DRIFTING WITH THE ICE PACK.
Cabot had learned from Dr. Aspland of White's arrival at Battle Harbour
two months before, with a leg so badly wrenched by slipping into an ice
crevice that he had gone to the hospital for treatment, but had
expected that he would long ere this have taken his departure. At the
same time White had, of course, given up all hope of ever again seeing
the friend to whom he had become so deeply attached. He had been
terribly cut up over Cabot's disappearance on the night of the
blizzard, and, with the faithful Yim, had spent days in searching for
him. They had gone back to the timber, only to find the Indian camp
deserted, and that its recent occupants had made a hasty departure.
Finally they had given over the hopeless search and had sadly continued
their southward journey.
Now to again behold Cabot alive and well filled poor White with such
joyful amazement that for some minutes he could not frame an
intelligent sentence. He flew down to where the new arrival still
struggled with his hauling gear, and flung himself so impulsively upon
him that both rolled over in the snow. There, with gasping
exclamations of delight, they wrestled themselves into a mood of
comparative calmness that enabled them to regain their feet and begin
to ask questions.
For some time White had been sufficiently recovered to resume his
journey, had an opportunity offered for so doing, but, as none had come
to him, he had earned his board by acting as nurse in the hospital. If
he had been anxious to depart before, he was doubly so now that he had
regained his comrade, and Cabot fully shared his impatience of further
delay. But how they were to reach the coast of Newfoundland they could
not imagine. It would still be many weeks before vessels of any kind
could be expected at Battle Harbour, and they had no money with which
to undertake the expensive journey by way of Quebec.
"If only the ocean would freeze over, we could walk home!" exclaimed
Cabot one day, as the two friends sat gloomily discussing their
prospects. And then that very thing came to pass.
A dog sledge arrived from Forteau, that same evening, bringing a
wounded man to the hospital for treatment, and its driver reported the
Strait of Belle Isle as being so solidly packed with ice that several
persons had traversed it from shore to shore.
"If others have made the trip, why can't we?" cried Cabot.
"I am willing to try it, if you are," replied White, and by daylight of
the following morning the impatient lads were on their way up the coast
in search of the ice bridge to Newfoundland. Cabot had traded his
electric flashlight for a supply of provisions sufficient to load his
sled, which they took turns at hauling, and four days after leaving
Battle Harbour they reached L'Anse au Loup. At that point the strait
is only a dozen miles wide, and there, if anywhere, they could cross
it. It was midday when they came to the winter huts of L'Anse au Loup,
and they had intended remaining in one of them over night, but a short
conversation with its owner caused them to change their plans.
"Yas, there be solid pack clear to ither side all right," he said, "but
happen it 'll go out any time. Fust change o' wind 'll loose it, and
one's to be looked for. Ah wouldn't resk it on no account mahself, but
if Ah had it to do, Ah'd go in a hurry 'ithout wasting no time."
"It is a case of necessity with us," said Cabot.
"Yes," agreed White, "we simply must go, and the quicker we set about
it the better. If we make haste I believe we can get across by dark."
Thus determined, and disregarding a further expostulation from the
fisherman, our lads set their faces resolutely towards the confusion of
hummocks, "pans," floes tilted on edge, and up-reared masses of blue
ice forming the "strait's pack" of that season. Five minutes later
they were lost to sight amid the frozen chaos.
"Wal," soliloquized the man left standing on shore, "Ah 'opes they'll
make it, but it's a fearsome resk, an' Gawd 'elp 'em if come a shift o'
wind afore they're over."
Nothing, in all their previous experience of Labrador travel, had
equalled the tumultuous ruggedness of the way by which Cabot and White
were now attempting to bridge that boisterous arm of the stormy
northern ocean, and to advance at all taxed their strength to the
utmost. To transport their laden sled was next to impossible, but they
dared not leave it behind, and with their progress thus impeded they
were barely half way to the Newfoundland coast when night overtook
them. Even though the gathering darkness had not compelled a halt,
their utter exhaustion would have demanded a rest. For an hour White
had been obliged to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out with the
pain of his weakened, and now overstrained, ankle, and when Cabot
announced that it was no use trying to get further before morning, he
sank to the ice with a groan.
Full of sympathy for his comrade's suffering, the Yankee lad at once
set to work to make him as comfortable as circumstances would permit,
and soon had him lying on a sleeping bag, in a niche formed by two
uptilted slabs of ice. Profiting by past experience, they had procured
and brought with them an Eskimo lamp with its moss wick, a small
quantity of seal oil, and a supply of matches, so that, after a while,
Cabot procured enough boiling water to furnish a small pot of tea.
When they had eaten their simple meal of tea, hard bread, and pemmican,
White's ankle was bathed with water as hot as he could bear it, and
then the weary lads turned in for such sleep as their cheerless
quarters might yield. About midnight the wind that had for many days
blown steadily from the eastward changed to northwest, and, with the
coming of daylight, it was blowing half a gale from that direction.
To Cabot this change meant little or nothing, and he was suggesting
that they remain where they were until White's leg should be thoroughly
rested, when the other interrupted him with:
"But we can't stay here. Don't you feel the change of wind?"
"What of it?" asked Cabot.
"Oh, nothing at all, only that it will drive the ice out to sea, and,
if we haven't reached land before it begins to move, we'll go with it."
"You don't mean it!" cried Cabot, now thoroughly alarmed. "In that
case we'd best get a move on in a hurry. Do you think your leg will
stand the trip?"
"It will have to," rejoined White, grimly; and a few minutes later they
had resumed the toilsome progress that was now a race for life. But it
was a snail's race, for the task of moving the sled had devolved
entirely upon Cabot, White having all he could do to drag himself
along. Each step gave him such exquisite pain that, by the time they
had accomplished a couple of miles, he was crawling on hands and knees.
Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was in
plain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spoken
when there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a sound
of crashing and grinding not to be mistaken.
"The ice is moving!" gasped White.
"Then," said Cabot bravely, "we'll move too. Come on, old man. We'll
leave the sled, and I'll get you ashore even if I have to carry you.
It isn't so very far now."
With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned to
assist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice pale
and motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, White
had fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the shore, remain
beside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and save
himself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the first
plan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden,
and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second into
execution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements as
his slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The third
plan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed as
unworthy of consideration.
In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, and
splitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length,
Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion. By
the time White recovered consciousness, a broad lane of black water had
opened between that place and the Newfoundland coast, while others
could be seen in various directions.
"What are you doing?" asked White, feebly, after he had struggled back
to a knowledge of passing events, and had, for some minutes, been
watching his friend's movements.
"Building an igloo," answered Cabot, cheerily. "We might as well be
comfortable while we can, and though my hut won't have the
architectural beauty that Yim could give it, I believe it will keep us
warm."
It would have been more than easy, and perfectly natural, under the
circumstances, to give way to utter despair; for of the several
hopeless situations in which our lads had been placed during the past
few months, the present was, by far, the worst. At any moment the ice
beneath them might open and drop them into fathomless waters. Even if
it held fast, they were certainly being carried out to sea, where they
would be exposed to furious gales that must ultimately work their
destruction. In spite of all this, Cabot Grant insisted on remaining
hopefully cheerful. He said he had squeezed out of just as tight
places before, and believed he would get out of this one somehow. At
any rate, as crying wouldn't help it, he wasn't going to cry. Besides
all sorts of things might happen. They might drift ashore somewhere or
into the track of passing steamers. Wouldn't it be fine to be picked
up and carried straight to New York? If steamers failed them, they
were almost certain to sight fishing boats sooner or later.
"Yes," added White, catching some of his companion's hopefulness, "or
we may meet with the sealers who leave St. Johns about this time every
year and hunt seals on the ice pack off shore."
"Of course," agreed the other. "So what's the use of worrying?"
In spite of the brave front and cheerful aspect that Cabot maintained
before his helpless comrade, he often broke down when off by himself,
vainly straining his eyes from the summit of some ice hummock for any
hopeful sign, and acknowledged that their situation was indeed
desperate.
That first night, spent sleeplessly and in momentary expectation that
the ice beneath them would break, was the worst. After that they
dreaded more than anything the fate that would overtake them with the
disappearance of their slender stock of provisions. While this
diminished with alarming rapidity, despite their efforts at economy,
their ice island drifted out from the strait, and soon afterwards
became incorporated with the great Arctic pack that always in the
spring forces its resistless way steadily south-ward towards the
melting waters of the Gulf Stream.
Land had disappeared with the second day of the ice movement, and after
that, for a week, nothing occurred to break the terrible monotony of
life on the pack, as experienced by our young castaways. Then came the
dreaded announcement that one portion of their supplies was exhausted.
There was no longer a drop of oil for their lamp.