Left on the Labrador
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Dillon Wallace >> Left on the Labrador
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"Yes."
"There you be! The worst of un's took care of to start with! Feelin'
well, a belly full of good vittles, warm and snug! Now keep feelin'
contented, and right as if this was your own home. Nothin' to worry
over. No, sir, not a thing! Now we've headed off the worst of un.
"You're in a fix, but 'twon't trouble us any. Not us! Life is full of
fixes, first and last. 'Twouldn't be much fun livin' if we didn't get in
fixes now and again! 'Tis a fine bit of sport figgerin' the way out of
fixes. Fixes gives us a change and somethin' to think about. There's a
way out of most fixes _I_ finds, even the worst of un."
"Do you think the ship will come back for me?" asked Charley anxiously.
"Well, now," Skipper Zeb wrinkled his forehead as though he were
pondering the question deeply, "if she comes back she'll come in through
the tickle and come to in the offing and blow her whistle, and we'll
hear un, and be ready for she. If she don't come back, she'll not blow
her whistle, and we'll not hear un. We'll be stayin' here as snug as a
bear in his den and listen for that whistle."
"But _do_ you think she'll come back?" insisted Charley, with a
suspicion that Skipper Zeb's answer had been evasive.
"That's a question! That's a fair and square question, now," admitted
Skipper Zeb. "You asks un fair and I'll answer un fair. The folk on the
mail boat misses you. They looks up and down and don't find you. You're
not on the boat, and how can they find you? Captain Barcus of the mail
boat says, 'Well, he's gone, that's sure. If he leaves the mail boat at
Pinch-In Tickle, he's with Skipper Zeb Twig by now, and safe enough and
well took care of. If he falls overboard, that's the last of he.' And
sayin' this, and knowin' Captain Barcus the way I knows he, he keeps
right on to St. John's, and don't come back till next June or July
month."
"If the ship don't come," broke in Charley, suddenly startled into his
old fear, "what _can_ I do? What _will_ become of me?"
"Well, now!" and Skipper Zeb broke into a hearty laugh. "'Tis just what
I says in the beginnin' about no worry, and about to-day bein' to-day
and to-morrow bein' to-morrow. You're cast away with shelter _and_ grub.
That's not so bad, considerin'. Not the best of shelter and not the best
of grub, but not so bad either. You does your best to get out of this
fix, and the best way you finds is to bide right where you finds the
shelter and grub. If the mail boat don't come to-day, and I says fair
and square, I'm not expectin' she, you goes to Double Up Cove in the
marnin' with us. Whilst you're on The Labrador our home is your home,
and I hopes you'll like un."
"But Daddy! Poor Daddy! He'll be broken-hearted when he thinks I've been
lost at sea, and so will Mother!" Charley gulped hard to keep back the
tears.
"'Twill be a bit hard for un, but you can't help un," Skipper Zeb
consoled. "What's past is past, and there's no use worryin' about un.
You're busy tryin' to get out of a fix. They'll be so glad to see you
when you gets home, 'twill more than make up to un for the mournin' they
does now. Your feelin' bad and worryin' about un won't help your father
and mother any, and it'll get your insides upset, as I were sayin'.
You're gettin' out of a fix. You stick by the grub and shelter, such as
'tis, and make the best of un, and be happy."
"Oh, thank you!" and tears came into Charley's eyes in spite of his
effort to keep them back. "Daddy will make it right with you. He'll pay
you for being good to me. He'll pay you all you ask."
"I asks nothing," said Skipper Zeb. "'Tis the right thing to do. Here on
The Labrador we stands shoulder to shoulder, and when a man's cast away
we takes him to our home till he can get to his own home. We all be
wonderful glad to have you. Ask Mrs. Twig, now."
"'Twill be wonderful fine to have you bide with us," and Mrs. Twig's
smile left no doubt of her sincerity. "You and Toby will be havin' rare
good times together."
"That we will, now!" broke in Toby quite excited at the prospect.
FOOTNOTE: [1] Seal.
IV
MISSING
Mr. Henry Wise, Mr. Bruce Norton's secretary, was enjoying himself. The
mail boat did not offer the luxuries to which he was accustomed, to be
sure, but it was much more to his liking than a hunting camp in the
wilderness, particularly in frosty weather and flying snow. He could not
keep his shoes properly polished, nor creases in his trousers, nor a
spotless collar tramping upon rough trails through underbrush, and the
very thought of sleeping in a tent, and upon the ground, was horrible.
When he had suggested to Mr. Norton that Charley was too young to follow
his father on the trail, he had done so with the hope that he might be
permitted to remain at St. John's in charge of Charley, and there enjoy
the comfort of a hotel in idleness. That the hunting trip might prove
too strenuous for Charley had not occurred to Mr. Norton until the
suggestion came from Mr. Wise after their arrival in St. John's. Mr.
Wise amplified his suggestion with the argument that it was quite too
great a physical undertaking for any boy of thirteen, and might
therefore create in Charley a distaste for future camping in the wilds.
This appealed to Mr. Norton as reasonable. He wished his boy to love the
wilds as he loved them. Perhaps, he admitted, Mr. Wise was right, and if
he took Charley with him, and Charley found the trails too hard, not
only his own holiday would be spoiled, but Charley would have anything
but a pleasant time.
In expectation that he would take him on his hunting expedition, Mr.
Norton had promised Charley a unique and enjoyable experience. Now that
he had decided against it, he cast about for a substitute. Mr. Norton
was a man of his word. Charley had looked forward with keen anticipation
to the hunting trip with his father, and had asked innumerable questions
concerning it, and talked of little else since leaving New York. The
prospect of camping in a real wilderness with his father,--the
association with his father in camp, rather than the camp itself,--was
the source of Charley's anticipated pleasure.
Not realizing this, and believing that any unusual experience would
please Charley quite as well, whether or not he was to take part in it
himself, Mr. Norton received with satisfaction the suggestion that
Charley be sent upon the Labrador cruise. This, he was satisfied, was a
solution of his difficulty. A cruise on the mail boat would be an
experience to be remembered, and he had no doubt would prove much more
interesting to Charley than the hunting expedition.
This settled, he engaged passage on the mail boat for Charley and Mr.
Wise, to the chagrin and disappointment of the latter gentleman, who was
forced, however, to accept the situation with good grace. Mr. Wise had
no love of the sea.
He was to be Charley's companion on the voyage. He was to learn the
interesting features of the coast along which the mail boat cruised, and
to explain them and point them out to Charley. In general, he was to do
his utmost to make the voyage one which Charley would remember with
pleasure.
But as Mr. Wise expressed himself to the mail boat doctor, he was
"employed as secretary and not as nurse maid." He had no intention of
shivering around in the cold. He was going to make this voyage, which
had been thrust upon him, as pleasant for himself as circumstances would
permit. He pleaded sickness, and, as Charley had complained to Barney
MacFarland, lay in his bunk reading novels, or sat in the smoking room
playing checkers with the mail boat doctor, while Charley was left to
his own resources.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning when the mail boat departed from
Pinch-In Tickle. Mr. Wise was engrossed in a particularly interesting
novel, and was so deeply buried in it that he failed to hear or respond
to the noonday call to dinner. When, an hour later, hunger called his
attention to the fact that he had not eaten, he rang for the steward,
and a liberal tip brought a satisfactory luncheon to his stateroom. Thus
it came to pass that he did not observe Charley's absence from the
dinner table.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when, the novel at last finished,
Mr. Wise left his room to challenge the doctor to a game in the smoking
room. It was not until the six o'clock evening meal that his attention
was called to the fact that Charley, who was usually prompt at meals,
was not present.
He had no doubt Charley had gone to his room and fallen asleep. If his
ward chose to sleep at meal time it was no fault of his. He ate
leisurely, and when he was through lighted a cigar, and, prompted by
compunction perhaps, looked into Charley's room. It was vacant. A sudden
anxiety seized him, and nervously and excitedly he searched the deck and
the smoking room. Charley was nowhere to be found, and in a state of
panic he reported the disappearance to Captain Barcus.
The Captain immediately instituted an investigation, and a minute search
of the ship was made, but nowhere was Charley to be found, and with
every moment Mr. Hugh Wise grew more excited.
Members of the crew were called before the Captain and Mr. Wise and
quizzed. The sailor to whom Charley had spoken and of whom he had
requested a passage ashore, recalled the incident. The mate stated that
Charley had also come to him and asked permission to go ashore in the
ship's boat at Pinch-In Tickle, but as there was no room in the boat,
permission had been denied. The men who manned the boat were then
questioned, and all were agreed that he had not been in the boat and had
not gone ashore, and they were equally positive that he had not gone
ashore at any other harbour where the vessel had stopped during the day.
Barney MacFarland recalled his conversation with Charley, when he was
going off watch. He stated that the lad had seemed most unhappy and
lonesome, and complained that Mr. Wise had done little to make the
voyage a pleasant one for him, or to help him find entertainment. He was
not on deck when Barney went on duty at eight bells.
So fertile is the imagination that two of the sailors were quite
positive they had seen Charley leaning at the rail during the afternoon,
and after the ship's departure from Pinch-In Tickle.
The steward was quite sure Charley had not eaten the midday meal. As
there was some sea running, he had supposed that Charley had a touch of
seasickness and had preferred not to eat. He had not seen Charley since
breakfast, and had not been in his stateroom since early morning.
"What can we do?" asked Mr. Wise, now in complete panic. "Will you turn
back?" he plead in a voice trembling with apprehension and fear. "Will
you look for him, Captain? You'll turn the ship back and look for him!
You must! You must at once! We _must_ find him!"
"Where would we look?" asked Captain Barcus.
"At the harbours where we stopped! At Pinch-In Tickle, or whatever you
call it! Everywhere! Everywhere!" plead Mr. Wise.
"'Twould be a waste of time and fuel, and a fool's chase," said Captain
Barcus quietly. "There was no way for the lad to go ashore but by the
ship's boat, and 'tis plain he didn't go ashore in the boat at any port
we stops at to-day. Some one would have seen him if he had, and every
man of the crew says he didn't."
"Then he's on the ship somewhere!" shouted Mr. Wise excitedly, springing
to his feet. "He's hiding! He's hiding somewhere on the ship!"
"He's not on the ship," said Captain Barcus gravely. "She've been
searched from masthead to hold, and he's not on the ship. There's no
doubting the poor lad has fallen overboard."
"Do you mean he's been--lost--at--sea?" and the terrified Wise sank
limply into a seat.
"Aye," admitted Captain Barcus, "lost at sea."
"Then turn back! Turn back and look for him!" demanded Mr. Wise, again
on his feet in a frenzy of excitement. "Why don't you turn back and look
for him?"
"Keep your senses, man," admonished Captain Barcus. "As I said before,
'twould be a fool's job to look for him in the sea. No man knows where
or when he went overboard. 'Tis likely 'twere hours ago."
Mr. Wise slouched into a seat, and with his elbows upon his knees held
his head in his hands for a full minute before he spoke.
"What can I tell his father? What can I tell him? He'll discharge me!
He'll think I didn't look after the boy!" and Mr. Wise's dejection was
complete. "What _can_ I tell him!"
"Tell him the truth. He'll discharge you likely. I would," said the
Captain in blunt disgust.
"You can fix it up! You can tell him it happened through no fault of
mine! Tell him something that will clear me of any charge of neglecting
the boy!" Mr. Wise raised his head and looked wistfully and pleadingly
at the Captain.
"You seem to be thinking more of your job than of the poor lad that's
lost," and Captain Barcus, who had risen to his feet, looked down in
contempt upon the cringing man. "My log will say he was last seen
leaning over the starb'rd rail. That he was not at dinner nor at tea,
and that you didn't miss him till after tea and long after dark, though
'tis likely he was lost overboard before dinner. And I'll put in the
testimony of the last to talk with him, the mate, and the seaman, and
what he said to Barney MacFarland. I'm going now to write my log while
'tis all fresh in my mind."
And leaving Mr. Wise, Captain Barcus went to his room to write in his
log a true report of what apparently had happened, and the account that
was finally to be given Mr. Bruce Norton upon the arrival of the steamer
in St. John's.
V
WRECKED
There was much to be done in Pinch-In Tickle that everything in and
about Skipper Zeb's cabin, which they were to leave the following
morning, should be snug and tight and tidy for the winter. There were
boats to be hauled out of the water and covered, that they might be
protected from the ice and snow, fishing gear and boat equipment to
stow, and much cleaning to be done about the fish stage and cabin. Then
there was Skipper Zeb's big trap boat to make ready for the voyage up
the bay. A mast step had to be repaired, sails mended, and no end of
tinkering before it met with Skipper Zeb's approval.
"I never says a thing's good enough unless 'tis right," declared Skipper
Zeb. "I likes to have my boats, and fishin' gear and dog trappin's ship
shape before I starts to use un. When I stops usin' they I leaves un as
right as I can so they'll be ready to use when I needs un again."
For a little while Charley, the picture of gloom, watched Skipper Zeb
and Toby stowing gear. Presently Skipper Zeb, who had been observing
Charley out of the corner of his eye, suggested:
"Come on, lad, and lend a hand. Toby and I needs help to haul the boats
up. Work's a wonderful fine medicin' for folks that's feelin' homesick.
Lend Toby and me a hand, and you'll be forgettin' all about this fix
you're in. I were thinkin' we'd taken all the kinks out o' that fix, and
that we made out 'twere no fix at all."
"I guess I would like to help, if you'll let me," Charley admitted. "It
isn't much fun standing around and doing nothing. What can I do?"
"We'll pull this un up first, she's heaviest," and Skipper Zeb indicated
one of two boats that were moored at the landing. "You take the port
side of un along with Toby, and I'll take the starb'rd side, and when I
bawls 'Heave ho!' we'll all heave on her together."
Charley did as he was directed, and while he did not believe that he was
lending much assistance, he did his best with each "heave ho!" boomed by
Skipper Zeb, and in due time the two boats were removed to a desirable
distance from high tide level. Timbers were now placed under them to
elevate them from the ground, and a roofing of heavy planking built over
them.
It was all novel and interesting to Charley. He lent a hand here and
there, and as they worked Skipper Zeb and Toby talked of the fishing
season just ended, and of the winter hunting and trapping, and of
journeys on snowshoes and with dogs and sledge, and related many
exciting adventures, until Charley quite forgot that he was marooned in
a strange land among strangers.
Before candles were lighted that evening, Charley had placed Skipper Zeb
and Toby in the category of the heroes of his favourite books of
adventure. Here he was in a wilderness as remote as any of which he had
ever read, and here he was with folk who were living the life and doing
the deeds and meeting the adventures of which he had often read with
breathless interest. When he went to sleep that night in a bunk with
Toby he would have been glad that the mail boat had not returned for
him, had it not been for the regret he felt for the grief he knew that
his mother and father would suffer when Mr. Wise would report to them
that he had been lost.
They ate breakfast by candle-light the following morning, and daybreak
was still two hours away when Charley embarked with Skipper Zeb and the
family for the voyage to Double Up Cove.
Skipper Zeb and Toby hoisted leg-o'-mutton sails on the foremast and
mainmast under the lee of the land though the sails did not fill to
Skipper Zeb's satisfaction, and he and Toby each shipped a big oar and
pulled for a little until they were in the open bay and beyond the
shelter of the hills. Then they stowed the oars, and Skipper Zeb took
the tiller.
A good breeze now bellied the sails, and almost immediately the morning
darkness swallowed up the outline of the cabins. No star, no light, no
land was to be seen, and Charley was only conscious of the swishing
waters that surrounded them. He wondered how Skipper Zeb could know the
direction with no landmarks to guide him. How vast and mysterious this
new world was! How far away and unreal the land from which he had come!
He tried to visualize home, and the city streets with crowded traffic
and jostling people; and crouching down in the boat a thought of the
luxury and comfort of his snug bed, in which he would now have been
cozily tucked were he there, came to him, and he drew the collar of his
ulster more closely around his ears, and thrust his hands into its deep
pockets.
For a long time no one spoke, and a sense of great loneliness was
stealing upon him, when Skipper Zeb, lighting his pipe, remarked:
"'Tis a good sailin' breeze, and come day 'twill be smarter, with more
sea, and I'm thinkin' more snow."
"How long a trip is it?" asked Charley.
"'Tis a short cruise. With a fair wind like we has now we makes un in
five or six hours, whatever," explained Skipper Zeb. "We never bides
here so late in the year. 'Tis wonderful late for us. We always goes
before the end of September month. This year I stays to help Mr.
McClung."
"It's a fine, big boat," said Charley.
"She's a wonderful fine boat!" boasted Skipper Zeb. "Twenty-eight foot
over all. I buys she last year from a schooner crew, south bound after
the fishin' ends. They wants to sell she bad, because they has no room
to stow she on deck, and in the rough sea that were runnin' they
couldn't tow she. I buys she for thirty dollars!"
"That was cheap, I should think," said Charley.
"'Twere, now!" and there was pride in Skipper Zeb's voice. "I'll tell
you how 'twere. We needs a trap boat wonderful bad for our cruisin', and
I says to Mrs. Twig, 'We'll skimp and save till we gets enough saved to
buy un.' So each year we saves a bit, sometimes more and sometimes less,
goin' without this and that, and not mindin', because when we goes
without somethin' we thinks about what a fine boat 'tis goin' to help us
get. And so we keeps savin' and savin' and skimpin' and skimpin'. We
were savin' for un for four years----"
"Five years, Zeb," Mrs. Twig corrected.
"You're right, Sophia, 'twere five years, and we has thirty dollars
saved. Then along comes the schooner with the boat, and the skipper says
to me, 'Skipper Zeb, you wants a trap boat. I'll sell you this un.' 'How
much does you want for un?' says I. 'You can have she for fifty
dollars,' says he, 'and that's givin' she to you.' 'All I has is thirty
dollars,' says I. 'Give me the thirty dollars and take un,' says he.
'I'd have to leave un behind whatever.' And so I gets un."
"You _were_ lucky!" said Charley.
"Lucky! Not that!" objected Skipper Zeb. "'Twere the Lard's doin's. He
knows how bad I wants un, and how we skimps to get un, and He says to
that skipper, 'You just sell that trap boat to Skipper Zeb Twig for
thirty dollars,' and the skipper just ups and sells un to me. _I_ says
the Lard were good, and I thanks _He_ for un, and not luck."
The northeast wind was rising. Charley huddled down in the bottom of the
boat, where he found some protection. A gray dawn was breaking, and this
is the coldest and bleakest hour of the day. With dawn both wind and
cold increased, until by mid-forenoon half a gale was blowing.
"We're makin' fine headway," said Toby. "We'll be getting to Double Up
Cove by twelve o'clock, _what_ever."
"I'm wishin' 'twere a bit calmer," observed Skipper Zeb, looking
critically at the sky, "but there's no signs of un."
"Can't we make a landin' somewhere, and wait for un to calm down?" asked
Mrs. Twig solicitously. "I fears cruisin' when 'tis so rough."
"They's no fair shore to land on this side o' the Duck's Head," answers
Skipper Zeb.
White horses were chasing each other over the surrounding sea. A half
hour later the wind had developed into a gale. Skipper Zeb reefed the
mainsail. Then taking a long oar from the boat, he dropped it between
two pegs astern, and while he used this as a sculling oar to steer the
boat, Toby unshipped the rudder and dragged it aboard.
"She's makin' leeway," Skipper Zeb explained, "and I can hold she up to
the wind better with the oar than the tiller."
A roller broke over the boat, and left a foot of water in the bottom.
Toby seized a bucket, and began to bail it out. Charley was now
thoroughly frightened, but with a bucket thrust into his hand by Mrs.
Twig, he assisted Toby.
The boat was on her beam ends, even with shortened sail. The air was
filled with flying spray, and now came the snow that Skipper Zeb had
predicted.
"We'll make a landin' in the lee of the Duck's Head," shouted Skipper
Zeb, his voice booming above the tumult of sea and wind.
Violet was crying, and clinging to her mother.
"Don't be scared, now!" Skipper Zeb reassured, though he was plainly
anxious. "There'll be a fine lee above the Duck's Head!"
"There's the Duck's Head!" Toby's voice suddenly came in warning.
"I sees un!" Skipper Zeb shouted back in confirmation.
"Take care the reef! She's straight ahead!" yelled Toby.
"She's makin' leeway the best I can do," came back from Skipper Zeb.
"Lend me a hand, Toby!"
Toby sprang to his assistance. The long oar bent under the superhuman
effort that the two put forth, but the boat was coming up. Charley saw,
in dim outline through the snow, a high, black mass of rock jutting out
in a long point. It bore a strong resemblance to a duck's neck and head,
and as though to form the duck's bill a reef extended for several yards
beyond into the water and over this the sea with boom and roar heaved in
mighty breakers, sending the spray a hundred feet into the air. If they
failed to pass that awful boiling caldron they would be lost. It was a
terrifying spectacle, and Charley's heart stood still.
They were close upon the reef. Skipper Zeb's face was tense. He was
working like a giant, and Toby, too, was putting all the strength he
possessed upon the sculling oar. With a scant margin to spare, they were
at last shooting past the outer rocks, when the oar snapped with a
report that was heard above the boom of the breakers.
An instant later came a crash, Violet screamed in terror, and Charley
felt the bottom of the boat rise beneath his feet.
VI
THE CAMP AT THE DUCK'S HEAD
When Skipper Zeb's oar broke, the boat, now at the mercy of the wind,
was driven upon a submerged rock at the tip end of the reef extending
some twenty yards out from the cliff known as the Duck's Head. Here it
stuck for what seemed to Charley a long time, reeling in the surf until
he was quite certain it would roll over and they would all be drowned.
Mrs. Twig, clinging with Violet to the mainmast, gave a shrill cry of
despair, and Violet screamed in terror. Then a mighty sea lifted them
like a chip from the rock, and swept the boat onward and beyond the
reef.
Rolling and wallowing in the angry sea, which threatened every moment to
swallow it up, the boat still floated to the astonishment of all, and
Skipper Zeb and Toby, with feverish zeal shipping a fresh oar, began
sculling toward the sheltered and calm waters under the lee of the
Duck's Head.
The wind in their quarter helped them, and with a few mighty strokes of
the oar the boat was carried beyond the reach of the rollers, and a few
minutes later, submerged to her gunwale, grounded upon a narrow strip of
gravelly beach on the western side of the Duck's Head, and Skipper Zeb
carried Violet ashore, while the other half drowned and half frozen
voyageurs followed.
A quantity of driftwood lined the base of the cliff. With an ax, which
Skipper Zeb recovered from the boat, he quickly split some sticks,
whittled shavings with his jack-knife from the dry hearts of the split
sticks, lighted these with a match from a supply which he carried in a
small corked bottle, and which were thus protected from the water, and
in an incredibly short time a cheerful fire was blazing.
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