_In Which Old Tom Topsail Burns His Punt and Billy
Wanders in the Night and Three Lives Hang on a Change
of the Wind_
MEANWHILE, under the powerful strokes of old Tom Topsail and Bill Watt,
the rodney had followed the open leads into the heart of the floe. From
time to time Watt muttered a warning; but the spirit of the hunt fully
possessed Tom, and his only cry was, "Push on! Push on!"
Seal after seal escaped, while the sky darkened. He was only the more
determined not to go back empty-handed.
"I tells you," Watt objected, "we'll not get out. There's the wind now.
And snow, man--snow!"
The warning was not to be disregarded. Topsail thought no more about
seals. The storm was fairly upon them. His only concern was to escape
from the floe. He was glad, indeed, that Billy had not followed them.
He had that, at least, to be thankful for.
They turned the boat. Bending to the oars, they followed the lane by
which they had entered. Confusion came with the wind and the snow. The
lay of the pans seemed to have changed. It was changing every moment,
as they perceived.
"Tom," gasped Watt, at last, "we're caught! 'Tis a blind lead we're in."
That was true; the lane had closed. They must seek another exit. So
they turned the boat and followed the next lane that opened. It, too,
was blocked.
They tried another, selected at random. In that blinding storm no
choice was possible. Again disappointment; the lane narrowed to a
point. They were nearly exhausted now, but they turned instantly to
seek another way. That way was not to be found. The lane had closed
behind them.
"Trapped!" muttered Watt.
"Aye, lad," Topsail said, solemnly, "trapped!"
They rested on their oars. Ice was on every hand. They stared into each
other's eyes.
Then, for the second time, Watt ran his glance over the shores of the
lake in which they floated. He started, then pointed in the direction
from which they had come. Topsail needed no word of explanation.
The ice was closing in. The pressure of the pack beyond would soon
obliterate the lake. They rowed desperately for the nearest shore.
The ice was rapidly closing in. In such cases, as they knew, it often
closed with a sudden rush at the end, crushing some pan which for a
moment had held it in check.
When the boat struck the ice Watt jumped ashore with the painter.
Topsail, leaping from seat to seat, followed instantly. At that moment
there was a loud crack, like a clap of thunder. It was followed by a
crunching noise.
"It's comin'!" screamed Topsail.
"Heave away!"
They caught the bow, lifted it out of the water, and with a united
effort slowly hauled it out of harm's way. A moment later there was no
sign of open water.
"Thank God!" gasped Topsail.
By this time the storm was a blizzard. The men had no shelter, and they
were afraid to venture far from the boat in search of it. Neither
would permit the other to stumble over the rough ice, chancing its
pitfalls, for neither cared to be lost from the other.
Now they sat silent in the lee of the upturned boat, with the snow
swirling about them; again they ran madly back and forth; yet again
they swung their arms and stamped their feet. At last, do what they
would, they shivered all the time. Then they sat quietly down.
"I'm wonderful glad Billy is safe home," Watt observed.
"I wisht I was sure o' that," said Topsail. "It looks bad for us, Bill,
lad. The ice is drivin' out fast, an' I'm thinkin' 'twill blow steady
for a day. It looks wonderful bad for us, an' I'd feel--easier in me
mind--about the lad's mother--if I knowed he was safe home."
Late in the night Topsail turned to Watt. He had to nudge him to get
his attention. "It's awful cold, Bill," he said. "We got the boat, lad.
Eh? We got the boat."
"No, no, Tom! Not yet! We'd be sure doomed without the boat."
Half an hour passed. Again Topsail roused Watt.
"We're doomed if we don't," he said. "We can't stand it till mornin',
lad. We can't wait no longer."
[Illustration: BILLY STAGGERED INTO THE CIRCLE OF LIGHT.]
Watt blundered to his feet. Without a word he fumbled in the snow until
he found what he sought. It was the axe. He handed it to Topsail.
"Do it, Tom!" he said, thickly. "I'm near gone."
Topsail attacked the boat. It was like murder, he thought. He struck
blow after blow, blindly, viciously; gathered the splinters, made a
little heap of them and set them afire. The fire blazed brightly. Soon
it was roaring. The ice all around was lighted up. Above, the snow
reflected the lurid glow.
Warmth and a cheerful light put life in the men. They crept as close to
the fire as they could. Reason would shut out hope altogether, but hope
came to them. Might not the storm abate? Might not the wind change?
Might not they be picked up? In this strain they talked for a long
time; and meanwhile they added the fuel, splinter by splinter.
"Father! 'Tis _you_!"
Topsail leaped to his feet and stared.
"'Tis Billy!" cried Watt.
Billy staggered into the circle of light. He stared stupidly at the
fire. Then he tottered a step or two nearer, and stood swaying; and
again he stared at the fire in a stupid way.
"I seed the fire!" he mumbled. "The punt's nipped, sir--an' I seed the
fire--an' crawled over the ice. 'Twas hard to find you."
Tom Topsail and Bill Watt understood. They, too, had travelled rough
ice in a blizzard, and they understood.
Billy was wet to the waist. That meant that, blinded by the snow or
deceived by the night, he had slipped through some opening in the ice,
some crack or hole. The bare thought of that lonely peril was enough to
make the older men shudder. But they asked him no questions. They led
him to the fire, prodigally replenished it, and sat him down between
them. By and by he was so far recovered that he was able to support his
father's argument that the wind had not changed.
"Oh, well," replied Watt, doggedly, "you can say what you likes; but I
tells you that the wind's veered to the south. 'Twould not surprise me
if the pack was drivin' Cape Wonder way."
"No, no, Bill," said Topsail sadly; "there's been no change. We're
drivin' straight out. When the wind drops the pack'll go to pieces, an'
then----"
Thus the argument was continued, intermittently, until near dawn. Of a
sudden, then, they heard a low, far-off rumble. It was a significant,
terrifying noise. It ran towards them, increasing in volume. It was
like the bumping that runs through a freight-train when the engine
comes to a sudden stop.
The pack trembled. There was then a fearful confusion of grinding,
crashing sounds. Everywhere the ice was heaving and turning. The
smaller pans were crushed; many of the greater ones were forced on end;
some were lifted bodily out of the water, and fell back in fragments,
broken by their own weight. On all sides were noise and awful upheaval.
The great pan upon which the seal-hunters had landed was tipped
up--up--up--until it was like the side of a steep hill. There it
rested. Then came silence.
Bill Watt was right: the wind had changed; the pack had grounded on
Cape Wonder. The three men from Ruddy Cove walked ashore in the morning.
Billy was the first to run up to the house. He went through the door
like a gale of wind.
"We're safe, mother!" he shouted.
"I'm glad, dear," said his mother, quietly. "Breakfast is ready."
When Billy was older he learned the trick his mother had long ago
mastered--to betray no excitement, whatever the situation.