selling anything, he's a buyer."
As the stranger approached Filmer's store, he noted that it was thelargest building in sight, as well it might be. It was the localemporium, and so successfully had Filmer managed his business that theHudson Bay Company saw nothing inviting in competition. From a plow toa needle, from an ax to a kettle, from ammunition to sugar, Filmer hadall things, and what he had not he secured with surprising promptness.He had been mayor so long that his first term was now almost forgotten.By ability, courage, and fairness he was easily the leader in thecommunity. Broad and strong, with a ruddy, good natured face, a finetenor voice, a keen sense of humor and repartee, he was universallypopular. No one had known Filmer to complain or repine, though theremust have been moments when he longed for touch with those of his owncaliber. His was the case of a big man who though bigger than hissurroundings accepted them cheerfully. Thus, when Filmer looked up andsaw the stranger standing at his office door he was conscious of acurious feeling of anticipation.
It was noted in the store that when the murmur of voices, a mingling ofthe stranger's penetrating tones and Filmer's fuller, richer note, hadlasted for a moment, the mayor got up and banged the door shut, afterwhich there drifted out only a suggestion of conversation. It was notuntil an hour later that the door opened and the two came slowly out,the stranger as brisk as ever. Filmer was pulling thoughtfully at hisglossy black whiskers. Both paused on the wide front step.
"Then at eight this evening, Mr. Clark?" said Filmer.
"At eight," answered the stranger, staring keenly at the river.
"Won't you come and stay with me while you are here, it's just ascomfortable as the hotel?" Filmer laughed softly.
Clark shook his head. "Thanks, I'll have too much to do while I amhere. I'd better be alone." And with that he set off walking smartlyup the long rambling street that led to the abandoned power canal.
He progressed steadily with quick energetic steps, an alert andsuggestive figure amidst a scene of placidity. Up the uneven plankwalk he went, noting with a swift, sidelong glance the neat white houseof Dibbott, the Indian agent, a house that thrust its snowy, woodenwalls and luxuriant little garden close up to the street. On his left,still further west, was the home of Worden, the local magistrate. Thiswas a comfortable old place by the river, with a neglected fieldbetween it and the highway. Scattered here and there were stores,small buildings with high, wooden fronts, in the upper part of whichlived the proprietor and his family. On the right, street after streetstarted intermittently northward and died, houseless, at the railwayline, beyond which lay the unbroken bush. Still further up was theCounty jail, set four square in a large lot that had been shorn oftrees. It was of gray stone, massive and forbidding and iron barred.Clark stopped here for a moment and looked back at St. Marys with itsflaming maples and its scattered roofs from which rose plumes of light,gray smoke. His eyes half closed as though in some suddenintrospection, till, turning abruptly, he struck off over a road thatled across a mile of level land and came presently to the grave of theindustrial hopes of the town. It was an ugly scar in the face of thehelpless earth.
Climbing the half completed embankment, he looked west, where throughthe clearing he could see the waters of Superior, then down stream tothe tail of the rapids that roared half a mile further on. It came tohim that nothing is so ugly as a well meant effort which has been leftunfinished. Where he stood there had, a year or so before, been littlerivulets which, escaping from the mighty flood of the rapids, lostthemselves in thickets of birch, hemlock, and cedar, and tinkled andleaped musically to the lower stretches of the river, whilst greattrout lay winnowing their currents of white water. But of this beautythere was now but a disordered gash, a hundred feet wide and a thousandfeet long, where rusting tools were scattered amongst mounds ofsplintered rock that lay in piles just as the blast of dynamite hadleft them. An untidy ruin, thought Clark, who had his own ideas of howthings should be put away.
But he was, nevertheless, intensely interested, scanning it allshrewdly. He picked up fragments of stone, and, breaking them,examined their texture with the utmost care. Once or twice he walkedalong the top of the unfinished embankment throughout its entirelength, running a keen eye over the outlines of the excavation. Afterhalf an hour which concluded with one long concentrated stare, hepushed on deliberately through the soaked and tangled undergrowth tillhe came to the edge of the rapids themselves. Here he sat on a rockand looked long and earnestly, and so motionless was he that, after alittle while, he seemed to blend completely with earth, sky, and water.
Immediately at his feet the rush of the river grasped at the roughshore as though to pluck it into the deeps, and here were eddies inwhich he could see the polished stones at the bottom. But further out,where the full weight of water began to be felt, were the first of thegreat, white horses that stretched to the other shore, a tossing,leaping, irresistible herd. Under the great bridge at his right, theriver took its first dip, a smooth and shining slope, streaked withtiny furrows of speed that wrinkled like waving metallic lines. Belowthat came the rapids in their first fury, with scattered cellars intowhich the flood swept to uprear itself in a second into pyramids offorce and foam. This seemed to fascinate Clark, and he peered withunwinking eyes till a sharp clatter just over his head caused him tolook up. Still he did not move his body, and a kingfisher on a branch,after regarding him for an instant with bright suspicious eyes, flunghimself into the air and hovered over a nearby eddy with an irregularflapping of quick, blue wings. Then, like a bullet, he dived into theflashing stream immediately at Clark's feet, and emerged with diamonddrops flying from his brilliant plumage and a small, silver fishcurving in his sharp, serrated beak, till, a second later, he dartedinto the covert with his prey. The bird had dared the rapids and foundthat which he sought. Clark's gray eyes had seen it all, and he smiledunderstandingly.
The mayor, after the departure of his visitor, stood thoughtfully infront of the store, while his eye followed the stranger's figuredreamily up the street, and stood like one who has that whereof toponder. It is true that he had offered to accompany the new comer onhis pilgrimage, but equally true that Clark had politely but definitelydeclined, and it was something new for the mayor to have his suggestionthus put aside. In this case, however, he felt no resentment, andpresently strolled to the house of Worden, the magistrate, where hefound Worden, a large man with a small, kindly face, sitting in hisstudy which immediately faced the lawn. On the other side was theriver. Worden was apparently dividing his time between an unfinishedjudgment, for which there seemed no pressing demand, and a satisfyingcontemplation of the great stream which here was flecked with foam fromthe tumult above.
The mayor sat for some time talking to him, surrounded by tiers ofhomemade shelves packed with law books, along whose tattered, leatherbacks Worden had a habit of running a tobacco-stained forefinger whilehe relighted a pipe which seemed in continual need of attention. Thetalk was long and earnest. The mayor's cigar went out with a smell ofvarnish where it lay on the edge of the judge's desk, but the two wereso interested that they did not notice it.
Presently Filmer got up and Worden followed him to the porch expressingentire approval of all that had been discussed, and, as Filmer struckacross to the street, he returned to his study and gazed at thejudgment with apparent contempt.
From Worden's, the mayor walked across to the jail and sought outManson. The latter was in his small office which seemed crowded withits single occupant's bulk, and adjoined the high forbidding walls ofthe jail itself. In St. Marys the chief constable was a man of place,and the jail an edifice that at times took on a singular interest, andif such a capacious establishment as it actually was might seemsuperfluous in Arcadia it must be remembered that in seasons of theyear the lumberjacks rolled in from the northern parts with six months'wages and a great thirst that demanded to be quenched, and a perfectlynatural and well meaning desire to offer combat at s
ight, which theygenerally did. Then, too, there were fugitives from justice whoslipped across the river by night in canoes, and miners from the silvercountry far to the west, and sometimes crime was also the product ofisolation.
Manson, a tall man, broad, dark, and heavy voiced, seemed by naturedesigned to meet just such contingencies. Outwardly he was the epitomeof authority and inwardly he had a mind as stiff as his back. In hisown domain he was as Jove on Olympus, and when he moved abroad he was aperambulating reminder of the strong arm of the law. The jail wasconveniently arranged to hold the court room on an upper story, so thatManson could pop a prisoner up out of his cell to be tried andsentenced, and pop him back forthwith, and all the time the unfortunatewas, so to speak, one of the family and continually under the paternaleye.
Had a listener been outside the door, he would have gleaned that themayor's visit was, in this case, not as amicable as that just made toWorden. He talked long and arduously, but every now and then Manson'sdeep bass boomed out heavy with argument, and his massive fist crashedponderously on the table. Presently Filmer drew a long breath and,stepping out on the trim gravel path, glanced up quizzically at thechief constable who looked as though enthroned on his own doorstep.
"Mr. Mayor," came the deep voice, "I don't take any stock in yourscheme. It's no good and there's a nigger in the fence somewhere. Iwas right before, and I am right this time."
Filmer laughed softly. "Well, John, you're a hell of a good jailer, weall admit that, but I don't put you down as any permanent prophet.However, you will come, won't you?"
Manson nodded, a nod which said that though he would come it could notaffect his fixed opinion, whereupon the mayor laughed again, and setoff to finish his afternoon pilgrimage, and it is but fair to followhim a little further since he was a shrewd man, active and courageous,and though he did not know it, the result of the various visits he madethat day was to be imprinted indelibly on the history of St. Marys.
Banishing Manson from a mind which was already busy with his next move,he retraced his steps as far as the cottage of Dibbott, the Indianagent, who at this hour of the day, might have been found movingmountainously in his long garden and pottering amongst his perennials,smoking an enormous pipe which he regretfully laid aside only in orderthat he might eat.
Now, since the citizens of St. Marys were, without their knowledge,about to enter upon a period of great importance, glance at Dibbott,not the least of them, as his small, blue eyes caught the approachingfigure of the mayor. Six feet when he straightened, his shoulders werebent, but still broad and strong. His face was fiery, not only fromhis full blooded habit but also from long canoe voyages. He was aplacid man--placid yet at times suddenly choleric, and he regarded St.Marys and his own particular plot of land with an undying and tranquilaffection. Dibbott's position was, in a sense, enviable, for he stoodas administrator between the government and the local Indian tribes, inwhose eyes he was the representative of authority.
Year after year he made official visits of visible grandeur to thesettlements of his wards, journeying in a great canoe in the middle ofwhich he rested enthroned, the brim of his hat pulled far down over ascarlet, sunburnt nose, a steady wisp of smoke from his big pipefloating back into the face of the laboring Indian behind him. It maybe that it was in the silence and mysterious appeal of these journeysthat Dibbott got the dignity which sat so naturally on his great, grayhead.
The mayor liked the old man, and Dibbott knew it, so they talkedamicably while Dibbott, turning every now and then in surprise, pushedout his full red lips as though rising to a fly, and darted quick,little glances as Filmer unfolded his story beside a late phlox. Andwhen the mayor concluded, Dibbott did not move but began to rumble in adeep, throaty, ruminative voice something that sounded like one hundredand thirty thousand dollars at six per cent.
On his way back to the office, Filmer saw Bowers' lean figure acrossthe street. He crooked a masterful finger. "Come here!"
The lawyer came over very deliberately and the two went on together.
"There is a man up at the rapids who says he's ready at any time totake over the town canal debentures."
Bowers looked up startled. "Will you please repeat that very slowly."
"It's true," chuckled Filmer, "and I am calling a town meeting forto-night. I haven't time to give you the details now, but be on handat eight o'clock. He's made a perfectly straight proposal and I don'tsee how we can lose on it. I never met a man just like him."
"Did he come in on the train this afternoon?"
The mayor nodded. "Yes--said he was going on to Minneapolis, butdecided to stop over and make this offer."
"Then I saw him at the station," answered Bowers thoughtfully. "Ithought he was a buyer. Do you reckon we can rope him in?"
Filmer drew a long breath. "Looks to me as if he would rope himself inthe way he is going. He won't need any help from us."
"What did you make of him personally?"
"I didn't get very far," said Filmer deliberately, "except that hestruck me as the sort of man who gets things done. Look here, I'veseen Dibbott and Worden and Manson. Will you go and see the Bishop andask him to come to-night?"
"The Bishop went away this morning."
"Damn!" said the mayor explosively. "I wanted to get his opinion aboutClark, that's his name, Robert Fisher Clark. Well, so long."
He went on to his store where he was overtaken by Clark who had trampedback from the rapids. The visitor was muddy and no longer immaculateand there was a trace of fatigue on his face, but he looked as cheerfuland determined as ever. At that moment the village crier passed up thestreet swinging a raucous bell and announcing in stentorian tones thata meeting would be held in the town hall that night at eight o'clock toconsider matters of prime importance to the citizens at large. Thecrier tramped on, and Filmer glanced up inquiringly.
"Won't you change your mind and come to the house with me? It is asafe bet you'll be more comfortable."
Clark shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got to speak in two hours andthere's a good deal to think of."
Meantime rumors of many things had begun to spread through St. Marys.The magistrate, as soon as the mayor left him, naturally told Mrs.Worden all about it and Bowers would not have dreamt of keeping such athing from his wife, so had stuck a card on his office door saying hewould be back in ten minutes and went home for the afternoon, afterwhich Mrs. Worden and Mrs. Bowers strolled over to see Mrs. Dibbott andwere in close conversation amongst the perennials, appealing now andthen to Dibbott in order that there might be no mistake about it. Downin Blood's barber shop, Jim Blood had, as might be expected, the mostdetailed information, for Clark had gone in there on his way to thehotel and, sitting down, remarked "shave please" and at the end,without another word, gave Jim fifty cents and walked out. And if youadd to all this the sound of the crier's bell mellowing softly up thelong street, it will be understood that the excitement was considerablyintensified. Even Filmer, as he ate supper, did not say much, but kepthis gaze on the lid of the teapot as though it were a Pandora's box inwhich bubbled marvelous things that might be vomited any moment. Butat heart Filmer was not anxious. It was not his habit. Of all men heknew best the folk of St. Marys, so he doubted not at all, and as amatter of fact St. Marys had for mayor a much bigger and wiser man thanit ever suspected.
There may be communities now such as St. Marys was twenty-five yearsago, but one goes far to find them. Electricity has altered theirdistinctive character. The traffic of half a continent glidedmajestically past these wooded shores, with the deep blast of whistlesas the great vessels edged gingerly into the Government lock across theriver to be lifted to Superior, and another farewell blast as theypushed slowly out, and lastly a trail of vanishing black smoke as theydwindled westward to the inland sea. For seven months this processionpassed the town but never halted, till the people of St. Marys feltlike the farmer who, in mid field, waves a friendly hand to a speedingtrain.
As a re
sult folk knew each other to a degree which some would callinsufferably well, and yet they did not weary. It was a curiouscondition in which life had few secrets and yet an ample privacy.There was, as it happened, little to secrete, and simultaneously therewas no straining of hospitality. In these close quarters each wasaware that the others knew what he or she could reasonably do, and, innatural consequence, did it with grace and simple ease. For yearsbefore the railway pushed up from Sudbury, the outer world was broughtinto touch when the bows of the bi-weekly steamer bumped softly againstthe big stringers of Filmer's dock, and papers and letters were thrownon a buckboard and galloped to the post office where presently thecommunity gathered and talked.
There was no telephone to jangle, no electric light and no waterworks,but in the soil of St. Marys were springs of sweet water, and throughthe windows came the soft glow of lamplight as evening closed in, andthe shuffle of feet on the porch announced the visitor. It was fromthe river and the close encircling forest that St. Marys took on itsatmosphere. The maple bush was full of game, and the beaver builttheir curving dams in tamarac thickets within three miles of thevillage. It was a common thing to kill Sunday's dinner in a two hoursstroll from Filmer's store, and, at the foot of the rapids where theIndians pushed their long canoes up to the edge of the white water,there were great, silver fish for the taking. The ducks halted for arest on their way north and within a stone's throw of the Bishop's big,square house, the geese used to alight in a cornfield, sometimes on aSunday morning. On such occasions the Bishop experienced keenembarrassment, for he was a good shot and a good sportsman. Inspringtime the Indians would come up from the settlement with mink andotter which they traded at Filmer's store for bags of brown sugar, and,these, being silently transported to the bush, would shortly reappearas quantities of genuine Indian maple sugar, which Filmer's clerks soldto Filmer's friends with absolute gravity, the nature of the thingbeing perfectly understood on both sides of the counter. As to localexcitement, there was twice a year the County Court and, while it mightbe said that there was not in all this much for young people to do,they had, nevertheless, camping trips and cruises in big Mackinaw boatsalong the shores of Lake Huron, and snow shoeing expeditions in winterthat took them straight into a fairyland where they built roaring firesof six foot logs and feasted royally in the ghostly recesses of thesnow burdened woods. All this and much more had the folk of thevillage, and everything that went to make up a sweet, clean, uneventfullife. And then into this Arcadia dropped one day a stranger, with anamazing experience of the outer world, a kaleidoscopic brain, anextraordinary personal magnetism and a unique combination of drivingforce and superlative ambition.
Is it surprising that even though ignorant of Clark's characteristicsthe people of St. Marys filled the town hall that night?