A NARROW ESCAPE
“Hurrah!” shouted Paul, as Dan trimmed the sail and it filled with
wind. “Hurrah! We’re off!”
“I’m hopin’ th’ wind’ll breeze up a bit; an’ she does, we’ll be makin’
fine time,” remarked Dan, pointing the boat for the open sea. “She’s a
rare good sailin’ craft.”
“Let me take the tiller, Dan. I can handle it, and I want to do
something. You manage the sail.”
“An’ you wants,” said Dan, surrendering the tiller and settling
comfortably amidships. “Head her just outside that p’int o’ land,” he
directed.
“Isn’t it fine to be moving!” exclaimed Paul. “But the old camping
place grew to seem homelike to me. Wasn’t it cozy when we first landed
there from the ice, after we got our tent up and a fire started?”
“Yes, ’twere wonderful snug an’ fine, but I finds it a rare sight
better afloat, an’ s’uthard bound.”
“Do you know, Dan, it gives me a sort of scarey feeling to think we’re
out here alone in this little boat when there’s not another boat in
sight, and likely there isn’t another within hundreds of miles of us,
unless it’s the _North Star_; and we know that no one lives on the
land. It’s a queer sort of feeling--nothing but a great big wilderness
everywhere, and just us in it. But I’m glad to be here. I wonder what
there is below that point and over the hill?”
“’Tis a wonderful bleak country, I’m thinkin’, an’ I’m wishin’ we were
knowin’ where th’ fur traders is, an’ where we’re goin’.” Dan produced
his harmonica as he spoke, drew it across his sleeve, and putting it
to his lips blew a chord or two.
“It’s because we don’t know, I guess, and the uncertainty about it,
that makes it interesting to me. I feel like an explorer. It’s simply
great to sail along and wonder all the time what we’ll see next, and
no way of finding out till we get there. That makes it exciting and
romantic.”
“I don’t know as ’tis very exciting,” said Dan, removing the harmonica
from his lips, “but ’tis a wonderful sight better ’n stayin’ around
camp, with winter nigh, an’ ’t would be better yet if th’ ship came
cruisin’ along t’ pick us up--which she won’t, as th’ ice sure drove
she out.”
With this, and as if to dismiss the subject, he struck up one of his
favorite tunes, playing softly, and ceasing only long enough to say to
Paul: “A bit t’ port. That’s it, steady.”
The morning air was crisp and frosty. The sun illumined the eastern
heavens in a blaze of wondrous colors, and presently raised his face
above the glistening sea. Even the bleak coast, austere and rugged,
possessed a unique grandeur and compelling beauty. The wind sprang up
with the rising sun, and the little boat bowled along at a good speed,
upon a gentle swell. Now and again Dan would trim the sail, and give
an instruction to Paul, “Port lee a bit,” or “Starb’rd a bit,” and
return to his music.
Paul was thinking of home, of his mother and father, and his
homecoming--some time. He had no doubt that he and Dan would extricate
themselves from the wilderness, for he had grown to have unbounded
faith in Dan’s resourcefulness and ingenuity. He wondered what his
parents would say, when Mr. Remington returned without him, if Dan’s
assurance that the ship could never have remained in the face of the
ice were correct.
While he realized and regretted the anxiety his absence would cause
his parents, it did not occur to him that any one would believe that
he and Dan were drowned. He believed that his father would send a
vessel for them when the ice passed out of Hudson Bay the following
summer, and that in the meantime he and Dan would be quite comfortable
at some trading post which they should presently find.
He was thrilled with the delights of adventure, now that any real
danger seemed past, and he made for himself pleasant pictures of his
return to school and the rôle of hero he would fill in the eyes of the
other fellows.
Presently Dan ceased playing, and they chatted intermittently. Once a
great sea creature raised its back directly in front of them.
“What’s that?” asked Paul.
“A white whale,” answered Dan, as the thing sank, to appear again much
farther out to sea.
At another time they passed several seals, and Paul wished to shoot at
them, but Dan advised:
“’Tis rare hard t’ hit un, an’ if you did hit one an’ kill un, she’d
sink before we could get un. An’ we’ll be needin’ all th’ cartridges,”
so Paul did not shoot.
The sun was close to the western horizon when, ravenously hungry, for
they had eaten nothing since breakfast, they ran into a little cove,
unloaded their belongings, hauled the boat to a safe position, and
made camp. They had kept steadily going all day, for Dan had been
unwilling to lose advantage of the fair wind, and had they gone ashore
to cook dinner it would have consumed at least an hour of valuable
time.
“Th’ days is growin’ wonderful short,” said Dan, “an’ we’ll have t’ be
usin’ all of the daylight when th’ wind’s fair an’ good. ’Twill save
grub, too, if we eats only twice a day.”
During the four succeeding days they made indifferent progress. The
weather was glorious, but the wind for hours at a stretch died to a
dead calm, the sail hung slack, and to keep in motion they were
compelled to work at their stern oar, and progress by this means was
slow and tedious.
They were very sparing of their provisions. A couple of geese were
killed and added to their store, but nothing else. Then came another
day with a good breeze, but when they went into camp that night they
had only a gull to divide between them for supper. It was an
unpromising shore for game, and Dan expressed himself of the belief
that it would be quite fruitless to hunt.
“If we sees any place tomorrow that looks like a river, or a likely
place for huntin’, we’ll land an’ try un,” he commented as, very
hungry, they settled for the night.
There was not a scrap to eat for breakfast. Paul declared he could eat
his shoes, and Dan facetiously advised that he fill up on water, the
one thing that was abundant. They set sail as the first light of dawn
appeared in the east. Paul shivered in the frosty atmosphere, and both
of the young voyagers sat despondently quiet, until the sun pushed his
big glowing face above the eastern waters, and seemed to laugh at
them.
“Dad says, ‘Keep a stiff upper lip, do th’ best un can, an’ she’ll
work out all right,’” encouraged Dan, at length, breaking the silence.
“They ain’t nothin’ we can do but keep goin’ an’ watch out for game.
Th’ Lord’s been watchin’ out for us right along, an’ He’s got His eye
on us now, I’m thinkin’. We ain’t been lookin’ much for grub. We been
thinkin’ too much about gettin’ on. An’ we looks out, we’ll be gettin’
grub before night. They’s been chances t’ kill grub every day, but we
been goin’ right on an’ not takin’ un.”
“We’ll have to get something pretty soon or we’ll starve to death,”
said Paul. “I wonder how long people can live without eating?”
“I’m not knowin’ just how long. Dad’s been a week more ’n once
without eatin’, an’ he says ’t were just makin’ he a bit weak, but not
hurtin’ he none.”
“I’m sure I never could stand it for a week.”
“Oh, yes, un could. Dad says ’t is bad when folks gives up, an’ thinks
they’s goin’ t’ die after fastin’ for a bit.”
“But we can’t live unless we eat,” insisted Paul.
“No, but we can go a wonderful time without eatin’ before we dies, if
we only thinks we can.”
The wind was rising. White caps were appearing upon the surface of the
sea, and presently the boat began now and again to ship water.
“We’ll have t’ make shore th’ first promisin’ place,” suggested Dan.
“We’re sure in for a blow. There’s a p’int ahead, and we’ll make for
th’ lee of un.”
The wind was in the northeast, and it drove the little craft before it
at a terrific rate. In an incredibly short time it had developed into
a tempest. The angry waters piled about them and tossed the boat
about upon the wave crests like a leaf. While Paul held the rudder Dan
lowered the sail, and they ran before the gale with bared mast. Dan
resumed the rudder and Paul baled out the water, working as he had
never worked before.
“We’ll never make it, Dan!” he shouted at length. “We’ll swamp, sure!”
“Oh, yes; we’re gainin’ on un,” encouraged Dan. “We’ll make un.”
Dan’s face, however, was tense, and it was plain that he was not so
confident as his words seemed to indicate.
They had almost passed the point when a great wave broke over them,
nearly swamping the boat, and leaving it half full of water, but they
made the point, and passed into less tempestuous waters before another
wave caught them.
Even here the sea was as rough as the little boat could weather, for
the shore was not so well protected as it had seemed, and it was lined
with jagged rocks, making a landing impossible, for to have attempted
it would have resulted in the boat’s smashing to pieces and perhaps
their being carried away before they could reach safety.
Dan watched for an opening, as they paralleled the shore a safe
distance from it, and at length discovered a bit of gravelly beach
reaching down between high boulders.
It was a difficult landing to make, but it was their only hope, and he
headed directly for the opening.
“Get t’ th’ bow an’ jump th’ minute we strikes!” he shouted to Paul,
and Paul obeyed.
For an instant it seemed that in spite of Dan’s best effort they must
strike upon the rocks, the next instant the danger was past, the boat
drove hard upon the gravel, and both boys sprang ashore for their
lives, to escape a breaker which swept over the boat.
One on either side they grasped the bow, and as another wave came
rolling in, pulled with all their might. Thus, aided by the force of
the water, the boat was drawn sufficiently high to permit them to
unload, bale out the water, and haul the boat to safety.
“We made un all right,” remarked Dan, when everything was beyond
danger.
“Yes,” said Paul, “but it was a narrow escape.”
“’T were that,” admitted Dan. “’T were wonderful close we was t’ bein’
swamped.”
The boys themselves and all their things were drenching wet. Not a
stick of driftwood was to be found. The wind was bitterly cold. They
had eaten nothing since the previous evening, and then only the
unsatisfying gull, and the barren coast was destitute of game. But
they had escaped death, and were thankful for their deliverance.