ADRIFT.
About midday, Captain Lund drove down on the ice to draw up the boat
owned by his sons; after which he was to return a second time for the
decoys and shooting-box of the homeward-bound sportsmen. The floe was
fast wasting under the April sun, and his horses' iron-shod hoofs sank
deep into the snow-ice, which the night-frosts had left at morn as hard
as flint.
He drove with his habitual caution, sounding more than one suspicious
place with the axe, and at last came to a long tide-crack, through which
the open water showed clear, and which seemed to divide the floe as far
as the eye could reach.
"I come none too soon," said the deliberate pilot; "and I must warn La
Salle not to trust his boat here another night."
"Well, captain, what think you of the weather?" asked La Salle, as the
shaggy pony and rough sled halted near the boat.
"It looks a little cloudy, but I guess nothing more than a fog may be
expected to-night. You had better have your boat ready to get ashore
right away; for the ice, though heavy enough, is full of cracks, and
will go off with the first northerly gale which comes with the ebb."
"Well, I'll be getting the boat clear of the ice, and you may come for
us the last of all."
And Lund, driving down the bar to his own boat, left La Salle busily at
work, with axe and shovel, clearing away the well-packed ice which had
for the last three weeks concealed the sides of the goose-boat.
By the time that Lund had hooked on to his own boat and driven up again,
a large heap of ice and snow had been thrown out; but the runners were
evidently frozen down, and the boat was immovable.
"I shan't have her clear until you get through with Davies's outfit; but
I guess we shall be ready for you then."
Lund drove on, dragging the heavy boat up to the beach, and then
concluded to haul it up the bank, above the reach of the increasing
tides, and the danger of being crushed by the ice. As he cast off her
rope, he felt a snow-flake on the back of his hand. Before he reached
the ice, they were falling thick and noiselessly.
"I must hurry; for there's no time to lose. The tide is just at its
turn; and if the wind comes from the north, the boys will be adrift.
Come; get up, Lightfoot. G'lang! Whoop! Go it!"
Already the rising wind began to whirl the thick-falling flakes in
smothering wreaths, and Lund groaned in spirit as, following the tracks
of his last trip, the stanch little horse galloped down the ice.
"I am afraid this is the end of my vision; for the ice won't be long in
breaking up now, and those boys are out in that d--n little craft."
And Lund in his perturbation swore and cursed after the manner of
"sailor-men" generally; that is, when they most need to pray.
Suddenly the little horse hesitated, relaxed into a trot, snorted,
reared, and stopped, wheeling half around, with the sleigh-runners
diagonally across the half-effaced track, which came to an unexpected
stop. Lund saw at once that another rod would have plunged horse and man
into the Gulf; the ice-fields had parted, and the boats and their
occupants were floating away at the mercy of the winds and waves.
"Let's see," said Lund; "the wind is nor'-east, and the tide will set
them in some, too. So, if the gale does not shift, that'll carry them
past McQuarrie's Point, and I'll hail them then, and let them know where
they are. God grant that they've got the boat clear; for once away from
the lee of the island, their craft would never find land in such a
squall as this. Come, Lightfoot," he added, as he sprang upon the sled,
and brought his leathern reins smartly across the animal's back,
"there's four lives on our speed; so go your fastest, poor fellow! and
God help that we may not be too late."
Meanwhile La Salle and Peter had viewed with no little anxiety the
sudden overclouding of the sky, or rather the heavy curtain of vapor
which seemed to descend mysteriously from the zenith, rather than to
gather from beyond the horizon.
"I no like snow; wind no good this time; tide too high. Spose Lund come,
must get boat across crack yonder any way."
And the one-armed hunter plied the light axe with a haste which showed
no small amount of anxiety.
The boat was soon clear, but the snow was falling so fast that they
could scarcely see to windward at all, and no part of the land was
visible. Again the Indian spoke, and a new cause of anxiety was stated.
"Where sposum boys this time? See boat little hile ago. No see any now.
They no see hice. Spose shootum big gun call them hin?"
La Salle took the heavy piece, and was about to discharge it to leeward,
when, from the very air above their heads, a voice seemed to call on
them by name, "La Salle, Charley, Peter, ahoy!"
La Salle dropped the butt of his gun, and listened. Again the voice
sounded apparently nearer than before. "Charley, Peter, ahoy!"
"That voice ole man Lund. I know it; but what for sposum voice there?
Then track go that way. Ole man lose way, spose."
"Perhaps he has fallen in, Peter. Come, let's go."
And catching a rope near him, and forgetting to lay down the cumbrous
gun, Charley ran towards the incessant and evidently-agonized cries,
Peter following with an axe and a light fish-spear.
Scarcely had the runners gone a hundred yards before they stopped in
dismay. At their feet the ice-field ended abruptly, and scarce a hundred
yards away rose a wall of red sandstone, on whose summit stood Lund,
peering down into the whirl of snow-flakes. His quick eye espied them,
and he shouted his last advice.
"Launch your boat at once; don't wait. Keep under the lee. Don't try to
save anything but your lives. Keep the wind at your backs in rowing, and
mind the set of the tide eastward."
"Ay, ay! I understand. We're waiting for the boys!" shouted La Salle.
"I can't hear a word," called out Lund across the rapidly-increasing
space.
"Give me that spear, Peter," said La Salle.
And snapping off the tiny barbs, he drew from his pocket a pencil, and
wrote as follows on the slender rod of white maple:--
"We know our danger, but have no oars; for the boys have not
returned. Unless they do so soon, shall stick to the ice until the
weather clears. Look for us along the coast if the storm lasts.
"Love to all. LA SALLE."
Holding up the rod to be seen by Lund, he placed it in the muzzle of his
piece, and motioned to the captain to watch its flight. The pilot
stepped behind a tree, and La Salle aimed at the face of a large
snow-drift near him. The report echoed amid the broken ledges, the long
white arrow sped through the air, and stuck in the snow close to the
tree. Lund picked it up, and bent over it a moment; then bowed his head,
as if assuring them of his approval of its contents.
Already the floe had moved into rough water, and the short waves raised
by the increasing gale began to throw their spray far up on the ice. The
snow-squall gathered fury, and La Salle, waving his hand, pointed
heavenward, while Peter, knowing but too well the danger of their
position, sank on his knees, and began the simple prayers of his faith.
Lund saw them fade from view into the sleety veil that hid the waste of
waters, and groaning in spirit, turned homeward.
"In half an hour no boat on the island can reach them, even if men could
be found to face certain death in a snow-storm out on the open Gulf."
Peter rose to his feet, apparently almost hopeless.
"Good by, Saint Peter's! Good by, Trois Lieues' Creek! Good by, Lund!
Poor Peter no more shootum wild goose here."
"Come, Peter, don't give it up so," said La Salle. "We must find the
boys and get their oars and boat, and then well try and see what we can
do to get ashore."
Peter's eyes brightened a little, and walking around the edge of the
floe, they came, in the course of twenty minutes, to the boys, snugly
seated under their inverted boat, in a hollow of a large berg, which,
until that day, had never floated with the tide.
"Come, boys, this won't do. We're adrift, and getting well out into the
Gulf. Turn over your boat, put everything into her, and let's try what
we can do with the big boat."
In desperate haste the four took down the light craft, threw in the oars
and guns, and dashed across the quarter of a mile which lay between them
and the windward side of the ice. In about five minutes they reached the
large boat; but all saw at a glance that little less than a miracle was
needed to carry them safe ashore.
The snow was falling thick and fast, the wind driving it in eddying
clouds, and amid it could be seen at times the white caps of the
increasing surges as they broke on the edge of the floe. It was evident
that it would be madness to attempt to leave their present position; yet
all stood silent a moment, as if unwilling to be the first to confess
the painful truth.
At last La Salle broke the silence. "It's no use, boys; we must stay
here all night. And first, let's get both boats down to the berg, for
this floe may go to pieces any time; but that is all of twenty feet
thick, and will stand a good deal yet. Come, pile in the decoys and
tools, and let's get under cover as soon as we can."
The decoys of iron and wood, and even those of fir-twigs, of which they
had added some three dozen, were piled into the boats, and taking hold
at the painter of the largest, they soon trundled the heavy load to the
thickest part of the field.
"Sposum we get Davies's box and 'coys too. Then we makum camp, have
plenty wood too. Spose field break up, loosem sartin," said Peter.
"You're right. Come, boys. We don't know how long we may be on this
ice-field, and we shall need all the shelter we can get, and fuel too."
It was nearly an hour before they found the box and its pile of decoys,
but the box had been furnished with rude runners, and being already
clear of the ice, there was no delay in what was evidently becoming a
dangerous proximity to the sea; for that edge of the ice was already
breaking up, as the rollers broke over it, bearing it down with the
weight of water. Sunset must have been close at hand when the party
arrived, wet, weary, and almost despairing, at the berg.
"Now, boys," said La Salle, "we must build our house at once, for no one
can tell how long this storm may last. Luckily we have two shovels and
two axes. Peter and I will cut away the ice, and you two will pile up
fragments, and clear away the snow and rubbish."
Choosing a crater-like depression on the summit of the berg, La Salle
laid out a parallelogram about eight feet square, and motioning to
Peter, proceeded to sink a square shaft into the solid ice, which, at
first a little spongy, rapidly became hard and flinty. Aided by the
natural shape of the berg, in the course of an hour a cavity had been
cleared out to the depth of about six feet. Over this was inverted the
box belonging to Davies, and this was kept in place by fragments of ice
piled around and over it, after which the interstices were filled with
wet snow, and the whole patted into a firm, impermeable mound.
On the leeward side the wall had been purposely left thin, and through
this a narrow door, about three feet high, was cut into the excavation.
Lighting his lantern, La Salle stepped inside, finding himself in a
gloomy but warm room, about nine feet high in the walls, and eight feet
square. Taking the dryest of the fir decoys, he cut the cords which
bound them together, and laying the icy branches of their outer covering
on the bare ice, soon formed a non-conducting carpet of fir-twigs, of
which the upper layers were nearly dry.
The whole party then entered, carefully brushing from their clothes and
boots as much of the snow as possible, and, seating themselves, for the
first time rested from incessant exertion amid the furious peltings of a
driving north-east snow-storm.
La Salle motioned to the rest to place their guns in a nook near the
door, and taking the boiler of the lantern, filled it with snow, and
placed it above the flame. Regnar, noticing this, went out and brought
in the rude chest containing the remnants of their little stock of
coffee, and the basket with what was left of the day's lunch.
In the former were found a few matches, about a half pound of coffee,
perhaps a pound of sugar, a box and a half of sardines, and two or three
dozen ship's hard-bread. In the basket were left several slices of
bread, a junk of corned beef weighing about two pounds, and some apples
and doughnuts.
In a short time the tiny boiler, which held about a pint, was full of
boiling water, to which La Salle added some coffee, and soon each had a
small but refreshing draught, which helped wonderfully to restore their
usual warmth and vigor of circulation. From the lunch-basket, whose
contents had remained untouched all day, a slight meal was taken, and
then the remainder of the provisions put carefully away, although a
second cup of coffee was left preparing in the lantern for possible
contingencies.
La Salle looked at his watch--it was nearly eight o'clock.
"We are now well down off Point Prime, and are probably under the lee of
other ice, as we no longer feel the tossing of the sea. The boats are
all ready for use, but it is not likely we shall need them to-night,
unless, indeed--Let us hold a council of war, and decide at once on our
course of action."
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