THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS
[Illustration: He waited, his axe grasped in both hands
[_Page 272_]]
THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS
BY DILLON WALLACE
AUTHOR OF
“THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD,” “THE LONG
LABRADOR TRAIL,” “BEYOND THE
MEXICAN SIERRAS,” ETC
ILLUSTRATED BY
HENRY S. WATSON
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1936
COPYRIGHT A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
1913
Copyrighted in Great Britain
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I GETTING ACQUAINTED 1
II THE FIRST BEAR 23
III A HUSKY CAMP 34
IV THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL 49
V WRECKED 64
VI THE CASTAWAYS ABANDONED 86
VII ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN 95
VIII FACING STARVATION 111
IX THE WATERS CLEAR 124
X A NARROW ESCAPE 140
XI A DEATH STRUGGLE 151
XII FACTOR MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE 163
XIII WINTER SHELTER AND HARD WORK 184
XIV A LONELY CHRISTMAS 194
XV THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE 209
XVI RELEASED FROM BONDAGE 219
XVII THE SNOWSHOE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE 231
XVIII STALKED BY WOLVES 252
XIX ON THE FUR TRAILS 270
XX WINNIPEG AT LAST 285
XXI BAD NEWS AND GOOD 295
XXII HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD 306
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
He waited, his axe grasped in both hands _Frontispiece_
“Keep un nerve,” soothed Dan 84
Dan struck up a tune 116
Fired several more shots after the retreating birds 136
He could feel its sharp claws tearing his flesh 162
The Eskimos were watching them curiously from the beach 174
“You’re a big coward” 180
The boys were startled. They had heard no one approach 208
The three put their heads together 286
THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS
CHAPTER I
GETTING ACQUAINTED
“Dan Rudd,” roared Captain Zachariah Bluntt, “if I has to tell you
again to keep that mouth organ below decks, I’ll wring your neck! Yes,
wring your neck! By the imps of the sea, I will!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Dan Rudd, a robust, sunny-faced sailor lad
of sixteen, quickly slipping the offending harmonica, upon which he
had been playing a lively air, into his pocket.
Captain Bluntt, impatiently pacing the deck, was plainly in ill humor.
His great red beard, standing out like a lion’s mane, bristled
ominously, and his shaggy eyebrows were drawn down in an unpleasant
scowl.
It was two o’clock on a mid-July afternoon, the last case of
provisions had been lowered into the hold, the last lighter-load of
coal stowed into the bunkers, steam was up, and the staunch little
Newfoundland steamer _North Star_, riding at anchor in Sydney harbor,
had been ready to sail for three hours, and for three hours Captain
Bluntt had been impatiently awaiting orders to get under way.
Two clean-cut, smooth-shaven, alert young men of thirty or thereabouts
were standing at the port rail aft. Their sun-tanned faces marked them
as men accustomed to out-of-door life, and their sinewy, muscular
frames and keen but good-humored eyes proclaimed health and genial
dispositions. They were intently, and with visible impatience,
watching a wharf from which a boat was putting off. As the little
craft shot out into the open one of them raised a pair of binoculars
to his eyes, studied it for a moment, and announced:
“There he is at last! Here, take a look through the glass, Ainsworth,”
and he passed the binoculars to his friend.
“Yes, that’s he,” said Ainsworth, after a moment’s observation, “and,
Remington, he’s sitting back smoking a cigarette as unconcernedly as
if he hadn’t kept us waiting half a day for him.”
“I’ll tell the skipper, and ease his mind,” suggested Remington, and
striding forward he called out cheerily:
“All right, Captain Bluntt, Master Densmore is coming. You may put out
as soon as you please when he’s aboard.”
“Very vexing! Very vexing, Mr. Remington!” exclaimed Captain Bluntt.
“Fair wind, fair tide, and losing advantage of it, sir! All right,
sir, all right. We’ll weigh anchor at once, sir.”
In a moment sailors were working at the windlass, anchor chains were
clanking, and the men singing in rhythmic unison as they swung up and
down at the crank handles. Then the engines began to pulsate.
The _North Star_ had been chartered by the two young men--George
Remington and Henry Ainsworth--for a summer’s voyage to Hudson Bay.
Both were enthusiastic sportsmen, and Remington, who had once before
visited the region, had promised Ainsworth some exciting polar bear
and walrus hunting, as well as excellent sport fishing the coastal
streams for salmon and trout.
Paul Densmore, the only son of John Densmore, a multimillionaire ship
owner and a friend of Remington’s, had been invited by Remington to
accompany them as his guest. When Remington and Ainsworth went aboard
the _North Star_ upon the morning our story begins, Paul had remained
ashore in Sydney to make some purchases in the town, promising to
follow them within the hour. Captain Bluntt had been instructed to
make ready for departure accordingly. But Paul had failed to keep his
promise, and with hours of idle waiting for the appearance of the
delinquent youth Captain Bluntt had worked himself into the high state
of ill humor in which we find him.
“The Captain was just at the point of blowing up,” laughed Remington
when he rejoined Ainsworth, “but he’ll be all right presently. He’s a
very impatient old fellow.”
“He’s had good reason to be impatient,” said Ainsworth. “I can safely
prophesy more breakers ahead. Judging from the little I’ve seen of
that boy, Remington, you’ll be heartily sorry you brought him before
we get back to New York.”
“I’m heartily sorry already,” admitted Remington, “but I couldn’t help
it. Densmore is one of the best fellows in the world. He pulled me out
of a tight place once when I was caught in the market, and when he
asked me the other day if it would be an imposition upon friendship if
he asked me to invite Paul, there was nothing to do but invite the
youngster to come.”
“Oh, don’t think for a moment I’m finding fault with you, old man,”
Ainsworth hastened to explain. “I see your position, and I’d have done
the same under the circumstances, but it’s a pity nevertheless that we
have to put up with him.”
“Yes, it is a pity,” agreed Remington. “That boy has no sense of
responsibility. Never keeps an appointment or a promise.
I never saw any one quite so lacking in consideration of
others--selfish--selfish--that’s the word.”
“Why did his father ever let him grow into such a cad, anyway? What he
needs is a good sound thrashing every day for a month. That would cure
him.”
“Fact is, I don’t think Densmore ever knew much about him until
recently. Too many irons in the fire to give much thought to his
family. This steamship company’s his pet scheme just now, but he’s the
head of half a dozen other big things, and even when he’s home his
mind is all taken up with business. He left the boy’s training to the
mother, and it’s the old story of an only child. She’s coddled and
indulged and pampered him till she’s spoiled him. He failed in the
final tests at school this year--he attends a select boys’ school
uptown somewhere--and the head master wrote Densmore that there was no
use sending him back unless he took more interest in the work, adding
something to the effect that he seemed strangely void of ambition,
never obeyed rules unless convenient, and was a disturbing element in
the school. I think that brought Densmore to his senses about his
son’s condition.”
“And he shoved the boy off on us for the summer,” said Ainsworth
ill-naturedly.
“Oh, no, not for the purpose of getting rid of him,” Remington
hastened to explain. “Densmore’s all right. He wouldn’t intentionally
cause us inconvenience. He had two reasons for asking me to bring him.
He learned Paul was addicted to cigarettes, and he wanted to get him
away somewhere where cigarettes aren’t to be had. He thought, too,
that good, wholesome exercise in the open, and a complete change of
environment, might give him a new view of life and awaken his
ambition. The boy’s mother has never permitted him to take part in
what she calls rough games--baseball, football and real boys’
sports--and she’d never let him go camping with other fellows, though
he’s begged to go. Afraid he’d get hurt. It took a lot of argument on
Densmore’s part to get her permission to let him come with us.”
“One of those young hopefuls, isn’t he, that thinks his father is rich
and there’s no use of his ever doing anything but spend money?”
suggested Ainsworth. “From the little I’ve seen of him, he’ll spend
it, all right, too.”
At that moment the boat hove alongside, and a tall, sallow-faced lad,
perhaps seventeen years of age, a cigarette hanging at the corner of
his mouth, tossed a bill to the boatman, languidly rose to his feet,
caught the rope ladder lying over the ship’s side, and with difficulty
climbed to the deck.
“Glad to see you, Paul,” greeted Remington. “We were getting a bit
worried about you. You’re late.”
“Oh, I didn’t think there was any rush,” said Paul indifferently.
“Stopped for luncheon at the hotel. Horrible stuff they serve there.
It really isn’t fit to eat.”
“I’m afraid your appetite isn’t very good, Paul,” suggested Remington.
“Wait till you get your lungs full of salt air, and rough it a bit;
you’ll think anything is good then.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Paul remarked indifferently, as he lounged back
upon a chair, drew a fresh cigarette from a silver case, lighted it,
flicked some ashes from his white flannel trousers and casually
surveyed the deck. “What a rum old ship this is!” he continued. “I
thought we were going to have a comfortable yacht.”
“The _North Star_ isn’t much to look at,” admitted Remington, “but
she’s the best sort of a ship for our trip. No ordinary yacht would
do. We’re going to rough it good and plenty, you know.”
“That so? What kind of roughing it?”
“Hunting, fishing, camping, and that sort of thing. I hope we’ll have
some good bear hunting before we get back.”
“Bear hunting!” Paul was interested at once. “What kind of bears shall
we run across? Grizzlies?”
“No,” laughed Remington, “Polar bears.”
“Polar bear hunting! Cricky, but that’ll be great!” Paul sat up
excitedly. “Where’re we going, Mr. Remington? I didn’t pay much
attention to what Father said about it. I thought it was just an
ordinary yachting trip.”
“You didn’t seem to have much interest in it, coming over on the
train,” said Remington, and as he explained the region, the
prospective hunting and fishing, and the adventure, Paul forgot his
cigarette.
“That’s just the kind of trip I’ve wanted to take all my life,” he
exclaimed. “May I shoot too?”
“Yes, I’ve a rifle and a shotgun among my things for you.”
“May I see them? I’ve always been just crazy for a gun!”
“Wait a moment.”
Remington went below and presently returned with a modern high-power
rifle and a beautiful double-barreled shotgun. Paul’s eyes sparkled
with delight and he listened with close attention while Remington
explained their manipulation, with due caution as to their handling.
Then he exclaimed:
“Good old Dad! He is a good scout to let me come with you! Ever so
many thanks, Mr. Remington. Where are the cartridges?”
“They’re with mine. I’ll get them for you when you need them. You may
as well take the guns down to your stateroom, though, when you go.”
“I guess I’ll go now, and unpack my things.”
“Very well. The steward will show you your room. You’ll find
everything there. Abner,” turning to a bareheaded young sailor clad in
blue flannel shirt, with sleeves rolled up, and trousers tucked into
the tops of high sealskin boots, who was standing near the
companionway, “this is Master Densmore. Will you show him to his room?
Abner is the steward, Paul.”
“Yes, sir; this way, sir,” answered Abner, respectfully.
“He seems interested,” remarked Ainsworth when Paul had gone below.
“I’m inclined to think he’s a pretty good fellow at heart after all.
Just spoiled.”
“That’s so,” agreed Remington.
A moment later Paul reappeared from the companionway, and asked:
“Where are my trunks, Mr. Remington? The steward took me to a room he
insists is mine, but my trunks aren’t there; just some canvas bags.
Guess he’s trying to put me in the wrong room.”
“I left your trunks ashore, Paul.”
“Ashore! Why, all my things are in them! I can’t go without them! I’ve
no clothes with me!”
“The canvas bags contain all the clothes you’ll need. Look through
them and see what you think of the outfit. Your father selected them.”
“But my cigarettes! I packed them in one of the trunks!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do without them. You’ll find you can shoot
straighter if you don’t smoke. Cigarettes knock a fellow’s nerves all
out, you know.”
“This is rum!” exclaimed the angry lad. “No cigarettes! Well, I’ll go
down and see the stuff.”
“You’d better put on one of the warm suits you’ll find in your bags,
Paul,” suggested Remington. “We’re getting out to sea, and it’ll be
chilly on deck.”
Paul vouchsafed no reply, but he profited by the advice, and donned a
complete new outfit of clothing suited to his surroundings.
“Look like a dago laborer, don’t I?” he asked Remington, whom he met
at his stateroom door half an hour later.
“You look comfortably dressed,” was the reply. “You see I’ve adopted
similar clothes.”
“You do look funny,” laughed Paul, “and that’s the way I feel. Mother
_would_ have a fit if she saw me now,” glancing down at his flannel
shirt and heavy trousers and shoes. “Mr. Remington,” he continued,
hesitatingly, “I--I want to apologize for what I said about the trunks
and cigarettes. I can get on without cigarettes if they’d spoil my
shooting.”
“That’s all right, Paul. They certainly would spoil your shooting.”
Captain Bluntt was in excellent humor when he took his place at the
head of the supper table.
“So you’re the young rascal,” he said to Paul, “who kept us waiting at
Sydney.”
“Oh, I guess there wasn’t any great rush,” answered Paul, somewhat
nettled. “We’re on a pleasure trip, and not trying to break a
record.”
Captain Bluntt looked at him curiously for a moment under his shaggy
eyebrows.
“Not much of a sailor, I guess, youngster. Well, you’ll learn
something before you gets home. Got a wonderful lot to learn, too.”
Paul flushed angrily, and retorted impudently and boastfully:
“Oh, I don’t know. This isn’t my first yachting trip. I know a thing
or two about sailing. Captains of yachts don’t usually tell the guests
what they’re to do.”
“Yacht, eh?” And Captain Bluntt laughed good-naturedly. “Well, well,
don’t get grumpy. No offence meant. No doubt you’re a great sailor;
you look it. Yes, you look it!” Turning from Paul as from a child
whose presence he had quite forgotten, he remarked:
“She’s off in fine style, Mr. Remington, fine style! And we’ll make a
rare fine run, sir, if the weather holds. Yes, sir, if the weather
holds!”
“Is there much ice reported off the Labrador coast?”
“We’ll meet some ice, sir; bay ice. No trouble with that, sir. Plenty
of bergs! Wonderful crop of bergs, sir!”
They had finished eating, and Captain Bluntt was striking a match to
light one of Remington’s cigars which he had accepted, when strains of
music floated down to them. He paused with lighted match in mid air,
an ear cocked to one side, his red beard bristling.
“By the imps of the sea!” he blurted. “There’s that Dan Rudd with his
mouth organ, and I _told_ him to keep un below! The rascal! Wring his
neck! Yes, sir, I’ll wring his neck!” and he sprang up as though bent
upon carrying his threat into immediate execution.
“I rather like it,” remarked Ainsworth. “May he play for us, Captain?”
“If you likes un, sir, if you likes un. But I don’t call un playin’,
sir; I calls un just pipin’ a racket!”
“We would like to hear him,” said Remington. “Suppose we go above.”
On deck they found Dan working away with all his will at his
harmonica, keeping time with one foot, while a sailor danced a
breakdown, and other sailors clapped their hands and encouraged the
dancer with:
“Go at un, Bill! Go at un, b’y! You’re a spry un, Bill!”
Then Dan glimpsed Captain Bluntt, slipped the harmonica into his
pocket, and the dancing ceased.
“Oh, don’t stop playing--don’t mind us,” encouraged Remington. “We
came to listen.”
“The skipper don’t like music, sir,” said Dan, looking regretfully
after Captain Bluntt, who was disappearing in the chart house, leaving
a cloud of smoke from his fragrant cigar in his wake.
“Captain Bluntt said you might play if you wished, so please do not
stop.”
A little encouragement induced the dancer to resume his breakdown, and
presently the fun was in full swing again. Another sailor took a turn,
and then Dan suggested:
“Now Jack Griggs sing us ‘Th’ Minnie Dart.’”
“An’ you plays th’ tune,” assented Jack.
Dan struck up a lively tune and Jack began to bellow the song, which
began:
“Th’ Minnie Dart were as fine a craft
As ever sailed th’ sea;
She were eighty ton, an’ a fore an’ aft,
An’ as smart as she could be,”
and closed with a weird description of the going down of the Minnie
Dart with all her crew.
The music at an end, Remington and Ainsworth lounged aft to smoke and
chat, while they enjoyed a perfect evening. A full moon had risen,
transforming the gentle swell of the sea into molten silver, and to
the right, in hazy distance, lay in faint outline the Newfoundland
coast.
Paul strolled forward and soon became interested in watching the
compass and the man at the wheel.
“What course are you sailing?” he asked.
The man made no reply.
“Let me try it. I can handle the wheel all right,” he continued,
attempting to take the spokes.
At that moment Captain Bluntt observed him.
“By the imps of the sea!” he roared, striding forward and grasping
Paul’s arm with a steel-like grip that made the youth wince as he
vainly struggled to free himself. “Keep away from that wheelhouse or
I’ll heave you overboard. By the imps of the sea I will! Heave you
overboard! Heave you overboard!”
“I guess I can go where I want to,” answered Paul impudently, but none
the less frightened.
Without releasing his grasp, or deigning to reply, the Captain half
led, half dragged, Paul to Remington.
“This youngster must keep aft of the wheelhouse, sir! He was talking
to the steersman, sir! Talking to him! I’ll not permit it, sir!”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Remington. “I’m sure he didn’t understand that
he was doing wrong, and he won’t do it again.”
Captain Bluntt, mollified but still ruffled, returned to his duties,
and Paul, almost in tears, lounged alone, amidships, sulking.
Dan had witnessed the disciplining of Paul, and in the hope of
smoothing matters presently wandered over to the lad, who was still
sulking and nursing his injured dignity.
“Th’ skipper’s wonderful gruff sometimes,” ventured Dan, “but he don’t
mean nothin’. ’Tis sort o’ his way.”
“Mr. Remington hired this old tub, and I’m his guest, and I guess I
can go where I want to on it.”
“’Tis an able craft, an’ no old tub,” resented Dan. “Th’ skipper is
master at sea. ’Tis a rule of the sea.”
“He isn’t my master.”
“No, not that way. He’s just master o’ th’ ship. Your folks is payin’
th’ owners for th’ voyage, an’ they is payin’ th’ skipper t’ run th’
ship safe, an’ he has t’ make rules t’ run un safe or we’d be foulin’
reefs or gettin’ off our course.”
Paul deigned no reply, and after an awkward pause Dan inquired:
“What’s your name?”
“Paul Densmore.”
“Mine’s Dan Rudd. Dan’s short for Dan’l. It’s after Dan’l that was
in th’ lion’s den, Dad says. Yours is from th’ Bible, too. I reckon
you was named after th’ apostle Paul.”
“No, after my grandfather.”
“’Tis th’ same name, anyway. Dad reads out o’ th’ Bible nights when
he’s home. We live in Ragged Cove, but Dad’s fishin’ down on th’
Labrador now with th’ _Ready Hand_.”
“The ‘_Ready Hand_?’ What’s that?”
“She’s a spry little schooner. Dad’s part owner. I been down with her
twice.”
Dan told of fishing adventures on the Labrador. Paul described his
home in New York, the great buildings, the subway and elevated
railroads, the great transatlantic steamships--a thousand wonders in
which Dan was intensely interested.
In the recital Paul soon forgot his injured dignity. He was glad of
the companionship of a boy of his own age. No one, indeed, could long
resist Dan’s good nature, and when the sailor lad finally said it was
time to “turn in,” and they parted for the night, each was pleased
with his new acquaintance--an acquaintanceship that was to ripen into
life-long friendship. They little guessed that they were destined to
be companions in many adventures, to share many hardships, to face
dangers and even death together.
The _North Star_ rounded Cape Charles the following evening, passed
into the open Atlantic, and turned her prow northward. Innumerable
icebergs, many of fantastic form and stupendous proportions, were
visible from the deck, their blue-green pinnacles reflecting the rays
of the setting sun in a glory of prismatic colors. On their port lay
the low, storm-scoured rocks of Labrador’s dreary coast, its broken
line marked by many stranded icebergs. Now and again a distant whale
spouted great columns of water. The white sail of a fishing schooner,
laboring northward, was visible upon the horizon. The scene, grim,
rugged, but beautiful, appealed to Paul’s imagination as the most
wonderful and entrancing he had ever beheld.
That night Paul was suddenly awakened from sound slumber by a
tremendous shock. He sprang from his berth with the thought that the
ship had struck a reef or iceberg and might be sinking. Terrified, he
rushed to the companionway, where he was nearly thrown off his feet by
another shock. At length he reached the deck. Spread everywhere around
the ship he could see, in the shimmering moonlight, nothing but ice.
From the crow’s nest, on the mizzenmast, came the call of the ice
pilot: “Port! Starboard! Port! Starboard!”
The lad’s terror increased as he witnessed the changed condition of
the sea. It seemed to him that the great mass of heavy ice which
closed upon the ship on every side must inevitably crush the little
vessel and send her to the bottom. As he ran forward, another and
heavier shock than any that had preceded sent him sprawling upon the
deck.