IT WAS GOD'S WILL
Skipper Ed was appalled and stunned. A sense of great weakness came upon
him, and he swayed, and with an effort prevented his knees from doubling
under him. His vision became clouded, like the vision of one in a dream.
His brain became paralyzed, inert, and he was hardly able to comprehend
the terrible tragedy that he believed inevitable.
Had there been any means at his command whereby he could at least have
attempted a rescue, it would have served as a safety valve. But he was
utterly and absolutely helpless to so much as lift a finger to relieve
the two boys whom he loved so well and who had become so much a part of
his life.
And there was Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel. Vaguely he remembered them
and the great sorrow that this thing would bring upon them. He knew well
that they would place none of the responsibility upon himself, but,
nevertheless, he could but feel that had he remained with the boys they
would now have been safe.
Home? His cabin would never be home to him again, without his partner.
He could never go over to Abel Zachariah's again of evenings, with no
Bobby there. Only two days ago he had thanked God for sparing the lives
of the boys, and how proud he had been of their heroic action, and their
pluck, too, after he had got them safe into the _igloo_!
He could see them now--barely see them through the snow. He watched
their faint outlines, and then the swirling snow hid them, and the ice
floe and only black waters remained.
Then it was that Skipper Ed fell to his knees, and, kneeling there in
the driving Arctic storm and bitter cold, prayed God, as he had never
prayed before, to work a miracle, and spare his loved ones to him.
Nothing, he remembered, was beyond God's power, and God was good.
When, presently, he arose from his knees, Skipper Ed felt strangely
relieved. A part, at least, of the load was lifted from his heart. He
could not account for the sensation, but, nevertheless, he felt
stronger, and a degree of his old courage had returned.
He stood for a little longer gazing seaward, but nothing was to be seen
but black, turbulent, surly waters and swirling snow, and at length he
turned reluctantly back to his sledge.
The dogs were lying down, and already nearly covered by the drift. He
called to them to go forward, and, arriving at the _igloo_, listlessly
unharnessed and fed them, and retreated to the shelter of the _igloo_ to
think.
He could eat nothing that night, but he brewed some strong tea over the
stone lamp. Then he lighted his pipe and sat silent, for a long while,
forgetting to smoke.
With every hour the wind increased in force, and before midnight one of
those awful blizzards, so characteristic of Labrador at this season, was
at its height. Once Skipper Ed removed the snow block at the entrance of
the _igloo_, and partly crawled out with a view to looking about, but he
was nearly smothered by drift, and quickly drew back again into the
_igloo_ and replaced the snow block.
"The poor lads!" said he. "God help and pity them, and" he added
reverently, "if it be Thy will, O God, preserve their lives."
Skipper Ed finally slipped into his sleeping bag and fell into a
troubled sleep, to awake, as morning approached, with a great weight
upon his heart, and with his waking moment came the realization of its
cause. He arose upon his elbow and listened. The tempest had passed.
He sprang up, and drawing on his _netsek_ and moccasins, for these were
the only garments he had removed upon lying down, he went out and looked
about him. The stars were shining brilliantly, and an occasional gust of
wind was the only reminder of the storm. Mounds of snow marked the place
where the dogs were sleeping, covered by the drift. The morning was
bitterly cold.
He ran down to the ice edge, and gazed eagerly seaward, but nowhere
could he see the ice pack. It had vanished utterly.
A sense of awful loneliness fell upon Skipper Ed. Reluctantly he
returned to the _igloo_ and prepared his breakfast, which he ate
sparingly. Then until day broke he sat pondering the situation. There
was nothing he could do, and he decided at length to return at once to
Abel Zachariah's, and report the calamity.
When he emerged again from the _igloo_ the last breath of the storm had
ceased to blow and a dead calm prevailed. He loaded the _komatik_, and
calling the dogs from beneath their coverlets of snow, harnessed them,
and without delay set out for the head of Abel's Bay.
It was long after dark when the dogs, straining at their traces and
yelping, rushed in through the ice hummocks below Abel's cabin. The
cabin was dark, but a light flashed in the window as the sledge ascended
the incline. Abel and Mrs. Abel had heard the approach, and when the
sledge came to a stop before the door they were there to give welcome
and greetings.
"Where is Bobby? And where is Jimmy?" asked Abel. "Are they coming?"
"They will never come," answered Skipper Ed.
Abel and Mrs. Abel understood, for tragedies, in that stern land, are
common, and always the people seem steeled to meet them. And so in
silence they led the way into the cabin, and in silence they sat,
uttering no word, while Skipper Ed related what had happened. And though
still there was no crying and no wailing from the stricken couple,
Skipper Ed knew that they felt no less keenly their loss, and he knew
that they had lost what was dearer to them than their own life.
"And now," said Skipper Ed, when he was through, "I will unharness the
dogs and take care of the things on the _komatik_."
"Yes," said Abel, "we will look after the dogs. You will stop with us
tonight, for your _igloosuak_ (cabin) is cold."
And when they had cared for the dogs and had eaten the supper which Mrs.
Abel prepared, Abel Zachariah took his Eskimo Bible from the shelf and
read from it, and then they sang a hymn, and when the three knelt in
evening devotion he thanked God for the son He had sent them out of the
mists from the Far Beyond where storms are born, and had seen fit to
call back again into the mists, for the son had been a good son and had
made brighter and happier many years of their life. It was God's will,
and God's will was law, and it was not for them to question the
righteousness of His acts.
And that night when Mrs. Abel turned down the blankets on Bobby's bed
for Skipper Ed, she thought of the time when Bobby was little, and she
lay by his side of evenings to croon him to sleep with her quaint
Eskimo lullabies.