A MELANCHOLY SITUATION.
In Labrador, under ordinary circumstances, the loss of such a quantity
of provisions as Arsenic had carried away would have been a very
serious misfortune. But food was the one thing our lads had in
abundance, and they were more unhappy at having lost a guide, who might
have shown them a way out of their prison, than over the theft he had
so successfully accomplished.
"The next time we catch an Indian we'll tie a string to him," said
Cabot.
"Yes," agreed White, "and it will be a stout one, too; but I am afraid
there won't be any more Indians on the coast this season."
"How about Eskimo?"
"Some of them may come along later, when the snowshoeing and sledging
get good enough, for they are apt to travel pretty far south during the
winter. Still, there's no knowing how far back from the coast their
line of travel may lie at this point, and dozens of them might pass
without our knowledge."
"Couldn't we go up or down the coast as well as an Eskimo, whenever
these miserable waterways freeze over?" asked Cabot.
"Of course, if we had sledges, dogs, snowshoes, and fur clothing,"
replied White; "but without all these things we might just as well
commit suicide before starting."
"Well, I'll tell you what we can do right off, and the sooner we set
about it the better. We can go inland as far as possible, and leave a
line of flags or some sort of signals that will attract attention to
this place."
"I don't know but what that is a good idea," remarked White,
thoughtfully. "At any rate, it would be better than doing nothing, and
if we don't get help in some way we shall certainly freeze to death in
this place long before the winter is over."
So Cabot's suggestion was adopted, and the remainder of that day was
spent in preparing little flags of red and white cloth, attaching them
to slender sticks, and in making a number of wooden arrows. On a
smooth side of these they wrote:
"Help! We are stranded on the coast."
"I wish we could write it in Eskimo and Indian," said Cabot, "for
English doesn't seem to be the popular language of this country."
"The flags and arrows will be a plain enough language for any natives
who may run across them," responded White, "and I only hope they'll see
them; but it is a slim chance, and we'll probably be frozen stiff long
before any one finds us."
"Oh, I don't know," said Cabot, cheerfully. "There's firewood enough
in the schooner itself to last quite a while."
"Burn the 'Sea Bee'!" cried White, aghast at the suggestion. "I
couldn't do it."
"Neither could I at present; but I expect both of us could and would,
long before our blood reached the freezing point."
"But if we destroyed the schooner, how would we get out of here next
summer?"
"I'm sure I don't know, and don't care to try and think yet a while.
Just now I am much more interested in the nearby winter than in a very
distant summer."
The next day, and for a number of days thereafter, our lads worked at
the establishment of their signal line. They erected stone cairns at
such distances apart that every one was visible from those on either
side, and on the summit of each they planted a flag with its
accompanying pointer. In this way they ran an unbroken range of
signals for ten miles, and would have carried it further had they dared
expend any more of their precious firewood.
While they were engaged upon this task the weather became noticeably
colder, the mercury falling below the freezing point each night, and
the whole country was wrapped in the first folds of the snow blanket
under which it would sleep for months. About the time their signal
line was completed, however, there came a milder day, so suggestive of
the vanished summer that Cabot declared his intention of spending an
hour or so at the lookout. "There might be such a thing as a belated
vessel," he argued, "and I might have the luck to signal it. Anyhow, I
am going to make one more try before agreeing to settle down here for
the winter."
As White was busy moving the galley stove into the cabin, and making
other preparations for their coming struggle against Arctic cold, Cabot
rowed himself ashore and left the dinghy on the beach. Then he climbed
to the summit of the lofty headland, where, for a long time, he leaned
thoughtfully on the rude Alpine-stock that had aided his steps, and
gazed out over the vacant ocean.
While Cabot thus watched for ships that failed to come, White was
putting the finishing touches to his new cabin fixtures. He was just
beginning to wonder if it were not time for his comrade's return when
he felt the slight jar of some floating object striking against the
side of the schooner. Thinking that Cabot had arrived, he shouted a
cheery greeting, but turned to survey the general effect of what he had
done before going on deck. The next minute some one softly entered the
cabin and sprang upon the unsuspecting youth, overpowering him and
flinging him to the floor before he had a chance to offer resistance.
Here he was securely bound and left to make what he could of the
situation, while his captors swarmed through the schooner with
exclamations of delight at the richness of their prize.
As White slowly recovered from the bewilderment of his situation he saw
that his assailants were Indians, and even recognised in one of them
the hideous features of the lad whom Cabot had named Arsenic.
"What fools we have been," he thought, bitterly. "We might have known
that he would come back with the first band of his friends that he ran
across. And to make sure that they would find us we filled the country
with sign posts all pointing this way. Seems to me that was about as
idiotic a thing as we could have done, and if ever a misfortune was
deserved this one is. I wonder what has become of Cabot, and if they
have caught him yet. I only hope he won't try to fight 'em, for they'd
just as soon kill him as not. Probably they'll kill us both, though,
so that no witnesses can ever appear against them. Poor chap! It was
a sad day for him when he attempted to help a fellow as unlucky as I am
out of his troubles. Now I wonder what's up."
A shrill cry of triumph had come from the shore, and the savages on the
schooner's deck were replying to it with exultant yells.
The cry from shore announced the capture of Cabot by two Indians who
had been left behind for that express purpose. Of course the
new-comers had known as soon as they discovered the dinghy that at
least one of the schooner's defenders was on shore, and had made their
arrangements accordingly. As we have seen, the naval contingent
experienced no difficulty in capturing the schooner, and a little later
the land forces carried out their part of the programme with equal
facility. They merely hid themselves behind some boulders, and leaping
out upon the young American, as he came unsuspectingly swinging down
the trail, overpowered him before he could make a struggle. Tying him
beyond a possibility of escape, they carried him down to the beach,
where they uttered the cries that informed their comrades of their
triumph.
Until this time the schooner had been left at her anchorage, for fear
lest any change in her position might arouse Cabot's suspicions. Now
that they were free to do as they pleased with her the Indians cut her
cable, and, after much awkward effort, succeeded in towing her to the
beach, where they made her fast.
As the darkness and cold of night were now upon them, and as they had
no longer any use for the dinghy, they smashed it in pieces and started
a fire with its shattered timbers. At the same time they broke out
several barrels of provisions, and the entire band, gathering about the
fire, began to feast upon their contents.
In the meantime Cabot and White, in their respective places of
captivity, were equally miserable through their ignorance of what had
happened to each other, and of the fate awaiting them. Of course Cabot
had seen the schooner brought to the beach, while White, still lying on
her cabin floor, was able to guess at her position from such sounds as
came to his ears.
During that eventful afternoon, while the savages were still preparing
the plan that had resulted in such complete success, a white man,
setting a line of traps for fur-bearing animals, had run across the
outermost of the signals established by our lads a few days earlier.
Its fluttering pennon had attracted his attention while he was still at
a distance, and, filled with curiosity, he had gone to it for a closer
examination. On reaching the signal he read the pencilled writing on
its arrow, and then stood irresolute, evidently much perturbed, for
several minutes. Finally, heaving a great sigh, he set forth in the
direction indicated by the arrow.
He was a gigantic man, and presented a strange spectacle as he strode
swiftly across the country with the long, sliding gait of a practised
snowshoer. Although his wide-set blue eyes were frank and gentle in
expression, a heavy mass of blonde hair, streaming over his shoulders
like a mane, and a shaggy beard, gave him an air of lion-like ferocity.
This wildness of aspect, as well as his huge proportions, were both
increased by his garments, which were entirely of wolf skins. Even his
cap was of this material, ornamented by a wolf's tail that streamed out
behind and adorned in front with a pair of wolf ears pricked sharply
forward. He carried a rifle and bore on his shoulders, as though it
were a feather weight, a pack of such size than an ordinarily strong
man would have found difficulty in lifting it.
As this remarkable stranger, looking more like a Norse war god than a
mere human being, reached one signal after another, he passed it
without pausing for examination until he had gained a point about half
way to the coast. Then he came to an abrupt halt and studied the
surrounding snow intently. He had run across the trail made by Arsenic
and his fellows a few hours earlier. After an examination of the
sprawling footprints, the big man uttered a peculiar snort of
satisfaction, and again pushed on with increased speed. An hour later
he stood, concealed by darkness, on the verge of the cliffs enclosing
Locked Harbour, gazing interestedly down on the fire-lit beach, the
half-revealed schooner, the feasting savages, and the recumbent, dimly
discerned figure of Cabot Grant, their prisoner.