ONE LAST DAY ON SHORE--BEARING UP FOR THE EAST AND NORTH--FAREWELL, OLD
SETH; FAREWELL, PLUNKET.
When at last Rory was so far recovered that he could go on deck with
safety, he gazed around him with delight. And well he might, for a more
wildly beautiful scene it has been the lot of very few travellers to
feast their eyes upon.
"Why," he cried, with the old glad smile in his eyes, "summer has come
again while I have been ill. Oh! such beauty! such grandeur! All the
trees in leaf and the flowers in bloom, and not a bit of ice to be seen
in the bay. Shouldn't I like to go on shore once more before we start,
to cull a flower, or make a sketch."
"Well, Rory," said McBain, smiling at his enthusiasm, "that is a wish we
can easily gratify if you really think you are strong enough."
"Strong!" said Rory, "why, I'm strong enough to fell an ox. You've no
idea how strong I feel; nor how happy at being strong again."
"Happy and thankful at the same time, I trust," said McBain.
"Ay," put in Allan, "and you've no idea, Rory, how delighted we all are
to have you on deck again, and really with us, you know."
Rory smiled with pleasure. He felt the genuineness of the words spoken.
They spent that day on shore quietly, and very pleasurably. They sought
for no wild adventures, they sought but to saunter about and enjoy the
beauties of the landscape; it would be the last ever they would spend in
that lovely land, and they meant to leave it in peace. They would
neither draw a bead upon a bird, nor fire at a bear, nor lure a fish
from the river.
It was not without a certain feeling of sadness they embarked at last,
when the day was far spent; and the same feeling stole over them when,
next day, they got the anchor up and slowly sailed away a-down the bay
with the jibboom pointing east and by north. By mid-day they were
opposite the spot where they had anchored all the winter. The new hall
which Ap had been so proud of constructing still stood there in all its
pristine beauty and pride.
"It does seem a pity," said Ap, "to leave it to the Indians."
"Ah! but," said McBain, who had overheard him, "it would be a greater
pity to land and burn it, wouldn't it, Ap?"
"Yes, look, you see," was Ap's reply, his eyes still fondly resting on
the building, "I wouldn't think of that for a moment. Better the
Indians than that. Yes, yes."
When the sun set that day the land was far away on the lee quarter; by
morning it had entirely disappeared, and all the adventures they had
enjoyed on shore seemed to our heroes like one long wild romantic dream.
Ere the second day had come to a close every one on board had quite
settled down again to the old yachting roving life, at once so jolly and
so free. Watches were kept as before, the dinner-hour was changed to an
earlier one, as it usually is at sea and a regular lookout was kept at
the bows, as well as a man at the mast-head in the crow's-nest.
There was need for this, too, for the ice they soon found themselves
among was both heavy and dangerous. On this account the _Snowbird's_
head was changed a few points nearer to the west, and very soon
afterwards the sea became more open and clear.
A goodly ten-knot breeze blew steadily for days from the east, and
carried them well over to the land that bounds the opposite shores of
the Hudson Bay, and the course had once more to be changed for a
northerly one, to seek for the straits, and the icebergs again towered
around, mountains high, great gomerils of snow, that at times took the
wind quite out of their sails. This passage through the straits was at
once exciting and dangerous, and for three whole days and nights McBain
never slept, and very seldom did he sit more than a few minutes at
table.
But open water came at last, and they would probably see no more of the
ice until they rounded Cape Farewell, and neared the shores of Iceland.
But something had to be done long before then. It must not be forgotten
that on the far northern coast of Labrador, in a wild and mountainous
lonely land, was the home of honest but eccentric old trapper Seth.
McBain had promised to take him back, and a sailor's promise is, or
ought to be at all events, a sacred thing. McBain's was.
"But, for all that," said McBain, addressing Seth, "we shall be
unfeignedly sorry to part with you; we would far rather you came home
with us, and took up your abode at Arrandoon. We'd find you something
to do, something to shoot at times, though nothing to compare with the
glorious sport we've enjoyed in your society."
"And, thanking you a thousand times," replied Seth, "but I guess and
calculate that at his time of life, civilisation would kind o' go
against the grain of old Seth."
"And yet," persisted McBain, "it does seem sad for you to go away back
again to that lone wilderness into voluntary exile. What will you do
when you fall ill? We all must die, you know."
"Bless you, sir," said Seth, "we old trappers don't mind dying a bit.
We're just like the deer of the forest. We seldom sicken for more than
about an hour. We simply falls quietly asleep and wakes no more under
the moon."
So no more was said to Seth in order to dissuade him from his intention
of going home, as he called it. But when Seth's cape was sighted at
last, it was quite evident that our heroes had no intention of
permitting him to go away empty-handed. They could not pay him for his
services in coin. That would have been of little avail for a man in his
position.
But a boat-load of stores of every kind was sent on shore with him, and
Seth found himself richer by far than ever he had expected to be in his
life.
"Hurrah!" cried Seth, when he had reached his clearing and found his cot
still standing, "hurrah! the blueskins have been here, I can see their
trails all about. What a blessing I buried my waliables. They hain't
been near the place."
The crew of the _Snowbird_ helped the old man to dig up "his waliables,"
and he pronounced them all intact and untouched. They also did all they
could to reinstate him in comfort in his cottage.
Then, with three ringing cheers, and many a hearty good-bye and
hand-shake, away they went to their yacht, and left poor Seth and
Plunket to their loneliness.