_It Appears That the Courage and Strength of the Son of
a Colonial Knight are to be Tried. The Hunters are
Caught in a Great Storm_
THE _Lucky Star_ and the _Dictator_ parted company the next day--the
former bound for the Labrador coast, the latter in a southerly
direction to White Bay. For several days, the _Dictator_ ran here
and there among the great floes, attacking small herds; and at the
end of a week she had ten thousand seals in her hold. But that cargo
did not by any means content Captain Hand. Indeed, he began to fear
the voyage would be little better than a failure. Nothing less than
twenty thousands pelts would be a profitable "haul" for a vessel of the
_Dictator's_ tonnage to carry back to St. John's.
For that reason, perhaps, both the captain and the men were willing to
take some risk, when, late one morning, a large herd was sighted on a
floe near the coast in the southwest. The danger lay in the weather: it
was an unpromising day--cold and dull, and threatening snow and storm.
For a time the captain hesitated; but, at last, he determined to land
his men in three parties, caution them to be watchful and quick, and
himself try to keep the _Dictator_ within easy reach of them all. It
really did not appear to be necessary to waste the day merely because
the sky was dark over the coast.
Bill o' Burnt Bay's party was landed first. Billy Topsail and Tim
Tuttle were members of it; and, as usual, Archie Armstrong attached
himself to it. As the _Dictator_ steamed away to land the second crew,
and, thence, still further away to land the third, Bill led his men on
a trot for the pack, which lay about a mile from the water's edge.
"'Tis a queer day, this," Bill observed to the boys, who trotted in his
wake.
"Sure, why?" asked Billy.
"Is it t' snow, or is it not? Can you answer me that? Sure, I most
always can tell that little thing, but t'-day I can't."
"'Tis like snow," Billy replied, puzzled, "an' again 'tisn't. 'Tis
queer, that!"
"I hopes the captain keeps the ship at hand," said Bill. "'Tis not t'
my taste t' spend a night on the floe in a storm."
To be lost in a blizzard is a dreaded danger, and not at all an
uncommon experience. Many crews, lost from the ship in a blinding
storm, have been carried out to sea with the floe, and never heard of
afterwards. Bill o' Burnt Bay lost his own father in that way, and
himself had had two narrow escapes from the same fate. So he scanned
the sky anxiously, not only as he ran along at the head of his sixty
men, but from time to time through the day, until the excitement of the
hunt put all else out of his head.
[Illustration: "LASH YOUR TOWS, B'YS," SAID BILL. "LEAVE THE REST GO."]
It was a profitable hunt. The men laboured diligently and rapidly. So
intent on the work in hand were they that none observed the darkening
sky and the gusts of wind that broke from behind the rocky coast. Thus,
towards evening, when the work was over save the sculping and lashing,
dusk caught them unaware. Bill o' Burnt Bay looked up to find that the
snow was flying, that it was black as ink in the northeast, and that
the wind was blowing in long, angry gusts.
"Men," he cried, "did you ever see a sky like that?"
The men watched the heavy clouds in the northeast rise and swiftly
spread.
"Sure, it looks bad," muttered one.
"Make haste with the sculpin'," Bill ordered. "They's wonderful heavy
weather comin' up. I mind me a time when a blizzard come out of a sky
like that."
The dusk grew deeper, the snow fell thicker, the wind rose; and all
this Bill observed while he worked. Groups of men lashed their tows and
started off for the edge of the floe where the steamer was to return
for them.
"Lash your tows, b'ys," shouted Bill, to the rest of the men. "Leave
the rest go. 'Tis too late t' sculp any more."
There was some complaint; but Bill silenced the growlers with a sharp
word or two. The whole party set off in a straggling line, dragging
their tows; it was Bill who brought up the rear, for he wanted to make
sure that his company would come entire to the landing-place. Strong,
stinging blasts of wind were then sweeping out of the northeast, and
the snow was fast narrowing the view.
"Faster, b'ys!" cried Bill. "The storm's comin' wonderful quick."
The storm came faster than, with all his experience, Bill o' Burnt
Bay had before believed possible. When he had given the order to
abandon the unskinned seals, he thought that there was time and to
spare; but, now, with less than half the distance to the landing-place
covered, the men were already staggering, the wind was blowing a
gale, and the blinding snow almost hid the flags at the water's edge.
When he realized this, and that the ship was not yet in sight, "Drop
everything, an' run for it!" was the order he sent up the line.
"Archie, b'y," he then shouted, catching the lad by the arm and drawing
him nearer, "we got t' run for the landing-place. Stick close t' me.
When you're done out, I'll carry you. Is you afraid, b'y?"
Archie looked up, but did not deign to reply to the humiliating
question.
"All right, lad," said Bill, understanding. "Is you ready?"
Archie knew that his strength and courage were to be tried. He was
tired, and cold, and almost hopeless; but, then and there, he resolved
to prove his blood and breeding--to prove to these men, who had been
unfailingly kind to him, but yet had naturally looked with good-natured
contempt upon his fine clothes and white hands, that fortitude was
not incompatible with a neat cravat and nice manners. Beyond all that,
however, it was his aim to prove that Sir Archibald Armstrong's son was
the son of his own father.
"Lead on, Bill," he said.
"Good lad!" Bill muttered.
Archie bent to the blast.