CHARLIE IN A SNOW SQUALL.
Charles would have been more than human if he could have rested easy
without a sail for his canoe, after seeing John’s, and sailing with him
in his float. He tried a hemlock bush, but he came near filling his
boat by means of it. He didn’t like to ask Sally to weave him cloth to
make one, as she had to buy her flax and cotton, nor to ask Ben to let
him sell fish for it. He therefore set his wits to work to compass his
end. He noticed the bottom of the chairs, and asked Ben what they were
made of: he told him, of basket-stuff, and how it was made.
He cut down an ash, pounded it, and stripping it very thin, wove it
into a mat, and made a sail of it. A great deal of wind went through
it, to be sure; but then it answered a very good purpose, and saved him
a deal of rowing.
At length he espied a birch-bark dish, that Uncle Isaac had made for
Sally to wash dishes in. He examined it very attentively, and thought
he had at last found the right stuff; but, to his great disappointment,
the bark wouldn’t run at that time of the year. Joe told him to make a
fire and heat the tree, when he found it would run. He obtained some
large sheets, and made it very thin; he found some difficulty in making
the stitches hold, as the bark was so straight-grained it would split,
and let the thread out; but he found a way to remedy this, by sewing
some narrow strips of cloth with the bark at the seams and edges.
He now found that he had a sail that was a great deal handsomer and
lighter than the other, and that not a bit of wind could get through.
Having by this time got a birch-bark fever, he made himself a hat of
it, and a box to carry his dinner in.
He continued to fish every pleasant day, and, as fast as the fish were
cured, he put them in the chamber; and the larger the pile grew, the
more anxious he became to add to it.
There had been a week of moderate weather for the time of year, with
light south and south-west winds, and Charles had caught a great many
fish, sailing home every afternoon as grand as you please. At length
there was an appearance of a change in the weather. Ben thought he
had better not go; but seeing he was eager to do so, did not prevent
him. It was a dead calm when Charlie rowed on to his ground, and
continued thus till nearly noon; but the clouds hung low, and the sun
was partially hid. The fish bit well, and Charlie was too busy in
hauling them in to take note of a black mass of clouds, which, having
first gathered in the north-east, were gradually coming down the bay,
accompanied with a black mist reaching from the water to the sky, till
in an instant the wind struck with a savage shriek; the waters rolled
up green and angry, and he was wrapped in a whirlwind of snow, so thick
that he not only lost sight of the island, but could not even see three
times the length of the canoe. His first impulse was to haul up his
anchor and row for the island; but the moment he put his hand to the
cable he was convinced that he could make no progress, nor even hold
his own against such a sea and wind.
There was nothing for him but to remain where he was, in the hope that
Ben would come to seek him. But perils now multiplied around him; the
wind, and with it the sea, increased continually. The cold became
intense; the spray flew into the canoe, which was deeply laden with
fish, freezing as it came. It seemed very doubtful to him whether Ben
could find him in the darkness, which, as the day drew to a close,
became every moment more intense.
“Must I perish, after all,” thought the poor boy, “just as I have found
a good home and kind friends?” The tears gushing from his eyes froze
upon his cold cheeks. He now recollected his mother’s last words.
“When trouble comes upon you, my child, call upon God, and he will help
you.”
Kneeling in the bottom of the boat, he put up a fervent prayer to God
for mercy. The flood tide now began to make, which, running against the
wind, made a sharp, short sea; the canoe stood, as it were, on end, and
it seemed as if every sea must break into her. He was fast giving way
to despair, when a large quantity of water came in over the bow. Roused
by the instinct that engages us to struggle for life, he threw it out.
“These fish must go overboard to lighten her,” said he, and laid his
hand on one of the largest, when a faint “Halloo!” came down the wind.
His stupor vanished; the blood rushed to his face; uttering a wild cry
of joy, he seized the club which he used to kill the fish with, and
pounded with all his might upon the head-board of the boat, at the
same time shouting loudly. He soon heard distinctly, “Boat, ahoy!”
shouted, in the tones of Joe; and in a few moments the great canoe came
alongside.
“God bless you, my boy! I was afraid we had lost you,” cried Ben,
catching him by the shoulder, and lifting him into his lap as though he
had been thistle-down. He then wrapped him in a dry coat, and gave him
a dry pair of mittens. As they had a compass, they could have hit the
land by steering in a northerly direction; but they might have been a
great while doing so, without any permanent point of departure to start
from. Ben had provided for this. In the first place, they put a good
part of the fish into the large canoe; then, taking a large cedar buoy,
which he had brought with him for the purpose, he fastened it to the
cable of the canoe, and flung it overboard; then he fastened the small
canoe to the stern of the large one; thus he had the buoy left for a
mark to start from.
“Now, Joe,” said Ben, “do you bring that buoy to bear south-south-west,
astern, and steer north-north-east, and I’ll see if little Ben Rhines
can drive these boats through this surf.”
Joe sat in the stern, with a steering paddle, and the compass before
him on the seat. Charlie stood in the bow of the big canoe, holding
the end of the mooring-rope, which confined them both to the buoy. Ben
now sat down to his oars, putting his feet against Joe’s for a brace.
“Let go, Charlie,” cried he, as he dipped the blades in the water, and
the boats began to move ahead. The canoe quivered beneath the strokes
of the giant, as, warming up, he stretched himself to the work; and as
by main strength he forced her through the sharp sea, the water came
over the bows in large quantities, but Charlie threw it out as fast as
it came.
For a long time no sound was heard but the dash of waves, and the deep
breathing of Ben, like the panting of an ox. It was now fast growing
dark. At length Joe said, “I believe I see something like the shade of
woods.”
All was still again for a while, and Ben increased the force of his
strokes.
“I see the eagle’s nest on the tall pine,” said Charlie, “and the point
of the Bull.”
“That’s what I call a good ‘land-fall,’ when you can’t see a thing,”
said Joe.
They were now soon at the island, where a roaring fire, smoking supper,
and joyous welcome awaited the chilled and hungry boy.
“O, mother!” said Charlie (as with a cloth dipped in warm water she
washed the frozen tears, and the white crust of salt left by the spray,
from his cheek, and kissed him), “I didn’t think I should ever see you
again.”
How great a matter sometimes hinges upon a very little thing! Ben and
Joe were in the thickest part of the woods, so busily at work getting
down a tree that had lodged as not to notice the sudden change in the
weather. As soon as they heard the roar of the wind they ran for the
beach. On the White Bull was a breastwork of stones that Ben had made,
to stand behind and shoot ducks.
“Joe,” he cried, “get the range of that canoe over the breastwork, and
keep it, while I go and get the compass.” When he returned with the
compass, Charlie’s canoe was entirely hidden by the snow; but as Joe
had not moved from the spot, they took the range over the rock, and ran
directly upon him. Had it not been for this he would have perished,
while they were endeavoring to find him by guess in the snow, for it
was pitch dark in an hour after they reached the island.
About eight o’clock the gale came on with tremendous fury; and as
Charlie lay in his warm bed that night, and listened to the roar of
the surf and the sough of the tempest, he drew the blankets over him,
and nestling in their warm folds, lifted up his heart in gratitude to
the Being his mother had taught him to call upon in the hour of peril,
and not forget in that of deliverance.
When the gale was over, the wind coming to the north, the sea fell, and
it was soon smooth, and Charlie wanted to go a-fishing.
“No, Charlie,” said Ben, “the weather is too catching; you have fished
enough for this fall.”
“But I must have my anchor.”
“Well, go and get that, and come right back; don’t take any bait, nor
stop to fish.”
Charlie rowed down to the fishing-ground, where he found the buoy
floating on the glassy surface of the water, with a great mass of kelp,
as large as the floor of the house, fast to it; he took out his knife,
and cut them off from the ropes, and watched them as they floated away
with the tide.
Charlie thought the southerly wind would come in at twelve o’clock, and
save him the labor of rowing home; so he made his canoe fast to the
buoy, determined to wait for it. Whether it was due to the reaction
consequent upon the terrible excitement he had of late passed through,
the beauty of the day, or a mingling of both, he felt deliciously
lazy; so, taking his birch-bark dinner-box from the little locker in
the stern of the canoe, he stretched himself upon the oars and seats,
and with a piece of bread and butter in his fist, began to meditate.
“What a strange thing the sea is!” thought he; “three days ago I lay
in this very spot, fastened to this very rope, in such an awful sea,
expecting to sink every moment, and now it is just as smooth as glass;
and where it was breaking feather white against the Bull you might now
lie right up to the rocks.”
Charlie was very different from John; he was more thoughtful; liked
to be studying out and contriving something. John was more for mere
excitement and adventure.
The southerly wind now came, and Charlie began to haul in his cable;
but he found that the two canoes, riding to it in the gale, had bedded
it so well in the sand that he could not start it.
“I’m no notion of working to-day,” said he; “contrivance is better than
hard work.”
It was now flood tide; he pulled the canoe right over her anchor,
hauled in the slack of the cable as tight as he could, and made it
fast, then stretched out in the sun, and returned to his bread and
butter. As the tide made, the cable grew tighter and tighter, till at
last it began to draw the bows of the canoe down into the water; at
length it drew her down till the water was about to run in, and Charlie
began to think the anchor was under a rock, when all at once it gave
way with a jump.
“I thought you’d have to come,” said he; and, putting up his sail, he
went home before the light south-westerly wind.
Ben had said to Charles, when he went away in the morning, “I shall be
in the woods when you come back, and I want you to bail out the big
canoe, as I shall want to use her to-morrow.”
When Charles came to the beach he made his boat fast, and went to look
at the big canoe. The sea had broken into her as she lay on the beach,
and there was a great deal of water in her.
“This is one of my lazy days, and I’m going to carry it out. I’ll be
blest if I’ll throw all that water out.”
He went to where the sea had flung up a vast quantity of kelp in the
recent gale, and drew out from the heap the largest one he could find.
Perhaps some boy, who has never been on the seashore, might say, “I
wonder what kelp is.” It is an ocean plant that grows on the deep
water rocks. The roots cling to the rock, and send up stalks from ten
to fifteen feet in length, with a leaf or apron nearly as long as the
stem, a foot wide in the middle, tapering towards each end, and of
the color of amber. This stem, which is hollow, and filled with air,
causes it to float on the surface of the water, where it is exposed to
the sun, without which it could not grow. The hollow in a large stem
is about half an inch in diameter. They come to the surface about half
tide, and thus are exposed a few hours while the tide is ebbing and
flowing.
Charlie cut the large leaf and the root from the kelp, when he had a
limber hollow stem five or six feet long. Putting one end into the
canoe, and the other into his mouth, he sucked the water through it;
then putting the end down on the beach the water continued to run in a
steady stream over the side of the canoe. He was contemplating his work
with great satisfaction, when, hearing the sound of oars, he looked up,
and saw John doubling the eastern point.
It was impossible for Mrs. Rhines to keep John from going to the island
alone any longer, since Charles had been off alone, and he was much
larger and stronger.
“What are you about, Charlie?”
“Making water run up hill.”
“But that is running down hill; the beach is lower than the canoe.”
“But it runs off over the side of the canoe; come and see.”
“So it does, sure enough. What makes it go up over that turn?”
“That’s just what I want to know,” said Charlie, “and I mean to know,
too; but I suppose it’s the same thing that makes water come up hill in
a squirt.”
“Why, the plunger in a squirt sucks it up.”
“How can it suck it up? it has not any fingers or lips to suck it or
lift it; that’s only a saying; I don’t believe that.”
“Well, if you don’t believe that, how does it come up? What makes it
follow the stick in the squirt?”
“That’s what I want to know; there must be some reason. Do you suppose
Uncle Isaac knows? he knows most everything.”
“No; he don’t know such things; but Ben does; he can navigate a vessel,
and has been to Massachusetts to school. Father asks Ben when he wants
to know things of that kind.”
“Well, I must ask him.”
“I’m sure I don’t care what makes it come; I know it does come; that’s
enough for me. That’s a great sail in your boat, Charlie; it’s the
first time I ever heard of a birch-bark sail: what in the world made
you think of making a sail of that?”
“Because I had nothing else; I made one out of basket stuff. I tell you
what, these folks that live on islands have to set their wits at work;
they haven’t a store to run to for everything they want.”
“I don’t think much of your contrivance to make water run out of a
boat; only look at it; you and I could take two pails and bail it out
in half the time it will be running out through that, and then we could
go and play.”
“But we can go and play now, and let it run.”
“I never thought of that; let’s go then.”
“I must ask father first; perhaps he wants me to help him; you go ask
him.”
John ran to the woods where Ben was at work, and soon came back with
liberty for them to play.
“Let’s have some fun here with this water; it’s real warm and pleasant
here in the sun, and we can do lots of things.”
“What shall we do?”
“Let’s make water-works, as they do in England. They carry the water
miles and miles.”
“What do they carry it in?”
“Lead and iron pipes, and hollow logs; and they have fountains that
send the water up in the air, ever so high.”
“Let us see how far we can carry water, Charlie.”
They had not the least trouble in procuring pipe, as there were
cart-loads of kelps on the beach. They went to the heap and drew out
the longest and largest stalks they could find, and putting the small
end of one into the large end of the other; then made the joints tight
with clay, and put them under ground, and covered them up. They did not
give up till they carried the water the whole length of the beach into
the bay, and then invited Sally to come out and see it.
“Water,” said Charles, “will rise as high as the place it came from. I
am going to have a fountain.”
So he stopped up the end of the pipe with clay, and near the end where
the water ran quite fast, he made a little hole, and put into it two
or three quills of an eagle, joined together, to make a pipe, and
the water spouted through it into the air. As the day was now fast
spending, they tore up their pipes, and putting them all into the
canoe, and sucking the water through them, set them all running; and
when Sally called them to supper the water was nearly all out of the
canoe.