Under the Great Bear Part 25

Cabot had learned from Dr. Aspland of White's arrival at Battle Harbour two months before, with a leg so badly wrenched by slipping into an ice crevice that he had gone to the hospital for treatment, but had expected that he would long ere this have taken his departure. At the same time White had, of course, given up all hope of ever again seeing the friend to whom he had become so deeply attached. He had been terribly cut up over Cabot's disappearance on the night of the blizzard, and, with the faithful Yim, had spent days in searching for him. They had gone back to the timber, only to find the Indian camp deserted, and that its recent occupants had made a hasty departure.

Finally they had given over the hopeless search and had sadly continued their southward journey.

Now to again behold Cabot alive and well filled poor White with such joyful amazement that for some minutes he could not frame an intelligent sentence. He flew down to where the new arrival still struggled with his hauling gear, and flung himself so impulsively upon him that both rolled over in the snow. There, with gasping exclamations of delight, they wrestled themselves into a mood of comparative calmness that enabled them to regain their feet and begin to ask questions.

For some time White had been sufficiently recovered to resume his journey, had an opportunity offered for so doing, but, as none had come to him, he had earned his board by acting as nurse in the hospital. If he had been anxious to depart before, he was doubly so now that he had regained his comrade, and Cabot fully shared his impatience of further delay. But how they were to reach the coast of Newfoundland they could not imagine. It would still be many weeks before vessels of any kind could be expected at Battle Harbour, and they had no money with which to undertake the expensive journey by way of Quebec.

"If only the ocean would freeze over, we could walk home!" exclaimed Cabot one day, as the two friends sat gloomily discussing their prospects. And then that very thing came to pa.s.s.

A dog sledge arrived from Forteau, that same evening, bringing a wounded man to the hospital for treatment, and its driver reported the Strait of Belle Isle as being so solidly packed with ice that several persons had traversed it from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

"If others have made the trip, why can't we?" cried Cabot.

"I am willing to try it, if you are," replied White, and by daylight of the following morning the impatient lads were on their way up the coast in search of the ice bridge to Newfoundland. Cabot had traded his electric flashlight for a supply of provisions sufficient to load his sled, which they took turns at hauling, and four days after leaving Battle Harbour they reached L'Anse au Loup. At that point the strait is only a dozen miles wide, and there, if anywhere, they could cross it. It was midday when they came to the winter huts of L'Anse au Loup, and they had intended remaining in one of them over night, but a short conversation with its owner caused them to change their plans.

"Yas, there be solid pack clear to ither side all right," he said, "but happen it 'll go out any time. Fust change o' wind 'll loose it, and one's to be looked for. Ah wouldn't resk it on no account mahself, but if Ah had it to do, Ah'd go in a hurry 'ithout wasting no time."

"It is a case of necessity with us," said Cabot.

"Yes," agreed White, "we simply must go, and the quicker we set about it the better. If we make haste I believe we can get across by dark."

Thus determined, and disregarding a further expostulation from the fisherman, our lads set their faces resolutely towards the confusion of hummocks, "pans," floes tilted on edge, and up-reared ma.s.ses of blue ice forming the "strait's pack" of that season. Five minutes later they were lost to sight amid the frozen chaos.

"Wal," soliloquized the man left standing on sh.o.r.e, "Ah 'opes they'll make it, but it's a fearsome resk, an' Gawd 'elp 'em if come a s.h.i.+ft o'

wind afore they're over."

Nothing, in all their previous experience of Labrador travel, had equalled the tumultuous ruggedness of the way by which Cabot and White were now attempting to bridge that boisterous arm of the stormy northern ocean, and to advance at all taxed their strength to the utmost. To transport their laden sled was next to impossible, but they dared not leave it behind, and with their progress thus impeded they were barely half way to the Newfoundland coast when night overtook them. Even though the gathering darkness had not compelled a halt, their utter exhaustion would have demanded a rest. For an hour White had been obliged to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out with the pain of his weakened, and now overstrained, ankle, and when Cabot announced that it was no use trying to get further before morning, he sank to the ice with a groan.

Full of sympathy for his comrade's suffering, the Yankee lad at once set to work to make him as comfortable as circ.u.mstances would permit, and soon had him lying on a sleeping bag, in a niche formed by two uptilted slabs of ice. Profiting by past experience, they had procured and brought with them an Eskimo lamp with its moss wick, a small quant.i.ty of seal oil, and a supply of matches, so that, after a while, Cabot procured enough boiling water to furnish a small pot of tea.

When they had eaten their simple meal of tea, hard bread, and pemmican, White's ankle was bathed with water as hot as he could bear it, and then the weary lads turned in for such sleep as their cheerless quarters might yield. About midnight the wind that had for many days blown steadily from the eastward changed to northwest, and, with the coming of daylight, it was blowing half a gale from that direction.

To Cabot this change meant little or nothing, and he was suggesting that they remain where they were until White's leg should be thoroughly rested, when the other interrupted him with:

"But we can't stay here. Don't you feel the change of wind?"

"What of it?" asked Cabot.

"Oh, nothing at all, only that it will drive the ice out to sea, and, if we haven't reached land before it begins to move, we'll go with it."

"You don't mean it!" cried Cabot, now thoroughly alarmed. "In that case we'd best get a move on in a hurry. Do you think your leg will stand the trip?"

"It will have to," rejoined White, grimly; and a few minutes later they had resumed the toilsome progress that was now a race for life. But it was a snail's race, for the task of moving the sled had devolved entirely upon Cabot, White having all he could do to drag himself along. Each step gave him such exquisite pain that, by the time they had accomplished a couple of miles, he was crawling on hands and knees.

Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was in plain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spoken when there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a sound of cras.h.i.+ng and grinding not to be mistaken.

"The ice is moving!" gasped White.

"Then," said Cabot bravely, "we'll move too. Come on, old man. We'll leave the sled, and I'll get you ash.o.r.e even if I have to carry you.

It isn't so very far now."

With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned to a.s.sist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice pale and motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, White had fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the sh.o.r.e, remain beside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and save himself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the first plan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden, and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second into execution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements as his slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The third plan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed as unworthy of consideration.

In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, and splitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length, Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion. By the time White recovered consciousness, a broad lane of black water had opened between that place and the Newfoundland coast, while others could be seen in various directions.

"What are you doing?" asked White, feebly, after he had struggled back to a knowledge of pa.s.sing events, and had, for some minutes, been watching his friend's movements.

"Building an igloo," answered Cabot, cheerily. "We might as well be comfortable while we can, and though my hut won't have the architectural beauty that Yim could give it, I believe it will keep us warm."

It would have been more than easy, and perfectly natural, under the circ.u.mstances, to give way to utter despair; for of the several hopeless situations in which our lads had been placed during the past few months, the present was, by far, the worst. At any moment the ice beneath them might open and drop them into fathomless waters. Even if it held fast, they were certainly being carried out to sea, where they would be exposed to furious gales that must ultimately work their destruction. In spite of all this, Cabot Grant insisted on remaining hopefully cheerful. He said he had squeezed out of just as tight places before, and believed he would get out of this one somehow. At any rate, as crying wouldn't help it, he wasn't going to cry. Besides all sorts of things might happen. They might drift ash.o.r.e somewhere or into the track of pa.s.sing steamers. Wouldn't it be fine to be picked up and carried straight to New York? If steamers failed them, they were almost certain to sight fis.h.i.+ng boats sooner or later.

"Yes," added White, catching some of his companion's hopefulness, "or we may meet with the sealers who leave St. Johns about this time every year and hunt seals on the ice pack off sh.o.r.e."

"Of course," agreed the other. "So what's the use of worrying?"

In spite of the brave front and cheerful aspect that Cabot maintained before his helpless comrade, he often broke down when off by himself, vainly straining his eyes from the summit of some ice hummock for any hopeful sign, and acknowledged that their situation was indeed desperate.

That first night, spent sleeplessly and in momentary expectation that the ice beneath them would break, was the worst. After that they dreaded more than anything the fate that would overtake them with the disappearance of their slender stock of provisions. While this diminished with alarming rapidity, despite their efforts at economy, their ice island drifted out from the strait, and soon afterwards became incorporated with the great Arctic pack that always in the spring forces its resistless way steadily south-ward towards the melting waters of the Gulf Stream.

Land had disappeared with the second day of the ice movement, and after that, for a week, nothing occurred to break the terrible monotony of life on the pack, as experienced by our young castaways. Then came the dreaded announcement that one portion of their supplies was exhausted.

There was no longer a drop of oil for their lamp.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE COMING OF DAVID GIDGE.

White, who was still confined to the hut with his strained ankle, announced that they no longer had any oil upon Cabot's return at dusk from a day of fruitless hunting and outlook duty on the ice.

"That's bad," replied the latter, in a tone whose cheerfulness strove to conceal his anxiety. "Now we'll have to burn the sled. Lucky thing for us that it's of wood instead of being one of those bone affairs such as we saw at Locked Harbour."

"Our provisions are nearly gone too," added White. "In fact we've only enough for one more day."

"Oh, well! A lot of things can happen in a day, and some of them may happen to us."

But the only thing worthy of note that happened on the following day was a storm of such violence as to compel even stout-hearted Cabot to remain behind the sheltering walls of the hut, and, while it raged, our s.h.i.+vering lads, crouched above a tiny blaze of sled wood, ate their last morsel of food. They still had a small quant.i.ty of tea, but that was all. As soon, therefore, as the storm abated Cabot sallied forth with his gun, still hopeful, in spite of many disappointments, of finding some bird or beast that, by a lucky shot, might be brought to the table.

The ice pack was of such vast extent that it seemed as though it must support animal life of some kind, but Cabot traversed it that day for many miles without finding so much as a track or a feather. That night's supper was a pot of tea, and a similar one formed the sole nourishment upon which Cabot again set forth the next morning for another of those weary hunts.

This time he went further from the hut than he had dared go on previous expeditions; but on them he had been hopeful and knew that even though he failed in his hunting he would still find food awaiting him on his return. Now he was desperate with hunger, and the knowledge that failing in his present effort he would not have strength for another.

In his mind, too, he carried a vivid picture of poor White, crouching in that wretched hut over an expiring blaze fed by the very last of their wood.

"I simply can't go back empty-handed!" he cried aloud. "It would be better not to go back at all, and let him hope for my coming to the last."

So the young hunter pushed wearily and hopelessly on, until he found himself at the foot of a line of icebergs that had been frozen into the pack, where they resembled a range of fantastically shaped hills.

Cabot had seen them from a distance on a previous expedition, and had wondered what lay beyond. Now he determined to find out, though he knew if he once crossed them there would be little chance of regaining the hut before dark. It was a laborious climb, and several times he slid back to the place of starting, but each mishap of this kind only made him the more determined to gain the top. At length, breathless and bruised, crawling on hands and knees, he reached a point from which he could look beyond the barrier. As he did so, he turned sick and uttered a choking cry.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He reached a point from which he could look beyond the barrier.]