_AN INGENIOUS EXPEDIENT._
One morning a few weeks later the sun rose quickly over the horizon, as
if it had overslept and was hurrying to make up lost time. Its angry
crimson face threw a lurid glow across the sky, like the reflection of
some mighty conflagration.
A small coast-boat, dancing on the waves of a flood-tide, tugged
impatiently at her anchor, while a strong south wind sportively dashed
an occasional drenching spray across her deck, much to the discomfort of
a number of men lying there.
At length one of these recumbent figures rose slowly to his feet and
scanned the horizon with a sailor’s eye. It was our old friend George
Hopkins. He stood for a moment staring at the crimson sunrise, then
touched the nearest sleeper with his foot. “_At-tee, Oulybuck, A-no-ee
pi-chi-ak_ (Now, Oulybuck, it is a fair wind),” he said.
The Eskimo addressed threw back his blankets with a sleepy ejaculation,
rose to his knees and then to his feet, gazing around him the while.
When his eye encountered the threatening sky he uttered a disapproving
grunt.
One by one four other Eskimos crawled from under their blankets, yawned,
stretched themselves, and scowled at the approaching storm.
In a few minutes the little anchor was up and the boat was speeding on
her way north. Hopkins perched himself in the stern to steer while the
Eskimos dropped into positions of ease, awaiting orders.
Soon the wind freshened and the sea began to dance. As the boat cut her
way through the billows a head was poked out from an improvised cabin
amidships. It was the head of a man well on in years, with grey hair and
a long grey beard. His keen blue eyes scanned the heavens, noted the
direction of the wind, then turned to the steersman.
“Fair wind, eh! George?” he remarked.
Hopkins glanced at the lowering clouds, then with dubious cheerfulness,
he replied: “Yes, but we’ll have bad weather before long.”
“Let us hope you are mistaken,” returned the other, withdrawing his
head.
In a few minutes he reappeared fully attired. It was Chief Factor
McLeod, accompanied by his daughter Lena and his nephew Frank, and on
his way to inspect Fort Future.
Shortly after Mr. McLeod’s appearance the sound of girlish laughter,
mingled with the protesting voice of a man, proceeded from the cabin.
There was the noise of a scuffle, then a young woman burst out and
sprang behind the Factor. As she stood there, her face alive with
mischievous laughter, her eyes sparkling with merriment, her bosom
heaving with the exertions of her playful struggle, she was the picture
of a bonny, saucy, Scottish maiden.
Soon a fresh, boyish face appeared in the cabin doorway.
“Look here, Uncle,” groveled the young fellow, a little sulkily, “I wish
you would keep that daughter of yours in order. She is more mischievous
than a monkey. Yes, a monkey, miss,” he added severely, for the girl was
making grimaces at him from behind her father’s back. “She can’t leave
me alone five minutes, sir.”
“Lena! Lena!” admonished Mr. McLeod with a smile and a look of deep
affection. “Will you never act as a grown-up young lady should?”
The girl laughed derisively at her cousin, then, abruptly turning her
back, she caught her father’s arm and pulled him to the side of the
boat. As they gazed over the turbulent waters, a low, hoarse roar made
itself heard above the noise of dashing waves. The expected gale was
upon them. A damp column of cold air struck the boat, bellying out the
canvas with a jerk, and wrenching the yielding mass, until it bowed
heavily over before the shock.
The mainsail was quickly dropped and the boat righted herself.
Sluggishly great waves buffeted her, causing her to stagger when they
struck.
Presently the gale became furious, fully justifying Hopkins’
prognostications. The sea was so rough that the boat was in great danger
of being smashed by the sheer weight of water hurled against her side.
But they were compelled to go on, however terrible the storm might be,
for the wind had swerved round to the west and this, with the tide on
the ebb, prevented them running close-in to anchor in one of the
numerous rivers along the coast. The boat was fast being carried out to
sea, the land was becoming a thin black line in the far distance, and
shortly all trace of it was lost to sight.
Perceiving their peril, Hopkins gave the helm to a trusty lieutenant and
stumbled forward to speak to the Chief Factor, who was standing there
alone. He had long since sent Lena to the cabin and now stood with his
arm twined around a back-stay, strung to the tension of a harpstring,
and his eyes sparkling with excitement as the little craft beneath him
tossed and rolled and tore along. His drenched hair and beard were
flying back from his face, which was streaming with salt water.
“She’s not holding her own against the combined fury of wind and tide,”
he cried at Hopkins’ approach.
“We’re being carried out to sea, sir,” declared George with some
disgust. Just then a tremendous sea caught the boat and she gave a
lurch, throwing him violently down. The plunging masses of water made
her quiver to her keel, and threatened to swamp her, but digging her
nose into the great waves she staggered on.
“Thank God we are still afloat,” murmured Mr. McLeod. “Another shock
like that and it will be all up with us.” Then turning to Hopkins he
enquired whether he had been hurt in the fall.
Hopkins shook his head.
“We are being carried out to sea, you say, but what can we do?”
questioned the Factor.
“We can drop anchor, and try to ride it out, sir.”
The Factor shook his head. “The seas would smash us,” he said.
George nodded. “Then we must hoist the mainsail again. I’m afraid she
won’t carry it, but we can try. There’s a shoal that runs from a point
of land ahead of us; if we can make that we’ll anchor in the lee of it.”
“All right! Hoist your mainsail, then. But have it close reefed.”
Staggering back to the stern, Hopkins resumed charge of the rudder and
the mainsail was reefed and hoisted, but with great difficulty, for the
wind, catching the spreading canvas, flapped it with a report like a
gun-shot, threatening to snatch it away. The extra sail caused the boat
to heel over alarmingly.
A smothered ejaculation of concern came from the cabin and soon Lena
appeared, enveloped in a serviceable macintosh. Perceiving that she was
alone the Factor hastened to assist her to a position of safety.
Meanwhile Hopkins was straining his eyes in search of land. He was
feeling very uneasy, for it seemed impossible that the boat could much
longer resist the perpetual attack of the waves. The point at issue was
simply—would the coast-boat last till they reached a place where they
could anchor, or would she be swamped or smashed to pieces before they
reached a place of safety?
At length there was a shout from an Eskimo lookout in the bow.
“_Nuna!_ (land)” he cried.
“_Ninne? Ninne?_ (where? where?)” asked the other Eskimos in chorus.
“_Na-nee!_ (there)” cried the bowsman, pointing almost straight ahead.
“Thank God!” exclaimed Mr. McLeod, with a long sigh of relief, while
Hopkins’ face cleared, and the Eskimos lost their anxious looks, for
right ahead of them was a small island of sand, over which the waves
broke in rapid succession. It was the shoal of which Hopkins had spoken,
and for which they had been so anxiously looking.
Their jubilation was shortlived, however, for they had scarcely got the
anchor ready before the boat struck something under water with a
terrible thud and remained fast. The jerk caused by the sudden stoppage
threw the men off their feet, and snapped the mainmast short at the
shaft, carrying the sail and gear overboard. The boat heeled over, great
waves dashed into her and in an instant she was full of water.
Quick of action, the Chief Factor caught Lena about the waist and
hoisted her to the top of the cabin, then, scrambling up himself, he
signaled to the others to do likewise. The roaring of the surf, breaking
over the small island, drowned all other noises.
Turning to Hopkins and forming a trumpet with his hands, the Factor
endeavored to make himself heard. “Tide’s going out,” he shouted. “Shoal
will dry . . . may walk ashore . . . if boat will only last till then.”
Hopkins’ lips moved in answer but his words were carried away by the
wind.
For two hours the group crouched miserably upon the cabin, clutching at
anything within reach to save being washed away by the great volumes of
water that poured over them. Lashed by the wind, and drenched to the
skin, they waited for the tide to ebb and leave the boat high and dry
upon the shoal. The tempest continued with unabated fury, but the little
island grew larger every minute.
Gradually the billows receded from the boat. They then discovered that
Hopkins had run her on a part of a shoal which extended to a great
distance under water at high tide.
At length the shipwrecked party were able to drop over the boat’s side
to the sand beneath, and walk to the prominence of the sandy island,
where for a time, at least, they would be safe.
Calling Hopkins aside, the Factor attempted to prepare for
eventualities. But it was only by turning their backs to the wind that
they were able to distinguish what was said.
“Hopkins,” Mr. McLeod began, “it is necessary that we should discover if
there is any means of leaving this shoal before the tide turns.”
“Yes, sir,” replied George, “and the sooner the better.”
“But it will necessitate an exploration of that part of the shoal,” said
the Chief Factor, indicating the part nearest the mainland, “and that is
still under water.”
“I am ready, sir.”
“Yes, George, I know you are always ready to do your duty, but you
cannot go alone. We will go together. I must see for myself. My nephew
and daughter will remain with the Eskimos. You will tell the Eskimos to
stay near them till we return.”
Hopkins instructed the Eskimos who straightway grouped themselves near
by.
Meanwhile Mr. McLeod was informing Lena of the proposed reconnaissance.
Embracing her father, the girl urged him not to risk himself
unnecessarily. The Factor promised to be as prudent as possible, then
called Hopkins and they set out.
It was with the greatest difficulty that they faced the wind, but
struggling desperately and unceasingly, they crept along. After an
extremely difficult and laborious journey they arrived at the other end
of the island, or shoal, and to their dismay found it was divided from
the mainland by a large bay of water, which the wind was lashing into
furious waves.
Taking off his l’Assumption belt and tying a stone in one end of it,
Hopkins lowered it into the water to ascertain the depth, but was unable
to touch bottom. At this, his face lengthened and the Factor, who had
been closely watching him, gave a groan of dismay, for their hopes of
escape by wading ashore were destroyed.
“Nothing but a raft can save us now,” said George dejectedly.
The other shook his head dubiously. He was turning his footsteps
sorrowfully backwards when a great shout from his companion brought him
to a halt. Turning quickly, he discovered Hopkins wildly gesticulating
toward a point of land in the far distance, and looking in that
direction, he first saw something infinitely small dancing upon the
waters, then several small objects which speedily followed it. He turned
to his companion for information.
“Eskimos,” explained Hopkins in answer to the other’s look of puzzled
enquiry. “They’ve lashed their _ka-yaks_ (parchment canoes) together and
are coming to help us. See,” he added excitedly, pointing to the far-off
land, “they’re camped over there to hunt _nitchuk_ (seal).”
The Factor turned his eyes to the spot indicated by his companion and
after close scrutiny made out several tiny white objects dotted about
the sand—these were tents.
Chief Factor McLeod had witnessed many daring feats, but never one to
compare with this which the Eskimos were attempting. The waves dashed
threateningly over the _ka-yaks_, but seemed powerless to harm the
fragile crafts, which floated with the buoyancy of cork. At times waves
larger than their fellows caught them, and, carrying them up on their
towering crests appeared to capsize them, but a few strokes of the
_pou-tik_ (paddle) seemed to right them again.
As the Eskimos drew nearer, the Factor could see how skillful they
really were, with what wonderful precision they handled the _ka-yaks_,
which, in this instance were lashed together in threes, and any doubts
he might have had about their effecting a rescue by this ingenious
expedient were immediately dispelled. Turning, he gave a joyful shout,
which, carried along on the wind, was plainly heard by the anxiously
waiting party at the other end of the island. These instantly started to
come to him. The Eskimos staggered on sturdily, but Lena found it
difficult to force herself forward against the tempest; the wind caught
her garments and pressed her backwards, threatening to throw her off her
feet. It was only by desperately clinging to her cousin’s arm that she
was able to keep her balance and walk slowly on.
Perceiving her predicament the Factor went to the rescue, and with the
wind at his back he scudded along and was soon by her side. He managed,
by shouting his loudest, to make her hear the broken sentences.
“Eskimos . . . encamped . . . neck of land . . . coming . . . _ka-yaks_
. . . . rescue us . . . .”
By the time they had reached the further end of the island, the
_ka-yaks_ were lying high and dry upon the sand and the Eskimo strangers
grouped together waiting to greet them.
With quaint gestures, the Factor endeavored to thank them for coming to
the rescue of himself and party.
The intrepid Eskimos received phlegmatically the earnest expressions of
gratitude.
They nodded deliberately, glanced at the ebbing tide, then walked to the
_ka-yaks_ where they stood significantly waiting.
Divining from their behavior that they were anxious to start before the
tide turned, which, flowing against the wind would make a rougher and
angrier sea than ever, Mr. McLeod lost no more time, but straightway led
Lena to the _ka-yaks_. A trio were now put on the water and Lena was
lifted into the middle one. Then an Eskimo stepped quickly into each of
the outside _ka-yaks_ and a start was made for the shore. The Factor
watched the men paddle desperately for a few moments, then walked
quickly to where a set of _ka-yaks_ was waiting for him. And in a very
little while the whole number of frail craft were on the water, battling
against wind and waves, which had providentially lessened in violence.
After an hour or so of arduous paddling the _ka-yak_ containing Lena
touched the shore and the girl was lifted unceremoniously in a pair of
malodorous arms and carried to dry land.
Then at intervals others of the shipwrecked crew arrived, all very wet,
very cold, and very stiff from sitting in such cramped positions, and
painfully they walked up to a large fire which the Eskimo women had
kindled.
After such strenuous efforts, the thoughts of the Eskimo rescuers turned
to a meal, and taking their shipwrecked comrades with them, they
strolled to where several large kettles hung suspended over as many
fires. Then the men seated themselves in a circle, the women arranging
themselves in another at some little distance from them.
Two large, oblong, wooden dishes, one for each group, were brought from
the fires and their contents emptied upon the ground. This was the
signal for a mad rush. The men displayed remarkable agility as they
scrambled with hearty laughter for the sickly mess—boiled seal
meat—while screams from the group of women told that excitement was
likewise rife in their midst. Procuring as much as they could hold in
both hands, they retired to their former positions in the circle and
with the aid of long, murderous-looking knives, wolfishly devoured their
portions—cramming their mouths to the utmost extent and cutting off the
remainder uncomfortably close to their flat noses and chins.
When all the solids had disappeared, liquids were brought on. Large
kettles containing the water in which the meat had been boiled were
carried into the centre of the two groups, which once more became
struggling masses of humanity, all of them endeavoring to dip a can or a
mug into the kettles at one and the same time. The uproar gradually
subsided as each person retired to his or her place, chuckling over a
mug of greasy liquid.
This simple but animated repast at an end, the Eskimos settled
themselves for a deliberate smoke.
Meanwhile the wants of the Chief Factor and party had been cared for by
the resourceful Hopkins, and they were glad to be able, at least for a
little time, to rest and be thankful. But their respite was of short
duration. Fate had chosen that, at that time and place, they should
learn of the awful catastrophe at Fort Future and the harrowing news was
travelling fast toward them in the person of Acpa, who was on his way
with a party of Eskimos in a whaleboat to take charge of the ruins of
the Company’s property at Fort Future in compliance with Kasba’s
request, and was on the lookout for a suitable spot to put ashore and
camp. Perceiving Eskimo tents dotted along the point of land, those in
the boat quickly dropped the sail and pulled to the shore.
“Why, it’s Acpa!” declared George Hopkins, greatly astonished, as the
old Eskimo stepped out of the boat. “Wonder what he’s doing here,” and
with that he strolled down to greet the old fellow, little dreaming what
terrible news he would bring back.