THE HAIL FROM THE SHORE
This last dire calamity struck the boys speechless.
The compass—their one sure guide on that sinister waste of waters, the
one hand reached out to draw them to safety—the compass was gone!
At first they refused to believe it. The others besieged Bobby with
questions, begging him to look—couldn’t it, perhaps, have fallen in the
bottom of the boat? Oh, look! Look!
And Bobby looked, even though he knew the search was hopeless, looked
just to satisfy his chums.
For, at that sudden sharp lurch of the boat, he had felt the instrument
slip past his hands, had heard the splash of it as it reached the water.
That was a fine trick he and his carelessness had played upon his
comrades, he thought miserably, as, recklessly lighting match after
match from their slender store, he pretended to search the bottom of the
boat. Through his carelessness they might all lose their lives.
It was his fault—his! He would be a murderer! But suddenly he drew
himself up short and once more took command of the situation.
“It’s gone, fellows,” he said quietly. “There’s not a doubt in the world
about that. Now, the question is, are we going to take our chance and go
ahead without it, or are we going to lie down and say we’re beaten?”
“You know we aren’t going to do that, Bobby,” answered Fred sturdily.
But the next moment he asked with an anxiety that showed the state of
his mind: “You’re dead sure, are you, that you heard it go overboard,
Bobby?”
But Bobby was too intently trying to think how they would meet this new
and appalling difficulty even to hear the question. As for Mouser and
Billy, they seemed stunned into silence.
“I tell you what we’ll have to do,” said Bobby at last. “We know now
that we’re heading in the right direction, and we’ll have to keep that
course as nearly as we can—and have to leave the rest to luck.”
“Luck’s been with us, so far,” said Fred, stoutly. “Maybe she’ll go with
us the rest of the way.”
“We might have had a chance,” said Billy, as though thinking aloud, “if
this storm hadn’t happened along. Say, how I love the sight of that
snow!”
“Cheer up,” said Mouser. “The Eskimos like the snow, you know. Say it’s
nice and w-warm. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”
“Pretty good disguise, I call it,” grumbled Fred, and the boys tried to
laugh and couldn’t. Their faces seemed frozen into expressionless masks.
They kept on without very much hope in their hearts, while the sea
became more agitated, the wind rose higher and grew more menacing, while
the snow, falling heavily, seemed to enclose them in a heavy white
blanket. They felt cut off from all the world and utterly lost.
At last they came to the point where they knew if they did not have help
soon, it would not be very long before they would have no need of it.
“Let’s try shouting,” said Bobby, in desperation. “There’s probably
nobody within several hundred miles to hear us, but it’s about our last
chance, I guess.”
He let out a yell that jerked the other boys from the lassitude that
held them in its grip. Mechanically they shouted, too, with all the
strength that was left them.
Then, as though the sound of their voices had revived some small hope,
they shouted again and again, shouted until they were hoarse and their
throats ached with the strain.
And still nothing but the pounding of the waves that threatened every
moment to upset their boat, pitching them into the icy water! No sound
but the moaning of the wind! Nothing but that driving curtain of snow
that beat into their frozen faces, blinding them!
“Let’s try again,” croaked Bobby. “Once more, fellows. It’s a forlorn
hope. But, come on. All together!”
Listlessly they went through the motion of a shout, queer noises coming
from their cracked lips. And then—
“Listen!” cried Bobby, with a fierce joy in his voice. “Listen!”
From afar, piercing that curtain of snow, there came a sound, the
faintest kind of sound, but one that started their hearts to bounding
madly. It was a faint halloo—an answer to their frantic shouts.
And did they reply? Did they? Indeed, they did!
A moment before they had thought it was impossible for them to make
another sound, but it did not take them long to find out their mistake.
Frantically they yelled, growing more and more excited as that answering
cry rang out again and again. Not so faint now and growing louder with
each frenzied second.
Then they saw it! A dreamlike, slender craft, penetrating the curtain of
snow, having as her crew two fur-garbed figures who stared at them
stolidly!
They came as close to the longboat as the restless sea allowed, but
although Bobby shouted at the top of his lungs it was evident that they
could not understand him.
However, they pointed through the snow curtain and made motions which
the joy-frenzied boys in the longboat perfectly understood.
They were motioning to them to follow—to follow that slender, unstable
craft to the safety of the shore. For they knew that the shore could not
be far off or the natives would not have come abroad to answer their
desperate cries for help.
It was in a surprisingly short space of time—the boys learned afterward
that they had been near land for some time, but had been going parallel
with it—that their boat, reaching shallow water, stuck upon the sea bed,
refusing to go farther.
There was nothing to do but brave the icy water and wade to shore. But
the boys did not mind. They did not care for anything but the fact that
they saw land. And, besides, as by that time they were about as cold as
they could be, they thought the icy water could make little difference.
What bothered them most was the difficulty they found in walking. Their
feet, numbed by the cold and the lack of use, refused at first to
support them.
Forcing themselves by sheer will power to stand, they stumbled along
through the icy water, feeling as though their feet were overstuffed pin
cushions.
Bobby and Fred were the only ones who had had presence of mind enough in
this moment of rescue to catch hold of the rope attached to the longboat
and tug the latter along toward the shore.
One of the natives, seeing what hard work this was for them, caught hold
of the rope and with a couple of good hard pulls drew it up to safety on
the snow and ice-encrusted ground.
Bobby tried to thank him, but found he was shivering so with the cold
that he could not force the words through his chattering teeth.
The Eskimo seemed to understand his intention, however, and with a jerky
nod of his fur-capped head and a grunt, indicated that the half-frozen
lads were to follow him.
The latter, not yet quite realizing the greatness of their good fortune,
stumbled through the blinding snow, their numbed feet still torturing
them.
Where were the natives leading them? Perhaps to a fire and comfort,
perhaps to captivity and new hardships. At any rate, wherever they were
bound seemed a terribly long distance away.
But at last they came to a white object, looming solidly against the
background of the densely falling snow. On approaching more closely to
it the boys found it was a wall, apparently built of snow, about five
feet high and circular in shape.
They wondered if this were some sort of a snow prison. Then they had
reached a narrow opening in the snow wall, just large enough to permit
them to squeeze through it.
They had tramped along but a few feet when they came upon the most
peculiar looking structure they had ever seen in their lives.
It was an igloo, a snow hut of the type that is so common among the far
reaches of the Northern country. To the surprised eyes of the boys it
looked enormous, and the gleaming white sides of it made it look like a
fairy dwelling.
Then one of the natives who preceded them pushed aside a huge skin which
covered the entrance of this queer dwelling and the boys found
themselves in a room whose snug warmth enwrapped them deliciously.
Never before had they reveled in anything as they did in that moment of
physical comfort. For the space of a few seconds it was all they could
think of. They just stood there, basking in it.
Then they realized that it was not only unbelievably warm and
comfortable in that place, but there was a most delicious smell in the
air, the aroma of stew, bubbling over a fire.
They sniffed longingly, and then, as though roused from a trance, they
looked about them. The walls of the snow house were covered with skins
which, while serving to make the place still more snug, served also to
give it a more cozy, homelike appearance.
There were rude pieces of furniture scattered about on which also were
skins, and before the oil stove at one side of the room crouched a
woman, stirring the stew which bubbled over the fire.
And, seeing that the boys were staring at her, this guardian of the
feast opened her mouth to favor them with a wide, good-natured grin.
“Come close to the fire,” she invited. “You cold—maybe you hungry, too.
Stew very good—very hot.”