The Legends of Lake on the Mountain

by Roderick Benns

  The Constable’s Search

  Constable Charles Ogden dug his feet into the main trail that laced the side of the mountain. Halfway up the great, wooded hill he had to stop and rest, pulling a tattered handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped the sweat from the back of his thick neck and the top of his bald head. Looking back at his progress, he sighed and continued his ascent.

  Even with the sun in free fall, dipping toward the horizon, it was still warm this evening – too warm to be out looking for make-believe lake serpents. Oh, he believed folks were seeing something. Probably the play of shadows on the surface or maybe some large, oddlyshaped driftwood floating about.

  He didn’t bring his rifle so as not to alarm anyone. He didn’t want to give villagers the impression he was even entertaining the notion that something might be amiss in their strange, little lake.

  The constable walked past the bent oak tree where the Macdonald and Cloutier boys had said they were playing. There was a greater density of trees nearby and thicker brush. Give it time, though, and this side of the lake would be developed, too. A farming family could pretty much count on clearing about four acres per year for crops. It wouldn’t take too long.

  He was also near Anson Rightmyer’s farm. It was indeed odd that no one had seen Anson in days. Did he go to see his brother over in Demorestville? He didn’t make that trip often, though. Anson was usually a constant in town, either chatting up Hugh Macdonald at the mill or trying to hang around Hannah at the general store. Probably lonely, ever since Mary Ann had died. Bless her soul for keeping the fool alive all those years. Anson’s bloody shirt had to mean something but he wasn’t sure what. The truth is the man had always been accident prone. But if he had injured himself very badly then that didn’t explain how his shirt could end up by the lake.

  He looked out into the still water and tried to imagine something large enough to pull a grown man into the lake and eat him alive. Ridiculous.

  Approaching the shore, the constable crouched down and studied the sand near the edge of the water. He saw that the area had been recently disturbed. For all he knew, though, it could have been the Macdonald and Cloutier boys, since he wasn’t far from the bent oak tree. The constable watched the water bugs swim in circles for a moment then pivoted on his heel and prepared to return home.

  As he took a step, the surface of the water was punctured. He turned and saw a circle of ripples in the water further out into the lake. The constable held his breath. Fish. Should come back here with a pole some night, once this village is calmed down.

  He turned to walk home but then saw movement in his peripheral vision. Glancing back at the shadowed lake again, his lips parted. A great shadow rose from the lake itself. A thick, snake-like neck arced into the air and the constable squinted at what he was seeing. “What the devil...”

  The constable backed up a step and felt his feet leave the ground completely. A cold hand over his mouth was the last thing he recalled before blacking out.

  Chapter 15

  A Greater Good

  After supper, John ran for the edge of the Bay of Quinte. He looked around for George who was supposed to meet him but he hadn’t yet arrived. John worked his fingers deeply underneath a small, wedged rock while he waited. He pried the flattened stone from the ground and knocked off the remaining dirt. Round and smooth. Perfect.

  He bent his knees and looked out onto the calm, evening water. The village was quiet today, in a peculiar sort of way. It hadn’t even been that busy at the mill. John sucked in the moist air and watched the sunlight play across the water. Then he cocked his hand back with his prized stone.

  “If I were you I’d get a bit lower.”

  John jumped and spun around. He dropped the flat rock and watched it land on its edge, rolling toward the feet of Darius Marshall. The man bent down and picked it up, palming it as if to weigh its worthiness.

  “I do apologize, young man. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  John felt his racing heart slow down at seeing the grinning farmer. “That’s alright, Mr. Marshall. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear you. I’m just waiting for my friend, George.”

  “I tend to tread lightly – an old habit from my soldiering days.”

  “You were a soldier?”

  He nodded, handing the rock back to John. “Yes siree. Don’t talk about it much, really.”

  “So you fought against the Americans in the War of 1812 then?” John asked.

  Darius flinched. “Oh, yes. We have to support king and country, we do.”

  John nodded. He bent his knees again and prepared to throw, glancing back at Darius who smiled his approval at John’s stance. Or at least John thought he did. He couldn’t tell that his face changed much, other than an eyebrow twitch.

  “You’re from York, right?” John asked. “How’d you wind up in Stone Mills, Mr. Marshall?”

  “Came here to get away from the crowds,” said Darius. “Now tell me, young man, is that a relative visiting – the officer?”

  “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Donald Macpherson – my uncle from Kingston.”

  “He seems a bit on the older side to be in the army.”

  “He’s retired.”

  “He’s not acting retired.”

  Darius bent and threw a stone in one motion. John counted eight skips.

  “Nice throw, Mr. Marshall. I guess you’re right about the colonel – that’s what we all call him. I’m not sure why he’s here, really, but Father thinks it has to do with the news sheet that’s been floating around.”

  “Ahh – yes, I’ve seen it. And what do you think of it?” Darius asked.

  “I think it stirs up everybody and that can’t be good.”

  “Why?”

  John shrugged. He scuffled around for another stone. “I don’t know – it just seems like it gets people all riled up.”

  Darius polished another stone. “Well, that’s the point young man. When government tries to tell you what you can and can’t do, it can get to you. Makes people a little crazy. That’s another reason why I left York.”

  “I don’t understand,” said John.

  “The Family Compact.”

  “You mean the Tories?”

  Darius laughed. “I like the term Family Compact better – William Lyon Mackenzie came up with that you know.”

  John nodded. “Yes sir, my father told me. Miss Pringle talked to George and me about this too.”

  “Did she now? That’s a mighty smart woman over there.” They both looked in the direction of the general store. John noticed that Darius’ eyes lingered a bit longer in her direction.

  The man brushed a few stray, thinning strands of brown hair the wind had blown in front of his eyes. “Well, young man, maybe this Mackenzie will one day lead some kind of revolution, like they had in the U.S. What do you think of that?” Darius flung his stone. Five skips.

  “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but I think there must be other ways to figure out how to run our affairs, other than having a war.”

  John whipped the small stone. Six skips.

  The farmer scratched his head and took a half step closer to John. “War is all we have left when freedom falters, son. Sometimes that’s when a greater good comes calling.” John stared at him quizzically.

  “What I’m saying is,” Darius added, “maybe some folks will end up choosing to join up with our friends to the south. Then we’d be left with just one country, at least for the northern half of the continent.”

  John laughed at the thought. “And what country would it be then?”

  Darius’ eyes narrowed. “The U.S., of course. It’s larger – it could absorb these colonies just fine. Speaking theoretically, young man.” He tapped his head. “Keeps the mind sharp.”

  John considered the idea for a brief mome
nt as he kicked for another stone with the ball of his foot. “No one from around here would want to join the United States, Mr. Marshall. Even the people who used to be Americans came here because they wanted to remain British. That’s how the Adolphustown area was settled, when Peter Van Alstine and some of the United Empire Loyalists left the U.S. and landed here. It was June 16th, 1784 – every kid in the county knows that date.” Darius was silent as he stared off in the distance. “Mr. Marshall? It’s funny but I can’t figure out your accent. Where did you say you were from, originally?” Darius pointed to a small figure moving toward the bay from the middle of the village. “Here comes your friend now.”

  John squinted. “Wow, your eyes are good Mr. Marshall. You’re right.”

  George began to run and reached the edge of the bay a few moments later.

  “Hi George – you remember Mr. Marshall, right?” John turned to reintroduce them. No one was there.

  Chapter 16

  As Mean as They Come

  John grabbed the side of the bateau and helped Cornelius edge the Morning Bloom onto the shore. The lean boatman’s hands blurred as he tied the slender boat to its post, something he must have done thousands of times, John figured.

  Cornelius stepped over the side onto the bank and dragged his bad leg a few steps, under the mid-morning sun. He looked at a small pile of flour sacks on the ground. “That’s it?” He looked from Hugh Macdonald to John. “Is there more coming?” Hugh shook his head. “No – afraid not.”

  Cornelius whistled. “It’s the bloody lake creature, isn’t it? I’ve heard the rumours even in the other villages. Hard to imagine people are just up and leaving their crops.”

  John swallowed and stared at his feet at the mention of the creature. He hated the fact that thinking about the lake – and what they had seen in it – made him feel so anxious. Before Hugh or John could say anything they turned to the sound of an approaching wagon. Nathaniel Pitman, the massive saw mill operator, drove his large team of horses toward them.

  “John, if you wouldn’t mind?” Cornelius gestured to the few sacks of flour to load in the bateau.

  “You don’t care for Mr. Pitman, do you?” asked John in a quiet voice. They heaved the sack onto the lip of the boat. He glanced over at the massive, dark-haired figure perched on top of the wagon.

  Cornelius sniffed. “The man’s mean, John – as mean as they come. I saw him reduce one of his employees to tears one time a couple of years ago when they were unloading in this very same place – a grown man.” The two large bay horses halted. “Nathaniel.” Hugh nodded.

  The man grunted. Without a clear word he unhitched the ties around the cut planks of wood in the back of his wagon. Like his father’s flour sacks, it seemed to John that it was a far cry from what he might normally send to Kingston.

  “That’s it, then?” asked Cornelius.

  Nathaniel’s dark, brown eyes trained on Cornelius. “Just load it.”

  John drew George aside. “I want to know what the colonel is up to.”

  The bay was choppy and moody and mirrored the sky over Stone Mills. John, George, Moll and Lou were having an outside dinner just a few feet away from the bay. Dark, grey waves pushed toward the shore and splashed over a large crag of rock. John closed his eyes as he leaned back on the scruff of grass and sand. He let the spray wash over his face.

  George’s eyes bulged. “You mean, you want to spy on your uncle?”

  “I wouldn’t call it spying,” said John. “I just want to watch him without him knowing.”

  George looked at Moll. “Moll, how would you define the word spying?”

  She laughed and John affably shoved his friend. “Listen, I heard he went to the top of the mountain and I want to see if he’s at Mr. Pitman’s.”

  George chomped on a carrot while he let John’s words sink in. “You want to go to the lake – after what we saw? Are you crazy, mon ami?”

  John shook his head. “No way – not the lake, really.” John felt his palms grow sweaty. “Not that close. We can just stay near the edge of the mountain – I want to peek into the saw mill and see if the colonel is there. I think something’s up there, but I don’t know what. He’s hardly talked to me since he got here, which is odd.”

  “I told you last time I do not want to go near the saw mill, either,” said George, pacing. “Nobody listens to me.”

  “I listen to you, George.” Lou was wandering along the shore line of the bay but took time to look up and smile at George.

  John ignored his little sister. “It’s daytime,” John reminded him. “That…thing we saw in the lake has only been seen in the evening. Look, I’m worried Father is going to follow the lead of some of the other villagers and leave.”

  In fact he had just seen evidence of it this morning, when Cornelius loaded the bateau with half the amount of flour he usually picked up in Stone Mills. It wasn’t a good sign.

  “Maybe that thing is nocturnal,” said Moll. “And that’s why people see it only at night?” John nodded. “Maybe.”

  Moll looked thoughtful. “But John, what does Colonel Macpherson have to do with the people leaving – or Mr. Pitman, for that matter?”

  John shrugged and began to pace. The sides of his hair sprung out in the wind as he walked. “I’m not sure. Just a feeling that he’s looking into this. And remember, Constable Ogden said he was going up there last night.

  Maybe he and the colonel are working together?”

  “It did not seem like they were friends,” said George. He chose one of the crusts of bread Moll had packed and sat, cross-legged, near Moll. “And why aren’t we looking for treasure, John? That sounds more exciting to me.”

  “We will,” said John, feeling his inside pocket where the map remained. He had been so disturbed by the lake serpent they had seen that he hadn’t been able to think about much else – other than maybe his father packing the family up and leaving Stone Mills. John pointed to the flour mill. “Look.”

  Everyone looked at the mill. One farmer standing beside a small horse cart waited his turn. George shrugged. “What?”

  “At this time of year, there should be a line-up past Pringle’s Store. On wagons, horseback – farmers’ backs – they should be hauling in the wheat right now. It should be non-stop flour milling for us,” said John.

  Moll nodded and George sighed. “So if everyone is either running away from Stone Mills because they’re scared of the lake creature…” began Moll. “I’m not scared,” John lied.

  “…or even just distracted, not tending their fields on time because of this, then Father’s business is in big trouble,” she finished.

  No one said anything. “And you know what that means,” Moll added.

  “We’ll be moving again,” said Lou, drifting into the conversation.

  “George, do you want me to go back to Kingston knowing our father’s business is growing worse every day, when it should be busy?” asked John. “We’d likely move and I’d never see you again.”

  Lou jumped up and patted George’s shoulder. “You should listen to my brother – today he’s making sense.” George sighed and grabbed a second carrot. “If I go, then it is not near the lake, right?”

  “No lake,” John assured. “Just the forest on the edges of the mountain where I bet the colonel is searching. Mr. Rightmyer was eaten in the lake – we’ll stay away from there.”

  Moll shook her head. “They only found his shirt, John.”

  “Yes, with blood on it,” said John. “And I wonder why?” He made a serpent’s neck with his arm and used his hand to make a mouth, snapping at the air.

  George laughed uneasily. “But what about the treasure? If we use our time on the map we could become rich. Or, if we use our time spying on your uncle and Mr. Pitman, we could be jailed.”

  “It’s not
a choice, George – we’ll do both. But if we don’t figure out what’s going on, our time in Stone Mills is limited. Father likes to move around too much – we’ve always lived with a sense of uncertainty about that. I don’t want to give him an excuse.”

  George pulled out a scratched pocket watch. “We still have an hour before I have to go home and you have to work in the mill. Are you coming with us Moll?”

  Moll stood and brushed herself off. “You two go on ahead. I have sewing to do.”

  John pointed at Lou discretely so Moll would notice, as his eyes bulged out. “Oh, and I need your help, Lou,” said Moll, understanding.

  “But I want to go with them!” said Lou as John mouthed ‘no’ behind her and held up his hands in a mock prayer.

  “Maybe next time,” said Moll. “We have to figure out what’s for supper tonight, too.”

  “I want to be a boy.” Lou stomped off toward the house and John tried to refrain from smiling too much.

  “Thanks Moll – and thanks for dinner,” said John.

  “I’m keeping track,” she said, following Lou. “The tab’s getting high, John.”

  “Sisters,” said John, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and turned to George. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  ***

  John and George dissolved into the woods behind the flour mill and clawed their way up the flat-topped mountain. Sunlight filtered through the dense trees and left bright scars of light on the ground. Scrabbling over the edge, they ran the short distance to the edge of the lake which was now bathed in the hot, midday sun. They stopped to eye the shores.

  “Mon ami...isn’t that your uncle right there?” George pointed to a figure kneeling down at the south side of the lake. John cupped his eyes to block the sunlight.

  “Yes, that’s him. No one else would be wearing a full military uniform around here. But what’s he doing?”

  They walked toward the colonel, John stealing glances at the lake to his right. It was placid. Still. As they got closer, the older officer noticed them and stood straight. He smoothed his uniform and looked around. “And how may I help you two today?” he asked. His silver moustache twitched when he spoke. Somehow the colonel always made John feel like he had to report on something, as if he were a soldier.