Thepassage of the channel leading into Richmond Gulf was accomplished without adventure, and within the gulf the power boat took a northeasterly direction, passing several small islands. Many wild ducks, gulls and other water fowl and birds flew about the islands, hovered over the water or rested upon the waves.
Presently Kuglutuk turned the boat into the mouth of a river, and ascending the stream for a little distance, against a strong current, made a landing near the foot of a rushing, tumultuous rapid.
“Tom,” declared Remington, when they were ashore, “I’m as hungry as seven bears. Fry some bacon and make some coffee, won’t you, before you pitch the tents?”
“Aye, aye, sir. We’ll put on a fire an’ have un ready in a jiffy. Dan, b’y, bring up the things from the boat.”
“Come fellows, we’ll get our rods up while Tom’s getting dinner,” suggested Remington. “I’m aching to try my luck.”
“Which of these rods shall I use?” asked Paul. “I never used a rod in my life, and I guess you’ll have to show me.”
“Try this one,” selecting a good weight steel fly rod. “That’s got strength, and if you strike a big one you’re not so likely to break it as that lighter one. You’ll be able to handle the lighter one after some practice.”
In the meantime Tom cut a pole about eight feet in length, sharpened the butt, which he jabbed firmly into the earth, inclined it at an angle over a fire which Kuglutuk had kindled with moss and dead sticks, and in such a position that the upper end of the stick came directly over the blaze. On this he hung a kettle of water. Then he sliced bacon. In ten minutes the water had boiled, coffee was made, the kettle removed from the stick, placed close to the fire on the ground, and the bacon sizzling in the pan.
“Oh, cracky!” said Paul, sniffing the air, “that’s the best thing I ever smelled.”
“Doesn’t it smell bully!” exclaimed Remington. “I thought I’d have time to make a cast or two before Tom was ready for us, but he’s been too quick for me.”
“Now,” said Remington, when they were through eating, “we’ll see if there are any hungry fish in that pool.”
Paul looked on while the older sportsmen made one or two casts. Then he attempted it, at first very clumsily, but gradually improving. He was not very enthusiastic, however.
“I don’t see any fun in this,” he said finally.
“Keep at it, and you’ll learn,” encouraged Remington.
At that moment “whiz-z-z” and Ainsworth’s reel fairly hummed, with forty yards of line run out before he could check it—a flash of spray—a great silver bar in the air! The leap was full two feet! Splash! It doubled, demanded more line, fought as only a salmon can fight, the supple steel rod bent and curved, but the angler, his face tense with excitement, held his advantage.
“Good! Bully!” shouted Remington with each play. “Look out! That’s the way! Easy! That’s it!”
Again and again the fish fought for the head of the rapid, but at length, conquered, it was drawn in, and with Remington’s assistance landed—a fine big salmon.
“That was great!” exclaimed Paul. “Guess there is some fun in it after all.”
“Fun! Just strike one, and you’ll say it’s the best ever!” Ainsworth was justly proud.
A few minutes later, “Whiz-z-z” again, and “Whiz-z-z!” Two silver flashes! Two fountains of spray! Two mighty splashes! Paul and Remington had each hooked a salmon at nearly the same instant! And then there was fun! Ainsworth could hardly contain himself as he watched the play, shouting directions and cautions to one and the other. There was danger of getting their lines tangled when both fish darted up stream at once, or made dives for the bank at the same time, in efforts to free themselves. Finally Paul’s fish rushed in upon him, gained slack line, shook loose the hook and was free.
Paul could have cried with disappointment and vexation.
“Just my luck!” he exclaimed, as he saw Remington land a fine salmon.
“Oh, no, don’t get discouraged. You did mighty well for the first time,” encouraged Remington.
“I notice you landed yours, all right,” said Paul pettishly.
“But I may lose the next one. The uncertainty of whether you’ll land them or not after you’ve hooked them is half the fun.”
“I can’t see that——”
“Whiz-z-z”—away went his line again before he could finish. For half an hour, directed by Remington, he played the fish, and was at length rewarded with as fine a salmon as Ainsworth’s—considerably larger than Remington’s.
“What fun! Oh, but it’s great!” he exclaimed as, all a-tremble with excitement, he examined his catch.
“They’re here all right, and they’re taking flies. We’ve got all the fish Tom can take care of today, and we’ve had a week’sfun in two hours. What do you fellows say to climbing that barren hill?” suggested Remington. “I’m anxious to see what the country is like behind those cliffs.”
Paul was loath to go. The sport had set his blood a-tingling with excitement and he would much have preferred to remain behind and fish, but Ainsworth agreed with Remington, and his sense of courtesy to his host bade him join them.
“We’ll stretch our lines to dry before we go, Paul. Never put your line up wet or it will rot, and some day you’ll lose a fine fish,” advised Remington, who had noticed Paul lean his rod against a tree.
Their lines stretched, they wandered up the defile down which the river plunged in its mad impatience to reach the sea. Here they were in a dark forest of stunted spruce, but very quickly, as they began the ascent of the hill, trees gave way to straggling brush, and brush at length to bare rocks.
“There’s a view for you,” said Remington when the summit was reached.
“Magnificent!” exclaimed Ainsworth.
“Pretty rough country.”
“But grand! Stupendously grand!”
To the west, a shimmering vista, lay Hudson Bay; to the east, to the north, to the south, stretched a tumbled, boundless mass of rocky ridges, interspersed with starved forests of spruce. Here and there a lake sparkled in the distance. Below them the river, a twisting, winding thread of silver, coursed down to the sea.
The sensations that had come to Paul in Hudson Strait when he first beheld the distant wilderness and the sailless sea, thrilled him again—first fear and shrinking, then an inward, inexplicable sense of power and freedom.
“And no one lives there,” he said, more to himself than to his companions.
“No one but Indians,” said Remington. “Eskimos on the coast. They all live as close to nature as man can live, and they fight that wilderness pretty constantly for existence. It’s a land of the survival of the fittest.”
Later, on other occasions during their stay in Richmond Gulf, Paul visited the barrenhill. He would steal away alone, and for an hour at a time sit upon its rocky summit, and revel in the rugged beauties of the landscape. Here he felt a something well up within him, a desire todosomething—an indescribable longing he could not define.
The lure and the power of the wilderness were exerting their influence. This was the world just as God had made it, untouched by the hand of man. Rugged mountains, patches of green forests, sparkling lakes, the distant sea, the blue sky, and silence. There were no brick walls to limit the vision, no tall chimneys belching out smudges of black smoke to defile the atmosphere, no rushing crowd to distract. Nowhere does one get so close to God as in the wilderness. The wilderness is the temple of pure thoughts, of high ambitions. Here man’s soul expands as nowhere else on earth.
When the three returned to camp they found the tents set up and everything snug and in order. A fragrant and cozy seat of spruce boughs had been arranged by Dan and Kuglutuk before a roaring log fire, and, byno means the least attractive of the preparations, a delicious supper of salmon awaited them, which they attacked with a will, for the exercise had given them an unusual appetite.
“I never ate such fish before,” Paul declared, between mouthfuls.
When supper was finished the two men lighted cigars, and chatted, while Paul reclined upon the boughs and gazed into the blaze. Presently Tom and Dan joined them, and Dan, producing his harmonica, began to play a soft, low air, while Tom cut some tobacco from a plug, rolled it between the palms of his hands, stuffed it into a pipe, lighted it with a brand from the fire and handing the plug to Kuglutuk who followed his example, contentedly settled back to smoke and enjoy the warmth, for the evening was chilly.
“Them was fine salmon you gets this evenin’,” Tom remarked.
“Yes,” said Remington, “fine ones, and I hope we’ll have more tomorrow.”
“Dandies!” broke in Paul, “and dandy fun landing them!”
“Yes, ’tis rare sport landin’ un. And does you like troutin’?”
“Yes, to be sure. We expected to get trout here,” answered Remington.
“Th’ husky’s tellin’ me they’s plenty to be had a bit up the streams, sir, and big uns—wonderful big uns, by his tell, sir.”
“We’ll have to try them tomorrow.”
“Where did you learn to speak Eskimo, Tom?” asked Ainsworth.
“Where’d I learn un, sir? I never learned un. I allus knew un. I were born, sir, on the Labrador. My mother were a woman of Zoar, sir, an’ a half-breed. They talks mostly husky thereabouts. The first words she ever says to me, sir, was husky, an’ when I were a wee lad she talks all her baby talk to me in husky.”
“But your father was a white man?”
“Oh, aye, sir, he were from Conception Bay. He were down on the Labrador fishin’, an’ he meets my mother, an’ likes she, an’ th’ missionary marries un. Then he stays at Zoar an’ traps in winter, an’ there I were born, sir.”
“Are your parents still living, then?”
“Oh, no, sir. They both dies when I were a bit of a lad, sir—seven year old or thereabouts. ’Twere in winter, an’ my father is out to his traps. My mother expects him home in th’ evenin’, an’ when it gets dark an’ he never comes she’s much worried, for he’s always before comin’ when he’s promisin’, sir. He were a wonderful true man t’ keep his word, sir, even t’ wallopin’ me when I does things he’s denied me to do, an’ is deservin’ th’ wallopin’.
“Well, as th’ evenin’ gets on an’ he’s not comin’, my mother cries a bit an’ says somethin’s been befallin’ he, sir, out in the bush, an’ when she rouses me from sleep before the break of day th’ next mornin’, she’s in a wonderful bad state worryin’. She tells me she’s goin’ t’ look for he, an’ I’m t’ watch th’ baby.
“She goes, sir, an’ she don’t come back that day or that night or th’ next day. Snow comes fallin’ thick an’ th’ weather grows dreadful nasty. Th’ baby cries most o’ th’ time, an’ I carries un some. I knows th’ baby’s hungry, but I has no way t’ feed un.After awhile it stops cryin’ when I lays un on th’ bed.
“That were a wonderful cold night, sir. When mornin’ comes th’ baby’s still quiet, an’ I says to myself, ‘I’ll let un sleep.’
“Th’ bread’s all gone, an’ I only has a bit of salt fish t’ eat, an’ th’ fire I puts on in th’ stove burns slow. But th’ snow’s stopped in th’ night.
“Th’ baby don’t cry no more, but I does, for I don’t know why my father an’ mother don’t come, an’ I’m cryin’ when I hears dogs outside. I wipes away th’ tears quick, for I’m wantin’ no one t’ catch me cryin’.
“Then in comes th’ Moravian missionary from Nain, a wonderful kind man. He asks where my mother is. I tells he how my mother goes away to look for my father an’ never comes back, an’ th’ hard time I has. That th’ baby were hungry, but she’s sleepin’ now.
“He goes an’ looks at un, an’ then very quiet he covers un over with th’ blanket, an’ puttin’ his hand on my head an’ lookin’ in my eyes, he says: ‘Is you brave, lad? We allhas troubles, lad, an’ you must be brave to meet yours.’
“Then he calls old Muklutuk, his driver, to bring in some grub. They puts on a good fire, an’ gives me a plenty t’ eat, an’ goes away sayin’ they’ll be back by night.
“When they comes back the missionary holds me up to him, and he says, very kind: ‘Lad, I’m goin’ to take you to a new home, for your father and mother has been called away to heaven by th’ Lord. He’ll be needin’ ’em there, an’ they can’t come back t’ you, but th’ Lord wants me t’ take you with me.’
“I were wonderful lonesome when he says that, at not seein’ mother an’ father again, but I holds back th’ tears, for mother has often been tellin’ me that some day th’ Lord might be callin’ she or father away t’ live in heaven, an’ not t’ cry or feel bad about un, for ’t would be right, as everything th’ Lord done were right.
“Well, th’ missionary takes me on his komatik t’ th’ station where he lives, an’ th’ women there cries over me an’ makes a wonderfullot o’ me, an’ every one there is wonderful kind.”
“What had happened to your father and mother?” asked Ainsworth, after a pause.
“I were comin’ t’ that. He’d been meetin’ with an accident, his gun goin’ off an’ shootin’ his foot off. She finds him in th’ snow, an’ tries t’ carry him home, but ’t were too much for she, an’ when it comes on t’ snow again she sticks to him, an’ they both freezes t’ death. Leastwise that’s what th’ missionary thinks, for he finds un froze stone dead. Mother has her arms around father, holdin’ he close to her bosom, as though tryin’ to keep he warm.
“So you sees, sir, how I come t’ speak th’ Eskimo lingo. My mother were a half-breed of th’ Labrador.”
“The baby?” asked Paul, much moved by the story. “What became of that?”
“The baby were dead for a long while ere th’ missionary comes.”
Tom rose and threw some fresh wood on the fire, cut some fresh tobacco from his plug, refilled his pipe, and sat down again.
“But you live in Newfoundland now, Tom?” Remington asked.
“Oh, aye, sir. My father’s brother comes down t’ the Labrador fishing the next summer, and takes me home with he. I’d like wonderful well for you t’ meet my woman, and my little lad and lass, sir. There’s no likelier lad and lass on the coast, sir. They’re wonderful likely, sir.”
Dan resumed his soft music on the harmonica. Twilight gave way to darkness. Beyond the campfire’s circle of light the forest lay black. Below them the rapid roared. In the North the aurora flashed up its gorgeous glory.
“Well,” said Remington at length, rising, “I reckon it’s time to turn in for we want to be out early and make the most of our time.”
His warm sleeping bag seemed very cozy to Paul when he crawled into it, this first night he had ever spent in camp, the perfume of his spruce bough bed very sweet, and quickly he fell into deep and restful slumber, to be suddenly awakened by the sharp report of a rifle.
Itwas broad daylight. Remington and Ainsworth were gone. Bang! Bang! Bang! The shots came in quick succession, and not far above the camp. Paul was frightened for a moment, then highly excited. He disentangled himself from his sleeping bag, sprang to the front of the tent and shouted to Tom, who was unconcernedly cooking breakfast:
“What is it? What’s up?”
“Bears.”
He drew on his clothes as quickly as possible, grabbed his rifle and ran in the direction of the shooting. A little way up the ravine he came upon Remington, Ainsworth, Dan and Kuglutuk, surveying the carcasses of two polar bears.
“Hello, Paul, you’re a little late for the fun,” greeted Remington.
“Got two,” said Ainsworth.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“No time for that. Dan was poking around up here and saw them coming, and we had to hustle as it was.”
“It would only have taken a minute to call me.”
“Yes, but that would have been a minute too long, if they had happened to get a sniff of camp, and only for the north breeze they would have anyway, and been off before Dan saw them.”
“Did they put up any fight?”
“Didn’t have a chance. We got them quick. Close shot and no trick at all. Nothing like your shot.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t up earlier. What were they doing on land? I thought they kept to the ice.”
“No, we’re liable to see them anywhere on these shores. Guess they were going down to catch a salmon breakfast in our pool at the foot of the rapid.”
They saw no more bears while encamped on Richmond Gulf, though they caughtplenty of salmon and trout, and now and again took excursions back into the hills and along the streams where ptarmigans were found, or took advantage of excellent duck and goose shooting on near-by lakes. Mallards and black ducks were plentiful, great flocks of wavies flew overhead and the Canada gray goose was fairly numerous.
The sport was so good, in fact, that the week which they had originally planned to remain ashore lengthened into two, and it was a fortnight after their arrival when reluctantly they broke camp one morning and returned to theNorth Star, carrying with them enough salmon and trout to supply both cabin and forecastle for several days.
“Glad to see you! Glad to see you!” greeted Captain Bluntt as they drew alongside the ship. “Good sport? Have a good time?”
“Bully!” answered Remington. “Never better. Salmon and trout hungry for flies, and we got two bears in the bargain.”
“Good! Good, sir! And how did you find it, youngster?”
“Fine and dandy,” answered Paul. “Best time I ever had in my life.”
“Good! Good! Glad you’re aboard, Mr. Remington—glad you’re aboard. Barometer falling rapidly—outlook for bad weather—northeast blow, I’m thinkin’. Bad anchorage here. We’ll make for open sea. Get right away. Growing a bit nervous about it, sir—just a bit nervous.”
“All right, Captain,” said Remington. “We’re ready to go.”
Anchor was weighed, and slowly theNorth Starfelt her way out of the uncertain waters toward the wide bosom of Hudson Bay.
“Now,” asked Captain Bluntt, when they had gained “elbow room,” as he expressed it, “what’s your pleasure, sir?”
“Well,” said Remington, “we want to have a little walrus hunting, we’d like to pick up another bear or two, and I’m mighty anxious to get a crack at caribou before we leave the country. Kuglutuk says, though, that all the caribou on this side are far inland on the highlands, and out of reach. I’ve been thinking that we might cross to the other side somewhatsouth of Chesterfield Inlet, and perhaps find caribou there, then cruise back along the islands looking for bear, and stop up toward Mosquito Bay a few days for our walrus hunt before we strike for home. Kuglutuk says the Eskimos up there will help us.”
“Good plan! Good plan, sir! But we must try to be through the straits by middle of September. Taking chances, sir—taking chances with ice if we’re any later, sir.”
“All right, Captain. That’ll give us over three weeks. We won’t spend much time with walrus, but we’d like to get two or three heads for trophies.”
The blow that was predicted came. It began with driving rain and sleet, which swept the sea in blinding sheets, and a rising northeast wind pounded Hudson Bay into a fury of wild white-crested waves that tossed and buffeted theNorth Star. But Captain Bluntt was an able master. He kept well offshore, faced the storm, and lay to, using only enough power to permit him to hold his position, and making no attempt to proceed upon the voyage.
Thus a week was consumed, and September was near at hand, when at length the clouds wearied of their task, and the sun again shone out of a clear sky through a glorious, transparent atmosphere.
But the northeast gale had reaped a harvest of ice from the Arctic waters, sweeping it down into Hudson Bay, where the packs broke into fragments, and vagrant pans were distributed far and wide, steadily working their way southward. This was not bay ice such as had been encountered off the eastern coast of Labrador, but the adamantine product of the Arctic. There was little difficulty, however, in avoiding the larger and widely distributed pans, and the smaller fragments bobbing here and there in the swell were quite harmless to the strongly built little steamship.
“Looks bad for the straits, sir, bad,” remarked Captain Bluntt, descending from the barrel in the foremast. “I’m thinkin’ th’ straits has plenty of ice now, plenty, sir. Bad place to meet ice, sir! Bad place! But if the weather holds calm for a week most of it’ll work out.”
“Are we likely to have trouble getting through the straits, Captain?”
“No! No! We’ll get through all right, sir, we’ll get through, with no more nor’easters or northers. A bit of a westerly breeze would clean the straits, sir, sweep the ice right out. Yes, sir, sweep it out!”
They turned northward, cruised close in along the Ottawa Islands, where Remington shot another bear, and then turned westward, where at length anchorage was made at 60° north latitude opposite Egg River and nearly a mile from its mouth.
“Not safe to run too close in,” explained Captain Bluntt. “Never like to anchor too close inshore when I’ve no cover, sir. Not safe, not safe. Always afraid of the rocks, sir, if a squall should strike me.”
“This is near enough,” said Remington. “It’s a short pull to the river mouth.”
“Now what’s the plan, sir? Going ashore to hunt caribou, you say? Well, you may find them in there around the lakes, sir. Must be lakes back there. Yes, sir, and caribou.”
“That’s the way we figure it. This isSunday. Tomorrow morning as soon as we can see, Ainsworth and I will start, and take Kuglutuk with us, and I’d like to have Tom if you can spare him, Captain.”
“Spare him? Yes! Yes! To be sure I can spare him.”
“We’re not going to take Paul, for we’ll have some hard tramping to do, and I’m afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep the pace.”
“No, no, don’t take him. Too soft; couldn’t stand it. ’Twould kill him in a day. Yes, sir, in a day.”
“We’ll take one light shelter tent, a blanket each, a couple of axes, and besides our rifles only four days’ provisions. We can carry them easily, and we’ll be back to the place where the boat leaves us on Thursday afternoon, no later than two o’clock. So a boat may come over for us then, and will surely find us waiting.”
“All right, sir, all right. But suppose you gets your deer the first day? What then, sir?”
“Why then we’ll come down to the shore and shoot. If you hear us shooting, why, send for us.”
“Very good, sir, very good. All very good.”
“I suppose Paul will set up a kick against our leaving him, but it’s out of the question to take him. Can’t you let Dan and him have a small boat to go ashore every day and hunt ptarmigans, or fish in the river? Dan is perfectly reliable, isn’t he?”
“Yes, yes, sir. Dan reliable? True and sure, sir. Good as a man. Good head, sir. Good head. Only a lad, sir, but good as a man. Be a skipper himself, sir, some day. Yes, yes; Dan can take the youngster over.”
Paul, who had been standing aft, examining the coast through binoculars, came forward at this juncture to join Remington and Captain Bluntt.
“Pretty rough looking country over there,” said he. “What have you planned to do? Are we going to hunt caribou?”
“Yes, Ainsworth and I have planned to go ashore tomorrow and hike back into the hills for three or four days, to see if we can’t run on some caribou. I’m afraid, though, you are not hardened up enough for it yet. We’vegot to travel fast and there’ll be no sleeping bags. You’ll stay here and Dan will take you ashore to hunt and fish, and you can amuse yourself that way until we get back on Thursday.”
“Oh, now, that’s pretty tough! I’m sure I can walk as fast as you can.”
“And carry a back load of stuff?”
“Of course I never tried that, and I don’t see why I should. There are men enough to do the work.”
“The more men there are the less ground can be covered, and this is a hunting trip where we’ve got to do fast work, and every one must do a man’s work. No, Paul, it’s too hard for you. You and Dan can have a good time here till we come back.”
“There won’t be anything to do here but hang around the old ship. I think you might let me go with you fellows.”
“As I said, you won’t have to hang around the ship. You and Dan go ashore. Take one of the tents if you’d like, and camp over there. Dan knows how to handle things. He’ll give you a good time.”
“Well, I suppose if you don’t want me I can’t go, but I think it’s a pretty rough deal just the same,” and he went off sulking.
Paul had not yet learned that he could not have or do anything his fancy craved. But he held his host in high esteem. He was thoroughly grateful for the opportunity to take part in the expedition, and at the end of half an hour, when he had had time to consider his actions, he became quite ashamed of his childishness and his lack of courtesy to his host, and, naturally of a frank and open disposition, he approached Remington, put out his hand and said:
“Mr. Remington, I want to apologize for the way I acted and what I said awhile ago. I’m sorry for it. You’ve given me the greatest time of my life and I appreciate it.”
“That’s all right, Paul,” and Remington shook his hand warmly. “It’s given me a lot of pleasure to have you along. I knew you’d look at this thing right. I’d like to take you with us, but you can see it would be too hard work for you. You haven’t been at the game long enough yet.”
“I guess that’s right.”
Remington and Ainsworth did not appear at breakfast in the morning, and when Paul took his seat he asked:
“Where are the others, Captain?”
“Gone. Gone these two hours. Away up country by this time. For my part I can’t see the fun in it. No, by the imps of the sea! Cruising over rocks and mountains just for deer. Just for deer! Fun, though, maybe, for them that likes it. Yes, maybe ’tis. Give me th’ sea, an’ a good deck under my feet. Good enough for me! Yes, good enough for me, or any sensible man.”
“Mr. Remington said Dan could go ashore with me and camp.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Dan knows. I told him. Ready any time. Told him to get ready. Hope you’ll have a good time.”
“We’ll have a good time all right.”
“Comin’ back tonight? Going to camp? Oh, yes, you said you would camp.”
“Yes, we’ll camp. No need of coming back till Thursday. The other fellows won’t be back till then.”
“Very well, very well; stay till Thursday. Two o’clock. Remember be aboard at two sharp. Got to get away, get through the straits. No being late, now! Remember Sydney! Felt like wringing your neck that day. I did, by the imps of the sea. Heave you overboard or wring your neck if you’re late!”
Paul glanced up at Captain Bluntt and discovered a good-humored twinkle in the Captain’s eye, though there was no doubt that he was quite in earnest as to the admonition to return on time.
“All right, Captain; we’ll be on time,” Paul laughed.
“That’s right. That’s right. Always be on time. When you says you’ll do a thing, do it.”
But Paul had not yet learned his lesson.
Dan stowed sufficient provisions in a light punt to meet the needs of a few days’ camping excursion, a light axe, a small sheet-iron tent stove—for Dan was uncertain of finding sufficient wood for an open camp-fire to keep them comfortable during the cold evenings evenings—a small tent, a tarpaulin, cooking utensils and two sleeping bags. Each carried his rifle—Dan’s a light 44-40 carbine—and Paul did not forget his favorite steel fly rod.
“Two o’clock Thursday. No later! No later than two, now!” Captain Bluntt admonished as they drew away from the ship.
The mile to the mouth of Egg River was a short pull for Dan, and he found that with a little maneuvering he was able to work the boat a considerable distance up the river itself, to the first clump of straggling spruce trees.
Here it was decided to make camp, and while Dan pitched the tent and put things in order Paul wandered up the stream and soon had a fine trout on his hook.
Fishing was good, many delightful tramps were taken over the rolling hills, and only too quickly Thursday rolled around.
“What’s the hour?” inquired Dan as they finished their dinner.
Paul looked at his watch.
“Half past twelve.”
“We’ll have to be gettin’ back t’ th’ ship.”
“All right. Pack things up. While you’redoing it, guess I’ll have one more try at the fish.”
“Now don’t be goin’ too far,” cautioned Dan, who had learned Paul’s failing. “Th’ skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ on time.”
“Oh, I won’t go far.”
Half an hour later, when Dan had the camp things stowed neatly in the boat, and all was ready for departure, he called:
“Hello-o, Paul!”
No answer.
He followed up the river bank, calling again and again, but had gone nearly a mile before he received an answering “Hello!”
Paul had a big trout hooked, and was playing him.
“Great sport. Didn’t get a strike till I hit this pool just now and this is the second, already.”
“’T is time t’ be off,” said Dan, “and late.”
“Oh, there’s no such rush as that. I want to take some trout back with me.”
“Th’ skipper’s wonderful keen on bein’ on time.”
“Oh, he didn’t meanjusttwo o’clock, butaround that time. Besides, they weren’t going after the other fellows till two.”
“’T was two o’clock.”
Dan was patient for fifteen minutes longer, while Paul fished.
“We can’t tarry, Paul. Wemustbe goin’.”
“Now don’t nag.”
“’T is no naggin’. Th’ skipper’ll be wonderful angry.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind if we’re not there exactly at two.”
It was half past two when Dan finally said:
“An’ now we’re goin’,” with a tone of finality that angered Paul.
“Oh, are we?” Paul was unhooking a trout.
“Th’ sky looks nasty to me, an’ th’ wind’s breezin’ up, an’ there’s a fog settlin’ below.”
“I don’t see any fog, and the sky looks all right to me.”
“Comin’?”
“No.”
“But you is.”
“You ain’t my master. I guess I’ll do as I please.”
“You iscomin’.”
Dan had stepped close to Paul, who was preparing to make another cast.
“When I get ready.”
“You is comin’now,” and Dan took Paul forcibly by the arm.
“Let go of me!”
“You is comin’,” and he tightened his grip.
“Take that!” Paul slapped Dan square in the face with open palm.
Then a whirlwind seemed to strike Paul, and before he knew what had taken place he found himself on the ground, and Dan on top of him.
“Is you comin’?”
“Yes! Let me up!” Paul was half crying with anger.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” he exclaimed when he was free, but he followed Dan sulkily down to the boat.
Dan was right. A fog was settling below. Even then it was pushing its way up the river, and before they reached the open sea it had swallowed up the river bank, which had become quite invisible beyond the river’smouth. The boys could scarcely see two boat’s lengths ahead. The murky cloud enveloped sea, land, everything. Ice pans seemed much more numerous than when they went ashore. Now and again a pan would loom up in the fog, ominously near, rising and sinking with the swell. It was uncanny, and Paul became frightened. Dan pulled steadily at the oars for some time. At length he paused.
“We should have been comin’ on she,” said he. “I’m fearin’ we’re a bit too far t’ th’ s’uthard.”
He shifted his course somewhat. A moment later a huge bulk of ice appeared directly in front of them. Dan swerved the boat to port, but he was too late, and almost before they realized their danger the pan struck them with the rising swell, and nearly capsized the boat. Water at once poured in through a great rent in the starboard bow, and immediately it became apparent they were sinking.
Like a flash, painter in hand, Dan sprang upon the ice pan.
“Jump! Quick!” he shouted to Paul, who,without knowing how he did it, sprang to the pan, slipped, gained his feet, and was safe upon the ice.
“Take this! Hold on tight!” commanded Dan, passing the painter to Paul. Working like mad, while Paul steadied the boat, Dan transferred their belongings from boat to pan, save one sleeping bag and one oar, which were washed away in spite of him. The boat lightened of its burdens, he baled the water out, and drew its bow around to the ice.
“Now pull!” He had grabbed the bow of the boat. “Pull! Pull!” he encouraged, and their united strength drew the boat upon the pan.
Paul had not, until then, had an opportunity to appreciate their position. Now he looked about him, and with one glance took in the critical situation in which they were placed. The pan of ice was not over sixty feet in diameter, waves were breaking over its edges, they were out of reach of land, the boat was quite useless. Then came a flash of the imagination—lost in the dark water—struggling—drowning. All this he saw in aninstant. Panic seized him—a wild, awful fear of impending death—and he screamed:
“Help! Help! Save us! Save us! We’re lost! Help! Help! Help!”
“That’s right,” said Dan, “holler. If the ship ain’t too far off they’ll hear,” and he joined his voice to Paul’s. But no answering call came out of the fog. At length Dan said:
“Tide’s risin’, wind’s n’uthard, an’ our drift’s strong t’ th’ s’uthard. They ain’t hearin’. Get your rifle, an’ I finds cartridges. We’ll be shootin’ signals.”
The outfit hastily thrown in a heap was pulled over by Dan. Paul was too excited and nervous to remember in which of his two bags the ammunition was packed, and Dan could not find the cartridges for his own carbine. Finally, after unpacking both bags, Dan discovered not only Paul’s cartridges but his own, which Paul had inadvertently thrown in one of his bags the previous day.
Paul’s rifle was quickly loaded, Dan fired, and they listened intently. No response came, and he fired again and again, until presently the welcome sound of a distant rifle shot camefaintly out of the fog. Their hopes rose, but the distant shots in response to their own grew fainter and fainter, and at length could no longer be heard.
Dan finally laid down the rifle, with the remark:
“They ain’t no use shootin’ any more. Th’ wind’s comin’ down from th’ ship, an’ if we can’t hear they, sure no one will be hearin’ us. Th’ skipper’s not knowin’ we been wrecked, an’ he’ll not be sendin’ a boat. He’ll be thinkin’ we’ll pull for th’ ship with the shootin’ t’ guide us. ’T ain’t no use.”
Paul’s hope of rescue, which had become a certainty when he heard the shots, now gave place to despair, and he threw himself upon the ice, moaning:
“We’re lost! Oh, we’re lost! We’re lost!”
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan. “They ain’t no knowin’ what’ll happen. Dad tells un, ‘When you gets in a bad place, Dan, keep un nerve. More folks,’ says he, ‘dies from losin’ they nerve than dies from most anything else. Whilst they’s life they’s a chanst,’ says he.”
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan
Finally Dan’s philosophy quieted Paul to some extent. Black darkness settled upon the sea. The fog, if possible, grew denser. It obscured the stars—everything, even the lapping waves which were steadily but surely eating away the edges of the ice pan.
“Gladto see you! Glad to see you! What luck?” greeted Captain Bluntt as the boat with the returned caribou hunters pulled alongside theNorth Star, shortly after two o’clock.
“Hello, Captain!” Remington and Ainsworth called out in unison. “Got three,” said Remington in response to the Captain’s question. “What do you think of those heads?” straightening up three pairs of antlers for inspection.
“Fine! Fine! Where’d you get ’em? Have to go far? Get ’em far up country?”
“No, tramped over a lot of country but never got a shot till this morning, half a mile in,” explained Remington, mounting the ladder to the deck. “Came on a bunch of four just above here, and got three of them.”
“Good! Good! And you brought all themeat! Great treat! Caribou meat’s fine venison.”
“Yes, we had plenty of time to pack it down before the boat came. Where’s Paul?”
“Ashore. Went ashore with Dan Rudd the day you leaves. Told ’em to be back at two o’clock today. Two o’clock. No later! The rascals! It’s two-thirty an’ a fog’s settlin’! The rascals!”
“Why what can be keeping them? I hope they won’t get caught ashore in the fog.”
“Went up the river. Must have camped along the river. Didn’t you see ’em? Couldn’t have missed ’em if you came down the river.”
“We didn’t come down the river. We made a circuit and came down from the north. But that fog is settling fast! It looks bad!”
“Looks bad! Looks bad!” agreed Captain Bluntt. “Nasty weather ahead. Ice working up too. Lot of ice worked up from the north since you left. Want to get out of here. Told those rascals to be prompt. Never can depend on youngsters. Can’t depend on ’em.”
“They won’t miss the ship in the fog, will they, Captain?”
“No, no, they won’t miss us. Dan’ll find us. Yes, Dan’ll find us. Shoot to signal us. Can’t miss us.”
Before three o’clock the fog had settled into a heavy black pall, so intense that, standing at the companionway aft, Remington could scarcely make out the foremast. A strong breeze had also sprung up from the north, portending increased drift of ice southward.
“I wonder if Paul will ever learn to keep his appointments and be on time,” Remington remarked to Ainsworth.
“He seems to have no sense of responsibility,” said Ainsworth.
“I wish he were aboard. I’m worried at this delay. I hope nothing has happened to the boys.”
“Oh, I think there’s no cause to worry. Dan will take care that nothing goes wrong. Paul wasn’t ready to return when he was told, and thought an hour or two wouldn’t matter. It’s characteristic of him. They’ll be along pretty soon.”
Captain Bluntt was growing impatient and ill-humored. He had ordered steam up, and prepared for instant departure to the open sea the moment Paul and Dan came aboard. They were now an hour past due, an unheard of delinquency on Dan’s part.
“By the imps of the sea! I’ll wring those youngsters’ necks when I gets hold of ’em!” he exclaimed. “By the imps of the sea I will!”
“Could anything have happened to them?” asked Remington anxiously.
“No, just taking their time. Just taking their time, th’ rascals! Dan Rudd can take care of himself. Take care of the other youngster too. Yes, yes, they’re all right. Dan Rudd’ll see to that!”
Nevertheless Remington’s anxiety grew, and at the end of another half hour, when he approached Captain Bluntt again, he found the Captain’s face serious.
“Can’t fathom this! Can’t fathom it!” the Captain exclaimed. “Dan Rudd always sharp to the minute before! Never behind! Thought first the other youngster delayedhim. Couldn’t delay him like this. Dan Rudd wouldn’t let him, with a fog settlin’, an’ a norther threatenin’. No, sir! No! Somethin’ ’s wrong. Somethin’ ’s gone wrong.”
“Do you think——”
“Listen! What’s that?” Captain Bluntt held up his hand.
Faintly they heard a rifle shot in the fog, and in a moment another, fainter and hardly distinguishable.
“Tom Hand! Jake Griggs! Here, you fellows! Man a boat! Be smart now!”
With quick, gruff commands Captain Bluntt had a boat in the water, with four seamen at the oars and another at the tiller, as quickly as man could do it.
“Pull for your lives now! Pull for your lives! Save those lads! Pull, pull, you men!”
“Get your gun, sir! Get your gun, and shoot signals!” he commanded Remington, and in a moment Remington had his rifle on deck, shooting at regular intervals.
Two or three shots were heard far away, and very faint, and then came silence. Remington, Ainsworth and Captain Bluntt, in astate of intense suspense, listened between the shots that Remington fired, and waited.
An hour passed, and another hour before they heard the clank of oarlocks, and presently the boat loomed up in the fog and gathering dusk.
“Did you find them? Did you find them, Tom Hand?” shouted Captain Bluntt.
“No, sir, they’s no findin’ un,” reported Tom. “They’s lost, sir. We picks up an oar an’ a sleepin’ bag, but we’s not seein’ th’ boat, sir.”
“Lost! Lost!” exclaimed Remington in consternation.
Captain Bluntt stood speechless and overcome. When Tom Hand reached deck, with the sleeping bag and oar, he examined the things critically, and asked:
“Where did you find these? Where’d you find ’em?”
“Full two miles t’ th’ s’uthard, sir. We hears shots an’ pulls for un, and then th’ shots stop. We keep pullin’ t’ the’ s’uthard till we most loses th’ sound o’ your shootin’, an’ here we picks up th’ oar, an’ a bit farther th’ sleepin’bag. We hollers an’ hollers, but gets no answer, an’ we pulls around through th’ fog, but finds no more, an’ we comes back. ’Twere growin’ dusk, sir, an’ no use lookin’ farther sir.”
“No, ’twere no use lookin’ further. No use.” Turning to Remington, “They’s lost, sir. They’s lost,” and Captain Bluntt blew his nose on his handkerchief and gave an order to Tom Hand in as gruff a voice as he could assume, that he might hide his emotion.
“My God! Is it possible!” said Remington, quite stunned.
“This is awful! Awful!” Ainsworth exclaimed.
“I can never go back home without Paul—never! Never! How could I face his father?” Remington half moaned.
Ainsworth could offer no consolation. There was nothing to be done. No tragedy ever came more unexpectedly, and the young men were made sick with the realization of it.
“There’s nasty weather comin’, an’ we’ll move out into the open and lay to for th’ fog to clear,” explained Captain Bluntt a littlelater, to the two sportsmen whom he found sitting dejectedly in the cabin. “Barometer falling. Blow comin’. Hard blow comin’, I fears. Cruise to th’ s’uthard when fog clears and look for wrecked boat. No use though. No use!”
That night they drew out into deep water, and the next day lay to in the fog. Then the gradually rising wind increased in velocity, the fog was blown away, and a terrific northeast gale broke upon them. For two days and two nights it swept Hudson Bay with its fury, and when it ceased a jam of Arctic ice blocked the western coast of the bay, rendering any search for the wreckage of the boat quite useless.
A conference was held, and upon Captain Bluntt’s advice Remington, against his desires, however, finally agreed to turn homeward.
The passage of Ungava Bay and Hudson Straits, now blocked with a shifting ice pack, was accomplished without accident, and once in the open Atlantic theNorth Starsteamed for St. Johns, putting in at a Newfoundlandoutport, en route, to permit Remington to cable Mr. Densmore in New York, to meet him at Sydney to receive bad news. This he did that the shock of Paul’s supposed death might not come to the parents too suddenly.
The two young sportsmen proceeded at once by train from St. Johns to Port a Basque, and when their steamer from that place reached Sydney, they found Mr. Densmore awaiting their arrival at the dock.
They boarded the train, and in a stateroom in the parlor car Remington gave the grief-stricken father a detailed account of what had occurred.
“It is a terrible blow to me, and his mother will be prostrated,” said Mr. Densmore. “But, Remington,” placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “rest assured I am satisfied everything possible was done to save my boy. You were guilty of no negligence, and I shall always have a kindly remembrance of the interest you took in Paul’s welfare.”
A steadyand gradually strengthening breeze was blowing from the North. The boys, wet to the skin, huddled close together on the center of the drifting ice pan and in the lee of the boat. Presently Paul, less inured to cold and exposure than Dan, began to shiver, and Dan suggested:
“Get in your sleepin’ bag. ’Tis rare cold, an’ you shakes like un had th’ ague.”
“No, I’d be afraid to lie down,” objected Paul, “but maybe we could wrap a pair of the blankets around us. There are three pairs in my bag.”
“Now maybe we could be doin’ that,” said Dan. “I’ll get un.”
He felt in the dark among the things which had been piled together, and presently drew the inner pair of blankets from the bag. This they wrapped around their shoulders, drawingit close about them, with a camp bag for their seat and the boat at their back.
“Is there no help for us—no hope that the ship’s boat will pick us up in the morning?” asked Paul.
“I’m not sayin’ that,” comforted Dan. “Th’ ship’ll sure cruise t’ th’ s’uthard with daylight, an’ if th’ fog clears she’ll be findin’ us, an’ th’ ice holds together.”
“Do you think the ice will hold together until morning?”
“I’m hopin’ so. An’ with light I’ll be tryin’ my hand at fixin’ th’ boat, an’ I’m thinkin’ we may fix un.”
They were quiet for a long while, when Dan asked, softly:
“Sleepin’?”
“No.”
“Cold?”
“Freezing.”
“Snuggle closter.”
Paul drew very close to Dan, who drew the blanket tighter.
“Warmer?”
“Yes, that’s better.”
“Ain’t so scairt?”
“No—I don’t know—I’m getting used to it, I guess.”
“Yes, we’ll be gettin’ used to un before day, an’ then we’ll be doin’ somethin’. Dad says always keep un nerve an’ be plucky, an’ th’ worst fixes can be got out of someway.”
“This is a pretty bad fix, though. Guess your dad was never in a fix like this.”
“Oh, yes, he were. Dad were on th’ oldNarwhalwhen she were nipped, an’ twelve of her crew were lost. He were adrift on th’ ice for a week before he were picked up. An’ he’s been on four vessels as were wrecked. Dad’s been in some wonderful bad places, but he always gets out of un for he always keeps his nerve—an’ when they ain’t nothin’ he can do for hisself, he prays. Dad’s a wonderful religious man.”
“Can you pray?”
“Oh, yes; I been prayin’ quiet to myself, settin’ here. Can you?”
“I know the Lord’s Prayer. Mother taught me to say it when I was little.”
“Say un to yourself. ’Twill do good.”
Another long silence, and Dan asked:
“Been prayin’?”
“It won’t do any good; I’m sure it won’t. I said it once but it don’t seem to belong to this fix.”
“’Twill help us if we prays the best we can. Dad says: ‘Do everything you sets your hand to the best un knows how; if ’tis workin’, work the best un can; if ’tis prayin’, pray the best un can.’”
“Oh, Dan, if I’d only stopped fishing when you called me! If I’d only gone back to the ship then, we’d have been all right! Oh, why didn’t I go! Why didn’t I go!”
“Maybe the Lord were plannin’ to have us go adrift, and He were keepin’ you fishin’. Dad says sometimes th’ Lord does such things to try folks out an’ see what they’ll be doin’ for theirselves.”
“No, Dan, it was my fault. Oh, why didn’t I go when you called me! Now we’ll both be drowned, and it’s all my fault.”
“Don’t be feelin’ so bad about un, Paul,” Dan soothed. “While they’s life they’s a chanst. Dad’s always sayin’ that, an’ he says,‘If you ever gets in a tight fix, lad, do all you can to get out of un, an’ when they ain’t nothin’ moreyoucan do, an’ you’re sartin’ they ain’t, then pray to th’ Lord, an’ leave un to He. But,’ says Dad, ‘don’t waste no time prayin’ an’ askin’ th’ Lord’s help when they’s anythin’ you can do yourself. He won’t pull you out of no scrape when you ain’t doin’ th’ things He’s laid out for you to do first.’”
“But what can we do?”
“Nothin’ but pray now. We hollered an’ fired th’ guns. I been tryin’ to think of everythin’, an’ they ain’t nothin’ else I can think of till ’tis light enough to see, an’ then maybe we’ll be findin’ a way to fix th’ boat; an’ maybe if we prays th’ Lord’ll show us a way to do un.”
The lads again lapsed into silence, to be broken finally by Paul.
“Dan?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it most morning?”
“’Tis a long while till mornin’ yet. I’m thinkin’ ’tis about two bells.”
“One o’clock?”
“Yes. I’ll strike a match, an’ you looks at your watch.”
The flash of the match disclosed the hour as ten minutes past twelve.
“Time goes wonderful slow.”
“Yes. I thought it was almost morning.”
“Were you sleepin’?”
“No.”
Another silence, and Dan remarked:
“You got a wonderful lot o’ ca’tridges in your bag. What you bringin’ so many for?”
“They’re what Mr. Remington gave me.”
“Wonderful lot of un. More ’n you’ll need in a year.”
They settled down again, and when Dan looked up a faint light was showing through the fog blanket. He stirred and Paul awoke.
“We been sleepin’, Paul, an’ day’ll soon be breakin’.”
“Where are we?” asked Paul, rubbing his eyes.
“Cruisin’ to th’ s’uthard on a bit of ice in Hudson Bay,” answered Dan, adding facetiously: “We ain’t got no log, an’ I’ve lost th’ reckonin’.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Paul, sitting up and looking around him. “I remember now! I was dreaming of home, and when I woke up I thought we were in camp. My, but I’m stiff and cold.”
“’Tis a kind of camp, but not a shore camp.”
As daylight grew the outlook appeared more dismal than ever. The fog if possible was more dense than the evening before, and while the boys slept a corner of the pan had broken off.
“Do you think we can mend the boat?” asked Paul.
“’Tis too dark yet,” answered Dan, “but we’ll be tryin’ soon as we can see.”
“I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten a thing since twelve o’clock yesterday.”
“So is I hungry, an’ we’ll be eatin’ while we can’t do nothin’ else.”
An investigation of the provision box disclosed a can of corned beef, three cans of baked beans, a small piece of bacon, a dozen ship’s biscuits, a few pounds of flour and some tea, left over from their fishing trip.
“We’ll open one of the cans of beans, and each have a biscuit,” suggested Dan, “but they ain’t nothin’ to drink.”
“That’s so; we can’t make tea without a fire.”
“No, an’ the water’s salt.”
“We’re up against it good and hard. Now you speak of water, I’m famishing for a drink,” said Paul as he ate.
“Th’ ice is sweet, an’ after you eats I’ll chip a cupful of un, an’ if you holds un under your jacket she’ll melt.”
“I never would have thought of that. These beans are mighty good. Let’s have another can. I’m not half satisfied.”
“No, we got to be careful of un. They’s no tellin’ how long ’t will be before we gets picked up, an’ we got to be careful of the grub.”
“I’m fearfully hungry, but I guess you’re right.”
“Yes, I knows I is. Dad’s often sayin’ to me, ‘Dan, if you ever gets in a tight place, an’ not much grub in sight, be wonderful careful of what you has, and make un last.’”
It was full light now. Dan chipped some ice with the axe, filled a cup, and Paul held it carefully beneath his jacket.
An examination of the boat was not reassuring. The forward planks on the port side were stove far in, and an attempt to repair the damage, even temporarily, appeared at first a hopeless task.
“I’m not seein’ just how to mend un,” remarked Dan, contemplating the damaged planks, “but Dad, he says to me, ‘Always try. Do un best. What looks like a hard job is very like to be an easy one in the end.’ He says to me, ‘Do all un can, anyhow, howsoever hard the job looks. The Lord may have you marked up to live to sixty or seventy year,’ says he, ‘and to die in bed, but if you gets in a tight place, and they’s somethin’ you might be doin’ to get out of un if you tries, and you lets un go without tryin’ because you’re not seein’ how to do un at first, the Lord’ll be sayin’ to the recordin’ angel, just change that feller’s markin’, and put he down to die now, and make un drownin’. Dad says the Lord’ll just be thinkin’ ’tain’t no usekeepin’ a feller around the world what don’t care enough about livin’ to do what he can to save hisself, but leaves it all to the Lord to do.’”
Encouraged by this philosophy of his father’s, Dan worked with a will, and at the end of an hour succeeded in forcing the stove-in planking back into place.
In the meantime Paul’s ice had melted, and, refreshed by a half cup of slightly brackish water, he turned his attention to Dan’s success with the boat.
“Won’t that go all right without leaking much?” he asked.
“No, ’twill leak like a sieve,” answered Dan, surveying the boat. “I were seein’ that much to do from the first, but I weren’t seein’ how to make the planks hold where I put un, or how to make un tight, and I’m not seein’ ’t yet. Now if we had some bits of board and some nails, I’m thinkin’ we might make un tight.”
“There’s the grub box. Couldn’t we knock that to pieces, and use the boards and nails in it?”
“The grub box! Well there! And I never were thinkin’ of un!”
Dan soon had the box in pieces and the nails removed.
“I’m wonderful slow to think of things sometimes,” remarked he as he worked. “Now why weren’t I thinkin’ of this box first off?”
Cleats were fashioned by Dan from the pieces of box, with the axe as his one working tool, and he was finally ready to nail them in position, where they would hold the broken planks in place. Nails were few, and it was necessary that great economy be practiced in their use and that each be driven where it would do the most good.
The swell was increasing, the north wind was rising, and with every hour the position of the boys was becoming more dangerous. The first cleat had scarcely been nailed down when a wave broke over the pan, washing its whole surface, not deep enough to carry the things away, but suggesting the possibility that another one might presently do so. Dan had fortunately put his cleats in the boat ashe made them, or the wave would certainly have carried off the light pieces of wood.
“Paul, you be loadin’ the things in the boat,” said Dan, “while I does th’ mendin’. Th’ next swell breakin’ over th’ pan may carry th’ bags overboard. Load th’ light bags first.”
Paul obeyed, and when the next wave, a little heavier than the first, broke over the pan the outfit was out of its reach.
It was well past noon when the last cleat was placed, and Dan began to caulk with strips torn from a shirt, using as his tool a wedge made from a piece of the box.
The caulking was not yet half done when the boys were startled by a loud report, like that of a gun.
“There she goes!” exclaimed Dan. “I were lookin’ for un! Th’ pan’s busted!”
And sure enough, fully a third of their pan had broken loose from the main body of ice which held them.
Heavier swells, now and again moving the boat slightly, swept the pan. Dan worked desperately at his caulking; Paul, sitting inthe boat clinging to his seat, was expecting every moment to be washed from the ice. As he looked out into the fog and beheld the growing anger of the sea his apprehension grew. He realized fully their imminent peril, and he began to doubt the ability of the frail boat, even had it been free from damage, to weather the high piling waves.
All at once he thought he saw something in the distance, a faint splotch in the fog, and he called out:
“Dan! Dan! See there! What is that?”
Dan raised his eyes from his work and looked.