PRISONER ON A BARREN ISLAND
Because his bed of boughs was snug and comfortable, and because there
was nothing else to do and nowhere to go, and it was the best way,
anyhow, to spend the hours of imprisonment that would last until the
blizzard spent itself, Bobby gave himself the luxury of a long sleep.
But even then it was still dark when he awoke, and at first he was
puzzled, for he was sure he had slept away hours enough for daylight to
have come. He could hear the raging storm and pounding seas in a muffled
roar, as though far away, while he lay for a little while wondering at
the darkness.
The air had grown close and stifling, and presently he arose and struck
a match. It glowed for a moment but refused to burn. He struck another
and then another, with like result. The matches were perfectly dry, for
he carried them in a small, closely corked bottle. He could not
understand it in the least. He struck another. It flashed, but like the
others went out.
Then he suddenly remembered that Skipper Ed had once said fire would not
burn in air from which the oxygen had been taken, for then the air would
be "dead," and that a person would exhaust all the air in a close room
in a short time, and therefore rooms should be well ventilated. And with
this he realized what had happened. His air had been cut off and all
that remained was dead.
The drift had covered his den to a great depth while he slept, and the
wind had packed the snow so hard that the air could no longer circulate
through it.
It was necessary that an opening be made quickly or he would smother,
and this he set about to do with all his might. He removed some of the
sticks with which he had closed the doorway, and using one of them as a
tool dug away the snow, until light at last began to filter through, and
he knew it was day, and presently he broke the outer crust of the drift.
A flood of pure but bitterly cold air poured in upon him, and he
breathed deeply and felt refreshed.
He had dug his opening straight out from the place which he had arranged
for a door, and he now made it large enough to permit the passage of his
body as he crawled upon hands and knees.
The storm had in no degree abated. The velocity of the wind was so
terrific that had Bobby not stood in the shelter of the drift-covered
bowlder he could not have kept upon his feet. The air was so filled with
driving snow as to be suffocating. A tremendous sea was running and
great waves were pounding and breaking upon the rocks with terrific
roar, though no glimpse of them could he get through the snow clouds
that enveloped him.
There was nothing to be done but to return to his burrow and make
himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. His first care
was to clear away the snow which he had thrown back under the boat as
he dug his way out, and which partially filled his cave. And when this
was done he selected a sharp stick and with it made three or four air
holes in the roof of the drift above his door, to furnish ventilation,
for it was not long before the entrance of the passageway was again
closed.
Bobby was very hungry, as every healthy boy the world over is sure to be
when he rises in the morning, and when he had completed the ventilation
of his cave to his satisfaction he proceeded to make a small fire over
which to grill one of his birds, never doubting the smoke would pass out
of the ventilating holes that he had made through the top of the drift.
But to his chagrin the smoke did not rise and was presently so thick as
to blind and choke him, and he found it necessary to put the fire out.
And so it came about that in the end he had to content himself with
eating his sea pigeon uncooked, which after all was no great hardship.
All that day and all the next day the storm continued and Bobby was held
prisoner in his cave, and he was thankful enough that he had the cave to
shelter him.
When he awoke, however, on the morning of the third day of his
captivity, and forced his way out of doors, he was met by sunshine and
his heart bounded with joy. It was only behind bowlders and the clumps
of bushes scattered here and there, and in sheltered corners where
drifts had formed, that snow remained upon the island. Elsewhere the
wind had swept the rocks clean.
The gale that had racked the world had passed, but a brisk breeze was
blowing down from the north, sharp with winter cold. The sea, too, had
subsided, though even yet big rollers were driving and pounding upon the
rocky shore.
"Now," said Bobby, "with the first calm night, when the water quiets
down, the bay will freeze, and then I can walk in on the ice. But
they'll have to hurry in from the seal hunt or they'll be caught out
there and won't be able to bring the boat in this winter. I can stand it
a little while, and I hope the freeze-up won't come till they get back
home."
But Bobby lost no time in needless calculation. What was of highest
immediate importance was the satisfaction of his appetite, which as
usual was protesting against delay.
He had been eating raw sea pigeon quite long enough, and he proposed now
to enjoy the great treat of a grilled bird. And so without troubling
himself with vain regrets of what he might have done or might not have
done, he proceeded to fetch wood from his cave and to build a fire, and
a good one it was to be, too, in the lee of his bowlder. And when the
wood was crackling merrily he made a comfortable seat of boughs upon
which to sit while he cooked and ate the one sea pigeon which he allowed
himself.
Bobby had never eaten a sea pigeon that seemed quite so small as that
one, and it required a large degree of self-denial and self-restraint to
observe the rule of economy which he had imposed upon himself on the
evening he was wrecked. He had decided then that two sea pigeons a day,
one in the morning and one in the evening, were all he could afford. For
who could tell how long it might be before he would make his escape? And
there were no birds or other game to be had on the island at this
season, and when those he had were gone there would be hungry days to
face. Though he declared to himself when picking the last bone of his
breakfast that he could never possibly be any hungrier than at that very
moment.
Nor could he afford a large fire in future. He calculated that he had
already collected enough wood to last him, with small and carefully
constructed fires, one day, and a survey of the island and its
possibilities revealed the fact that all the additional fuel he could
garner from the rocks would scarcely last him, even with rigid economy,
another week.
While confined to his cave during the period of the blizzard he had
satisfied his thirst with bits of ice. Now his fire was built close to a
little hollow in the rock, and, placing snow near the fire, it melted,
and the water running into the hollow settled there, and gave him drink.
And so, making the best of his resources, Bobby prepared for his siege,
which he felt quite sure would end only when the bay froze and he could
make his escape over the ice. A great part of the daylight hours were
spent in collecting bits of wood. This kept him exercising, and kept
his blood warm.
Already the sea was smoking. The freeze-up was close at hand. With each
hour the merciless winter cold increased in strength. That evening when
he entered his cave he closed the entrance with snow, that it might be
kept warm, but nevertheless he spent an uncomfortable night, and he was
glad enough to crawl out in the morning and light his fire.
That was a cheerless day. The sun shone through a gray veil, and offered
little warmth. There was no more wood to gather, and to save his little
stock he ran up and down upon the rocks that he might drive away the
cold with exercise.
The sun was low when he lighted his evening fire, and as he prepared his
sea pigeon for supper he remembered with regret that he had but one bird
remaining.
"And I've been hungry ever since I've been here," he remarked to
himself. "I'm half starved this minute."
He was thinking a great deal now of what he should have to eat when he
reached home, and planning for this and that. And, oh, for some good
hot tea!
And so, thinking, and dreading to go to his cheerless cave, he sat while
his fire burned low and the sun sank from sight and the long and gloomy
twilight gathered.
"I'll spare another stick or two," he said, replenishing the fire. "I
can't go into that hole yet."
The fire blazed up, and the twilight grew thicker, and the fire had
nearly burned out again while Bobby, dreaming of home and Mrs. Abel, and
wondering where Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy were, fell into
a doze. Then it was that something unlooked for startled him into sudden
wakefulness.