MAROONED IN AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD
That was indeed a winter of bitter cold and of almost unexampled
severity. It came suddenly, too, and with scant warning, as we shall
see, and a full fortnight in advance of the time when it should have
come.
Abel and Skipper Ed took Jimmy with them that year upon their autumn
seal hunt. It was deemed wise to leave Bobby behind with Mrs. Abel,
despite his protest. Though he was willing enough to remain when Mrs.
Abel declared that because of her recent illness she wished some one to
stay at home and assist her, for she did not feel equal to the task,
unassisted, of making things snug for the winter. And of course there
was none but Bobby to stay.
And so it came about that Bobby, with many longings and regrets, though
cheerful enough withal, stood down on the beach one frosty September
morning and watched Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy sail away
for the hunt, while he comforted himself with the thought that another
year he, too, would go.
Indeed, he had already taken part in the spring hunt, and though he gave
no hint that he had guessed what was in their minds, he knew well enough
that the plea that he was needed at home to assist Mrs. Abel at the work
was a subterfuge of his foster parents, instigated, he had no doubt, by
Skipper Ed. He was also satisfied that the real reason why he was left
at home was because they deemed him not yet strong enough, as a result
of his own recent illness, to withstand the unavoidable exposure and
hardships to which the seal hunters would be subjected on the open and
unprotected coast. And he had to confess to himself that he had not
indeed recovered the full measure of his activity and hardihood, and
that there was reason and justice in their course.
A raw wind was blowing, but a fair wind, and in a little while the boat,
bowling before the breeze with all sail set, was lost to view. Then,
disconsolately, Bobby turned back to the cabin, but Mrs. Abel took good
care that he was kept so busy that he soon forgot his disappointment in
work.
And that day he and Mrs. Abel had a jolly dinner of boiled goose, and
tea, and that evening they sat a full hour beyond their bedtime while
she recounted to him in her own quaint way the story of his coming from
the place where mists and storms are born, and told him how he was sent
by God to be their son, and how little he was, and how ill he was when
Abel first placed him in her arms, and how she had hugged him to her,
and had nursed away his fever, and how glad she and Abel had always been
that God had sent them a son.
The days passed thus until they lengthened into a week. Though Bobby was
content enough, it was but natural that he should be a bit lonesome now
and again, and eagerly wish the fortnight gone that yet must pass
before the return of the seal hunters.
The wild geese and ducks were still in flight, coming in great flocks
from the lakes of the vast unknown interior and from the farther north,
on their way to milder southern climes. There were several marshes near
Abel's Bay where the migrating flocks tarried for a time to rest and
feed, and of mornings they would pass with a great roar of wings and
loud honking from the bay to these marshes, and at night they would
return.
It was Bobby's custom morning and night to lie in wait for them with his
shotgun, and he always returned to the cabin with as many birds as he
could carry. These were hung in the entrance shed of the cabin, where
they would freeze and remain fresh and good until needed for the table.
And thus he too was doing his part in providing for the long winter
which was at hand.
The goose-hunting season was always one of great sport for Bobby, but
this year he found it lonesome enough without Jimmy's company. It was
this loneliness, no doubt, that prompted him, one morning in the
beginning of the second week after the departure of the seal hunters, to
take Abel Zachariah's old skiff and pull far down the bay in the hope
that he might kill a seal on his own account. It was a gray day, with
leaden clouds hanging low. Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay,
throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark.
Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near
which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were
to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea
pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite
full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them
dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a
fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its
downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and
drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might
escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag.
This was exciting sport--so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself
to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he
would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop
which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it
lost its interest.
Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he
ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee
of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was
well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked
and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling
it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner.
He was thus busily engaged when snow began to fall. Thicker and thicker
it came, but Bobby was well protected and he finished his cooking and
his meal without a thought of danger or concern for his safety. And,
when he had eaten, reluctant to leave his cozy fire, he tarried still
another half hour.
"Well," said he, rising at length, "the snow's getting thick and I'd
better be pulling back. My! I didn't know it was so late! It's getting
dusk, already, and it'll be good and dark before I get home!"
Then, to his amazement, he discovered when he emerged from his
sheltered nook that the wind had risen tremendously, that the cold had
visibly increased, and that the chop had developed into a considerable
sea, and that the snow, too, driving before the wind, was blinding
thick.
Bobby was not, however, alarmed, though he realized there was no time
to be lost if he would reach home before the full force of the rising
blizzard was upon him, and he chided himself for his delay. But the old
skiff was a good sea boat, and Bobby was a good sea-man, and he pulled
fearlessly out upon the wind-swept waters. And here the driving snow
soon swallowed up the land, but Bobby was not afraid, and pulling with
all his might turned down before the storm.
For a little while all went well, and Bobby was congratulating himself
that after all he would reach home before it became too dark to see.
Then suddenly a big sea broke over his stern, and left the skiff half
filled with water. This was serious. He could not relinquish the oars to
bail out the water. Another such deluge would smother him.
Then he realized that the seas had grown too big for him to weather, and
his one hope was to make a landing. He searched his mind for a section
of the shore within his reach, sufficiently free from jagged rocks and
sufficiently sheltered to offer him a safe landing, and all at once he
bethought himself of the bird island where he and Jimmy had gone egging,
and which he had visited many times since.
He was, fortunately, very near the island and when he heard the surf
beating upon its rocky shores he determined quickly to make an effort to
run upon its lee shore. Here, he argued, he could bail the water from
the skiff, and then could pull across to the mainland, where he could
haul up the skiff and walk home. It would be a disagreeable tramp in the
storm, but it was his safest and his only course.
But even in the lee of the island the seas were running high and dashing
upon the rocks with such force that for the instant he held off,
hesitating. There was no other course, however. The half-submerged skiff
would never live to reach the mainland. With every passing minute
conditions were growing worse.
And so, watching for an opportune moment, Bobby drove for the shore. A
roller carried the skiff on its crest, dropped it with a crash upon the
rocks, and receded. Bobby sprang out, seized the painter, and running
forward secured it to a bowlder, that the next sea might not carry it
away.
Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging
and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and
as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out
of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of
the skiff was a great hole.
And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless
island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool--not even an ax--with
which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the
first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and
awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that
could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important
than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the
blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night.