CHAPTER XVII
_Billy Topsail Wrings Out His Clothes and Finds Himself Cut off From Shore by Thirty Yards of Heaving Ice_
BILLY could swim--could swim like any Newfoundland dog bred in GreenBay. Moreover, the life he led--the rugged, venturesome calling of theshore fishermen--had inured him to sudden danger. First of all he freedhimself from the cumbersome mail-bag. He would not have abandoned ithad he not been in such case as when, as the Newfoundlanders say, itwas "every hand for his life."
Then he made for the surface with swift, strong strokes. A few morestrokes brought him to the edge of the ice. He clambered out, stillgasping for breath, and turned about to account to himself for hispredicament.
The drift of snow had collapsed; he observed that it had covered somepart of a wide hole, and that the exposed water was almost of a colourwith the ice beyond--a polished black. Hence, he did not bitterly blamehimself for the false step, as he might have done had he plungedhimself into obvious danger through carelessness. He did not wonderthat he had been deceived.
Her Majesty's mail, so far as the boy could determine, was slowlysinking to the bottom of the bay.
There was no help in regret. To escape from the bitter wind and thedusk, now fast falling, was the present duty. He could think of all therest when he had leisure to sit before the fire and dream. He took offhis jacket and wrung it out--a matter of some difficulty, for it wasalready stiff with frost. His shirt followed--then his boots and histrousers. Soon he was stripped to his rosy skin. The wind, sweeping infrom the open sea, stung him as it whipped past.
When the last garment was wrung out he was shivering, and his teethwere chattering so fast that he could not keep them still. Dusk soonturns to night on this coast, and the night comes early. There wasleft but time enough to reach the first of the goat-paths at CreepyBluff, two miles away--not time to finish the overland tramp to RuddyCove--before darkness fell.
When he was about to dress, his glance chanced to pass over the water.The mail-bag--it could be nothing else--was floating twenty-yards offthe ice. It had been prepared with cork for such accidents, which notinfrequently befall it.
"'Tis Her Majesty's mail, b'y," Billy could hear the mailman say.
"But 'tis more than I can carry t' Ruddy Cove now," he thought.
Nevertheless, he made no move to put on his shirt. He continued to lookat the mail-bag. "'Tis the mail--gov'ment mail," he thought again.Then, after a rueful look at the water: "Sure, nobody'll know that itfloated. 'Tis as much as I can do t' get myself safe t' Gull Cove. I'dfreeze on the way t' Ruddy Cove."
There was no comfort in these excuses. There, before him, was the bag.It was in plain sight. It had not sunk. He would fail in his duty tothe country if he left it floating there. It was an intolerable thought!
"'Tis t' Ruddy Cove I'll take that bag this day," he muttered.
He let himself gingerly into the water, and struck out. It was bittercold, but he persevered, with fine courage, until he had his armsafely linked through the strap of the bag. It was the country heserved! In some vague form this thought sounded in his mind, repeatingitself again and again, while he swam for the ice with the bag in tow.
He drew himself out with much difficulty, hauled the mail-bag afterhim, and proceeded to dress with all speed. His clothes were frozenstiff, and he had to beat them on the ice to soften them; but thestruggle to don them sent the rich blood rushing through his body, andhe was warmed to a glow.
On went the bag, and off went the boy. When he came to the firmer ice,and Creepy Bluff was within half a mile, the wind carried this cheerysong up the bay:
Lukie's boat is painted green, The finest boat that ever was seen; Lukie's boat has cotton sails, A juniper rudder and galvanized nails.
At Creepy Bluff, which the wind strikes with full force, the ice wasbreaking up inshore. The gale had risen with the coming of the night.Great seas spent their force beneath the ice--cracking it, breaking it,slowly grinding it to pieces against the rocks.
The Bluff marks the end of the bay. No ice forms beyond. Thus the wavesswept in with unbroken power, and were fast reducing the shore cakes toa mass of fragments. Paul was cut off from the shore by thirty yards ofheaving ice. No bit of it would bear his weight; nor, so fine had itbeen ground, could he leap from place to place as he had done before.
"'Tis sprawl I must," he thought.
The passage was no new problem. He had been in such case more thanonce upon his return from the offshore seal-hunt. Many fragments wouldtogether bear him up, where few would sink beneath him. He lay flat onhis stomach, and, with the gaff to help support him, crawled out fromthe solid place, dragging the bag. His body went up and down with theice. Now an arm was thrust through, again a leg went under water.
Progress was fearfully slow. Inch by inch he gained on theshore--crawling--crawling steadily. All the while he feared that thegreat pans would drift out and leave the fragments room to disperse.Once he had to spread wide his arms and legs and pause until the icewas packed closer.
"Two yards more--only two yards more!" he could say at last.
Once on the road to Ruddy Cove, which he well knew, his spirits rose;and with a cheery mood came new strength. It was a rough road, up hilland down again, through deep snowdrifts and over slippery rocks. Nightfell; but there was light enough to show the way, save in the deepervalleys, and there he had to struggle along as best he might.
Step after step, hill after hill, thicket after thicket: cheerfully hetrudged on; for the mail-bag was safe on his back, and Ruddy Cove wasbut three miles distant. Three was reduced to two, two to one, one tothe last hill.
From the crest of Ruddy Rock he could look down on the lights of theharbour--yellow lights, lying in the shadows of the valley. There wasa light in the post-office. They were waiting for him there--waitingfor their letters--waiting to send the mail on to the north. In a fewminutes he could say that Her Majesty's mail had been brought safe toRuddy Cove.
* * * * *
"Be the mail come?"
Billy looked up from his seat by the roaring fire in the post-office.An old woman had come in. There was a strange light in her eyes--thelight of a hope which survives, spite of repeated disappointment.
"Sure, Aunt Esther; 'tis here at last."
"Be there a letter for me?"
Billy hoped that there was. He longed to see those gentle eyesshine--to see the famished look disappear.
"No, Aunt Esther; 'tis not come yet. Maybe 'twill come next----"
"Sure, I've waited these three year," she said, with a trembling lip."'Tis from me son----"
"Ha!" cried the postmaster. "What's this? 'Tis all blurred by thewater. 'Missus E--s--B--l--g--e--l.' Sure, 'tis you, woman. 'Tis aletter for you at last!"
"'Tis from me son!" the old woman muttered eagerly. "'Tis t' tell mewhere he is, an'--an'--when he's comin' home. Thank God, the mail camesafe the night."
What if Billy had left the mail-bag to soak and sink in the waters ofthe bay? What if he had failed in his duty to the people? How manyother such letters might there not be in that bag for the mothers andfathers of the northern ports?
"Thank God," he thought, "that Her Majesty's mail came safe the night!"
Then he went off home, and met Bobby Lot on the way.
"Hello!" said Bobby. "Got back?"
"Hello yourself!" said Billy. "I did."
They eyed each other delightedly; they were too boyish to shake hands.
"How's the ice?" asked Bobby Lot.
"Not bad," said Billy.
The Adventures of Billy Topsail Page 20