They pushed off at once from the shore, with scarcely a word of
reply to her voluble directions and gesticulations as they went
speeding their canoe down the stream. The turning tide bore them
lightly on its bosom, and they chanted a wild, monotonous refrain as
their paddles flashed and dipped alternately in stream and sunshine;
"Ah! ah! Tenaouich tenaga!
Tenaouich tenaga, ouich ka!"
"They are singing about me, no doubt," said Fanchon to herself. "I
do not care what people say, they cannot be Christians who speak
such a heathenish jargon as that: it is enough to sink the canoe;
but I will repeat my paternosters and my Ave Marias, seeing they
will not converse with me, and I will pray good St. Anne to give me
a safe passage to St. Valier." In which pious occupation, as the
boatmen continued their savage song without paying her any
attention, Fanchon, with many interruptions of worldly thoughts,
spent the rest of the time she was in the Indian canoe.
Down past the green hills of the south shore the boatmen steadily
plied their paddles, and kept singing their wild Indian chant.
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