by Kirk Munroe
CHAPTER XXIX.
DRIFTING WITH THE ICE PACK.
Cabot had learned from Dr. Aspland of White's arrival at Battle Harbourtwo months before, with a leg so badly wrenched by slipping into an icecrevice that he had gone to the hospital for treatment, but hadexpected that he would long ere this have taken his departure. At thesame time White had, of course, given up all hope of ever again seeingthe friend to whom he had become so deeply attached. He had beenterribly cut up over Cabot's disappearance on the night of theblizzard, and, with the faithful Yim, had spent days in searching forhim. They had gone back to the timber, only to find the Indian campdeserted, and that its recent occupants had made a hasty departure.Finally they had given over the hopeless search and had sadly continuedtheir southward journey.
Now to again behold Cabot alive and well filled poor White with suchjoyful amazement that for some minutes he could not frame anintelligent sentence. He flew down to where the new arrival stillstruggled with his hauling gear, and flung himself so impulsively uponhim that both rolled over in the snow. There, with gaspingexclamations of delight, they wrestled themselves into a mood ofcomparative calmness that enabled them to regain their feet and beginto ask questions.
For some time White had been sufficiently recovered to resume hisjourney, had an opportunity offered for so doing, but, as none had cometo him, he had earned his board by acting as nurse in the hospital. Ifhe had been anxious to depart before, he was doubly so now that he hadregained his comrade, and Cabot fully shared his impatience of furtherdelay. But how they were to reach the coast of Newfoundland they couldnot imagine. It would still be many weeks before vessels of any kindcould be expected at Battle Harbour, and they had no money with whichto undertake the expensive journey by way of Quebec.
"If only the ocean would freeze over, we could walk home!" exclaimedCabot one day, as the two friends sat gloomily discussing theirprospects. And then that very thing came to pass.
A dog sledge arrived from Forteau, that same evening, bringing awounded man to the hospital for treatment, and its driver reported theStrait of Belle Isle as being so solidly packed with ice that severalpersons had traversed it from shore to shore.
"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 ofthe following morning the impatient lads were on their way up the coastin search of the ice bridge to Newfoundland. Cabot had traded hiselectric flashlight for a supply of provisions sufficient to load hissled, which they took turns at hauling, and four days after leavingBattle Harbour they reached L'Anse au Loup. At that point the straitis only a dozen miles wide, and there, if anywhere, they could crossit. 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 shortconversation with its owner caused them to change their plans.
"Yas, there be solid pack clear to ither side all right," he said, "buthappen it 'll go out any time. Fust change o' wind 'll loose it, andone's to be looked for. Ah wouldn't resk it on no account mahself, butif 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 aboutit the better. If we make haste I believe we can get across by dark."
Thus determined, and disregarding a further expostulation from thefisherman, our lads set their faces resolutely towards the confusion ofhummocks, "pans," floes tilted on edge, and up-reared masses of blueice forming the "strait's pack" of that season. Five minutes laterthey were lost to sight amid the frozen chaos.
"Wal," soliloquized the man left standing on shore, "Ah 'opes they'llmake it, but it's a fearsome resk, an' Gawd 'elp 'em if come a shift o'wind afore they're over."
Nothing, in all their previous experience of Labrador travel, hadequalled the tumultuous ruggedness of the way by which Cabot and Whitewere now attempting to bridge that boisterous arm of the stormynorthern ocean, and to advance at all taxed their strength to theutmost. To transport their laden sled was next to impossible, but theydared not leave it behind, and with their progress thus impeded theywere barely half way to the Newfoundland coast when night overtookthem. Even though the gathering darkness had not compelled a halt,their utter exhaustion would have demanded a rest. For an hour Whitehad been obliged to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out with thepain of his weakened, and now overstrained, ankle, and when Cabotannounced that it was no use trying to get further before morning, hesank to the ice with a groan.
Full of sympathy for his comrade's suffering, the Yankee lad at onceset to work to make him as comfortable as circumstances would permit,and soon had him lying on a sleeping bag, in a niche formed by twouptilted slabs of ice. Profiting by past experience, they had procuredand brought with them an Eskimo lamp with its moss wick, a smallquantity 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, andthen the weary lads turned in for such sleep as their cheerlessquarters might yield. About midnight the wind that had for many daysblown steadily from the eastward changed to northwest, and, with thecoming of daylight, it was blowing half a gale from that direction.
To Cabot this change meant little or nothing, and he was suggestingthat they remain where they were until White's leg should be thoroughlyrested, 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 thatcase we'd best get a move on in a hurry. Do you think your leg willstand the trip?"
"It will have to," rejoined White, grimly; and a few minutes later theyhad resumed the toilsome progress that was now a race for life. But itwas a snail's race, for the task of moving the sled had devolvedentirely upon Cabot, White having all he could do to drag himselfalong. Each step gave him such exquisite pain that, by the time theyhad accomplished a couple of miles, he was crawling on hands and knees.
Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was inplain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spokenwhen there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a soundof crashing 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'llleave the sled, and I'll get you ashore even if I have to carry you.It isn't so very far now."
With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned toassist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice paleand motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, Whitehad fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the shore, remainbeside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and savehimself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the firstplan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden,and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second intoexecution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements ashis slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The thirdplan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed asunworthy of consideration.
In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, andsplitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length,Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion. Bythe time White recovered consciousness, a broad lane of black water hadopened between that place and the Newfoundland coast, while otherscould be seen in various directions.
"What are you doing?" asked White, feebly, after he had struggled backto a knowledge of passing events, and had, for some minutes, beenwatching his fri
end's movements.
"Building an igloo," answered Cabot, cheerily. "We might as well becomfortable while we can, and though my hut won't have thearchitectural beauty that Yim could give it, I believe it will keep uswarm."
It would have been more than easy, and perfectly natural, under thecircumstances, to give way to utter despair; for of the severalhopeless situations in which our lads had been placed during the pastfew months, the present was, by far, the worst. At any moment the icebeneath them might open and drop them into fathomless waters. Even ifit held fast, they were certainly being carried out to sea, where theywould be exposed to furious gales that must ultimately work theirdestruction. In spite of all this, Cabot Grant insisted on remaininghopefully cheerful. He said he had squeezed out of just as tightplaces before, and believed he would get out of this one somehow. Atany rate, as crying wouldn't help it, he wasn't going to cry. Besidesall sorts of things might happen. They might drift ashore somewhere orinto the track of passing steamers. Wouldn't it be fine to be pickedup and carried straight to New York? If steamers failed them, theywere almost certain to sight fishing boats sooner or later.
"Yes," added White, catching some of his companion's hopefulness, "orwe may meet with the sealers who leave St. Johns about this time everyyear and hunt seals on the ice pack off shore."
"Of course," agreed the other. "So what's the use of worrying?"
In spite of the brave front and cheerful aspect that Cabot maintainedbefore his helpless comrade, he often broke down when off by himself,vainly straining his eyes from the summit of some ice hummock for anyhopeful sign, and acknowledged that their situation was indeeddesperate.
That first night, spent sleeplessly and in momentary expectation thatthe ice beneath them would break, was the worst. After that theydreaded more than anything the fate that would overtake them with thedisappearance of their slender stock of provisions. While thisdiminished with alarming rapidity, despite their efforts at economy,their ice island drifted out from the strait, and soon afterwardsbecame incorporated with the great Arctic pack that always in thespring forces its resistless way steadily south-ward towards themelting waters of the Gulf Stream.
Land had disappeared with the second day of the ice movement, and afterthat, for a week, nothing occurred to break the terrible monotony oflife on the pack, as experienced by our young castaways. Then came thedreaded announcement that one portion of their supplies was exhausted.There was no longer a drop of oil for their lamp.