CHAPTER XXXVII
_In Which the Men are Lost, the Dictator is Nipped and Captain Hand Sobs, "Poor Sir Archibald!"_
WHEN the last party of hunters had been landed from the _Dictator_,the ship was taken off the ice field; and there she hung, in idleness,awaiting the end of the hunt. It was then long past noon. The darkeningsky in the northeast promised storm and an early night more surelythan ever. It fretted the captain. He was accountable to the women andchildren of Green Bay for the lives of the men; so he kept to the deck,with an eye on the weather: and while the gloom deepened and spread, astorm of anxiety gathered in his heart--and, at last, broke in action.
"Call the watch, Mr. Ackell!" he cried, sharply. "We'll wait no longer."
He ran to the bridge, signalled "Stand by!" to the engine-room, andordered the firing of the recall gun. The men of the last party werewithin ear of the report. It brought all work on the ice to a close.The men waited only to pile the dead seals in heaps and mark possessionwith flags.
"Again, mate!" shouted the captain. "They're long about comin', itseems t' me."
A second discharge brought the men on a run to the edge of the ice.It was evident that some danger threatened. They ran at full speed,crowded aboard the waiting boats, and were embarked as quickly as mightbe. Then the ship steamed off to the second field, five miles distant,to pick up the second party. When she came within hearing distance,three signal guns were fired, with the result that, when she came to,the men were waiting for the boats.
It was a run of six miles to the field upon which the first party hadbeen landed--part of the way in and out among the pans. The stormhad now taken form and was advancing swiftly, and the fields in thenortheast were hidden in a spreading darkness. The wind had risen tohalf a gale, and it was beginning to snow. A run of six miles! Thecaptain's heart sank. When he looked at the black clouds rising frombehind the coast, he doubted that the _Dictator_ could do it in time.An appalling fortune seemed to be descending on the men on the ice.
"But we may make it, mate," said the captain, "if----"
"Ay, sir?"
"If they's no ice comin' with the gale."
The ship had been riding the open sea, skirting the floe. Now she cameto the mouth of a broad lane, which wound through the fields. It wasthe course; along that lane, at all hazards, she must thread her way.The danger was extreme. The wind, blowing a gale, might force the greatfields together. Or, if ice came with the wind, the lanes might bechoked up. In either event, what chance would there be for the men? Inthe first event, which was almost inevitable, what chance would therebe for the _Dictator_ herself?
"Cap'n Hand, sir," the mate began, nervously, "is you goin'----"
The captain looked up in amazement when the mate stammered and stopped."Well, sir?" he said.
"Is you goin' inside the ice, sir?"
"Is I goin' WHAT?" roared the captain, turning upon him. "Is I goin'WHAT, sir?"
It was sufficient. The captain _was_ going among the fields. The mateneeded no plainer answer to his question.
"Beg pardon, sir," he muttered meekly. "I thought you was."
"Huh!" growled the captain.
When the ship passed into the lane, the storm burst overhead. Thescunner in the foretop was near blinded by the driven snow. His voicewas swept hither and thither by the wind. Directions came to the bridgein broken sentences. The captain dared not longer drive the vessel atfull speed.
"Half speed!" he signalled.
The ship crept along. For half an hour, while the night drew on, not aword was spoken, save the captain's quiet "Port!" and "Starboard!" intothe wheelhouse tube. Then the mate heard the old man mutter:
"Poor b'y! Poor Sir Archibald!"
No other reference was made to the boy. In the captain's mind,thereafter, for all the mate knew, young Archibald Armstrong, theowner's son, was merely one of a crew of sixty men, lost on the floe.
"Ice ahead!" screamed the lookout in the bow.
The ship was brought to a stop. The lane she had been following hadclosed before her. The mate went forward.
"Heavy ice, sir," he reported.
Broken ice, then, had come down with the wind. It had been carried intothe channels, choking them.
"Does you see water beyond, b'y?" the captain shouted.
"'Tis too thick t' tell, sir."
The captain signalled "Go ahead!" The chance must be taken. To becaught between two fields in a great storm was a fearful situation.So the ship pushed into the ice, moving at a snail's pace, labouringhard, and complaining of the pressure upon her ribs. Soon she made noprogress whatever. The screw was turning noisily; the vessel throbbedwith the labour of the engines; but she was at a standstill.
"Stuck, sir!" exclaimed the mate.
"Ay, mate," the captain said, blankly, "stuck."
The ship struggled bravely to force her way on; but the ice, wedged allabout her, was too heavy.
"God help the men!" said the captain, as he signalled for the stoppingof the engines. "We're stuck!"
"An' God help us," the mate added, in the same spirit, "if the fieldscome together!"
Conceive the situation of the _Dictator_. She lay between two of manyvast, shifting fields, all of immeasurable mass. The captain haddeliberately subjected her to the chances in an effort to rescue themen for whom he was accountable to the women and children of GreenBay. She was caught; and if the wind should drive the fields together,her case would be desperate, indeed. The slow, mighty pressure exertedby such masses is irresistible. The ship would either be crushed tosplinters, or--a slender chance--she would be lifted out of danger forthe time.
Had there been no broken ice about her, destruction would have beeninevitable. Her hope now lay in that ice; for, with the narrowing ofthe space in which it floated, it would in part be forced deep into thewater, and in part be crowded out of it. If it should get under theship's bottom, it would exert an increasing upward pressure; and thatpressure might be strong enough to lift the vessel clear of the fields.The captain had known of such cases; but now he smiled when he calledthem to mind.
"Take a week's rations an' four boats t' the ice, mate," he directed,"an' be quick about it. We'll sure have t' leave the ship."
While the mate went about this work, the captain paced the bridge,regardless of the cold and storm. It was dark, the wind was bitter andstrong, the snow was driving past; but still he paced the bridge, nowand then turning towards the darkness of that place, far off on thefloe, where his men, and the young charge he had been given, were lost.The women of Green Bay would not forgive him for lives lost thus; ofthat he was sure. And the lad--that tender lad----
"Poor little b'y!" he thought. "Poor Sir Archibald!"
For relief from this torturing thought, he went among the men. He foundmost of them gathered in groups, gravely discussing the situation ofthe ship. In the forecastle, some were holding a "prayer-meeting"; theskipper paused to listen to the singing and to the solemn words thatfollowed it. Here and there, as he went along, he spoke an encouragingword; here and there dropped a word of advice, as, "Timothy, b'y, yougot too much on your back; 'tis not wise t' load yourself down whenyou takes t' the ice," and the like; here and there, in a smile or aglance, he found the comforting assurance that the men knew he hadtried to do his duty.
"Cap'n John Hand," he thought, when he returned to the bridge, "youhasn't got a coward aboard!"
The mate came up to report. "We've the boats on the ice, sir," he said,"an' I've warned the crew t' make ready."
"Very well, Mr. Ackell; they's nothin' more t' be done."
"Hark, sir!"
The ice about the ship seemed to be stirring. Beyond--from far off inthe distance to windward--the noise of grinding, breaking ice-panscould be heard. There was no mistaking the warning. The moment of perilwas at hand.
"The fields is comin' together, sir."
"Call the crew, Mr. Ackell," said the captain, quietly.
The men gathered on deck. They were silent while
they waited. Theonly sounds came from the ice--and from overhead, where the wind wasscreaming through the rigging.
"'Tis comin', sir," said the mate.
"Ay."
"God help us!"
"'Twill soon be over, Mr. Ackell," observed the captain.
He awaited the event with a calm spirit.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
_And Last: In Which Wind and Snow and Cold Have Their Way and Death Lands on the Floe. Billy Topsail Gives Himself to a Gust of Wind, and Archie Armstrong Finds Peril and Hardship Stern Teachers. Concerning, also, a New Sloop, a Fore-an'-After and a Tailor's Lay-Figure_
BILL o' Burnt Bay did not lead a race for the landing place. When helooked up, a thick curtain of snow hid the flags. It was then apparentto him that he and his men must pass the night on the ice. In ablizzard of such force and blinding density, no help could reach themfrom the ship, even if she managed to reach the place where the menwere to be taken aboard.
Nothing was visible but the space immediately roundabout; and thewind had risen to such terrific strength that sound could makesmall way against it. Thus, neither lights nor signal guns could beperceived--not though the ship should beat her way to within onehundred yards of where the group stood huddled. There was nothing forit but to seek the shelter of an ice hummock, and there await thepassing of the storm.
"B'ys," he said to the few men who had gathered about him, and heshouted at the top of his voice, for the wind whisked low-spoken wordsaway, "they's a hummock somewheres handy. Leave us get t' the lee ofit."
"No, no!" several men exclaimed. "Leave us get on t' the rest o' thecrew. 'Tis no use stayin' here."
"The path is lost, men," Bill cried. "You'll lose your way--you'll loseyour lives!"
But they would not listen. They hurried forward, and were soonswallowed up by the night and snow. Bill o' Burnt Bay was left alonewith Billy and Archie and a man named Osmond, who was a dull, heavyfellow.
"They's a hummock within a hundred yards o' here," Bill shouted. "Imarked it afore the snow got thick. We must find it. 'Tis----"
"'Tis t' the left; 'tis over there," said Billy, pointing to the left."I marked it well."
"Ay 'tis somewheres t' the left. Our only chance is t' find it. Now,listen well t' what I says. We must spread out. I'll start off. Archie,you follow me; keep sight o' me--keep just sight o' me, an' no more;but don't lose me, b'y, for your life. Osmond, you'll follow the b'y;an' be sure you watch him well. Billy, b'y, you'll follow Osmond. Whenwe gets in line, we'll face t' the left an' go for'ard. The first t'see the hummock will signal the next man, an' he'll pass the word."
The three nodded their heads to signify their understanding of thesedirections.
"Osmond, don't lose sight o' this b'y," said Bill, impressively,placing his hand on Archie's shoulder. "D'you mind? Men," he went on,"if one loses sight o' the others, 'tis all up with us. Leave your peltgo. I'll take mine."
Shelter from that frosty wind was imperative in Archie's case. He madeno complaint, for it was not in his nature to complain; but, strongto endure as he was, and stout as his spirit was, the cold, strikingthrough the fur and wool about him, was having its inevitable effect.
When Bill moved off, dragging his burden of pelt, the boy calmlywaited until the stalwart figure had been reduced to an outline; then,with heavy steps, but fixed purpose to acquit himself like a man, hefollowed, keeping his distance. Osmond came next. Young Billy had theexposed position--a station of honour in which he exulted--at the otherend of the line.
Bill gave the signal, which was passed along by Archie to Osmond and byhim to Billy, and they faced about and moved forward in the directionin which the hummock lay.
Archie searched the gloom for the gray shape of the hummock. It was ashelter--a mere relief. But how despairingly he searched for a sight ofthat formless heap of ice! Soon he began to stumble painfully. Once helost sight of Bill o' Burnt Bay. Then he faltered, fell and could notrise. It was the watchful Bill who picked him up.
"What's this, b'y?" Bill asked, his voice shaking.
"I fell down," Archie answered, sharply. "That's all."
"I'll carry you, b'y," Bill began. "I'll carry you, if----"
Archie roughly pushed the man away. Then he stumbled forward, keepinghis head up.
At that moment, Osmond, who was like a shadow to the right, gave thesignal. So Bill knew that Billy, whom he could not see, had chancedupon the hummock. He caught Archie up in his arms, against the boy'sprotests and struggles, and ran with him to Osmond, and thence toBilly, all the time dragging his "tow."
When they reached the lee of the ice, Archie lay quietly in Bill'sarms. He was about to fall asleep, as Bill perceived.
"Unlash the tow," Bill said, quickly, to Osmond, "an' start a fire."
With the help of Billy, Osmond took a pelt from the pack, and spread iton the ice.
"They's no wood," he said, stupidly.
"Take the cross-bar o' the tow line, dunderhead!" cried Billy. "Here!Leave me do it."
While Billy released the slender bar of wood from the end of theline, stuck it in the blubber and prepared to set fire to it, Billwas dealing with Archie's drowsiness. He shook the lad with allhis strength, slapped him, shook him again, ran him hither andthither, and, at last, roused him to a sense of peril. The boy foughtdesperately to restore his circulation.
"'Tis ready t' light," Billy said to Bill.
"Leave me do it," Bill answered. "Keep movin', b'y," he cautionedArchie. "Don't you give up."
Give up? Not he! And Archie said so--mumbled it scornfully to Bill,and repeated it again and again to himself, until he was sick of themonotony of the words, but could not stop repeating them.
Neither Osmond nor Billy had matches, but Bill had a box in hiswaistcoat pocket. He shielded the contents from the wind and snow whilehe took one match out. Then he closed the box and handed it to Osmondto hold. It was well that he did not return it to his own pocket.
Archie was stumbling back and forth over the twenty yards of shelteredspace. He had a great, shadowy realization of two duties: he must keepin motion, and he must keep out of the wind. All else had passed fromhis consciousness. At every turn, however, he unwittingly venturedfurther past the end of the hummock.
Twice the wind, the full force of which he could not resist, almostcaught him. Then came a time when he had to summon his whole strengthto tear himself from its clutch. He told himself he must not again passbeyond the lee of the ice. But, before he returned to that point, hehad forgotten the danger.
A mighty gust laid hold on him, carried him off his feet, and swept himfar out into the darkness.[8] It chanced that Billy Topsail, who hadkept an eye on Archie, caught sight of him as he fell.
"Archie!" the boy screamed.
"Archie?" cried Bill, looking up. "What----"
Archie had even then been carried out of sight. Billy leaped to hisfeet and followed. He gave himself to the same gust of wind, and, withdifficulty keeping himself upright, was carried along with it. Billgrasped the situation in a flash. He, too, leaped up, and ran into thestorm.
"Archie, b'y!" he cried. "Where is you? Oh, where is you, lad?" It wasthe first time in many years that heart's agony had wrung a cry fromold Bill o' Burnt Bay.
Billy Topsail was carried swiftly along by the wind. It was clear tohim that, should he diverge from the path of the gust, not only wouldhe be unable to find the lost boy, but he himself would be in hopelesscase. The wind swept him close upon Archie's track, but, as its forcewasted, ever more slowly. He soon tripped over an obstruction, andplunged forward on his face. He recovered, and crawled back. There hecame upon Archie, lying in a heap, half covered by a drift of snow.
"B'y," Billy shouted, "is you dead?"
Archie opened his eyes. Billy Topsail looked close, but could see nolight of intelligence in them. He shook the boy violently.
"Wake up!" he cried. "Wake up!"
"What?" Archie responded, faintly.
Billy lifte
d him to his feet, but there was no strength in the lad'slegs; he was limp as a drunken man. But this exertion restored BillyTopsail; he felt his own strength returning--a strength which thearduous toil of the coast had mightily developed.
"Stand up, b'y!" he shouted in Archie's ear. "Put your arm on myshoulder. I'll help you along."
"No," Archie muttered. But despite this protest he was lifted up; thenhe said: "Give me your hand. I'm all right."
Billy wasted no words. He locked his arms about Archie's middle,lifted him, and staggered forward against the wind.
The wind had fallen somewhat, and he made some progress. But the burdenwas heavy, and twice he fell. Then he heard Bill o' Burnt Bay's voice,and he shouted a response, but the wind carried the words away. Hecould hear Bill, who was to windward, but Bill could not hear him. Sowhen the call came again, he marked the location and staggered in thatdirection.
"Oh, Billy! Oh, Archie!"
The voice was nearer--and to the left. Billy Topsail changed hiscourse. The next cry came from the right again. Was the wind deceivinghim? Or was Bill changing his place? Then came a ringing cry near athand.
"Bill!" screamed Billy Topsail.
"Here! Where is you?"
Bill's great body emerged from the darkness. He cried out joyfully ashe rushed forward, took Archie from Billy's arms, and slung him overhis shoulder.
"Praise God!" he muttered tremulously, when he felt life stirring inthe small body.
He put his face close to Billy Topsail's and looked steadily into theboy's eyes for an instant; and no words were needed to say what hemeant.
"WE'RE SAVED!" SAID BILL.]
But where was the hummock? Bill looked about.
"'Tis there," said Billy, pointing ahead.
Bill shook his head. His homing instinct, to which he had trustedhis life in many a fog and night, told him otherwise. Reason enteredinto his decision not at all; he merely waited until he was persuadedthat his face was turned in the right direction. Then he started offunhesitatingly. He had found the harbour entrance thus in many a thicksummer night when his fishing punt rode a trackless sea.
"Take hold o' me jacket, b'y," he said to Billy. "Mind you stick closeby me."
For some time they wandered without seeing any sign of the hummock.Bill's heart sank lower and lower; for he knew that if they did notsoon find shelter, Archie would die in his arms. At last Bill caughtsight of a light--a dull, glowing light.
"Is that a fire?" he asked.
"'Tis the hummock!" Billy cried. "'Tis Osmond with the fire goin'. 'Tishe! 'Tis he!"
"We're saved," said Bill.
Once in the lee of the hummock, they roused Archie from his stupor,and warmed him over the fire, which Osmond, after many failures, hadsucceeded in lighting. They broke the cross-piece of the tow line intwo, took another pelt from the pack, and made two fires. The woodwas like the wick in a candle; it blazed in the blubber, and was notconsumed. Between the fires they huddled together, with Archie in themiddle. Their bodies warmed the lad, and he slumbered snugly, quietly,through the night. Billy Topsail, more sturdy of body, if not ofspirit, kept awake, and had a part in the talk with which each tried tocheer the others through the fearful, dragging hours.
"'Tis the day," said Bill, at last, pointing to the east.
The wind abated as the dawn advanced, and the snow ceased to fall.Light crept over the field, and men appeared from behind clumpers ofice. Group signalled to group. All made their way to the place wherethe ship had landed them, a dozen men were already clustered--a gaunt,haggard, frost-bitten crowd. The terrors of the night still oppressedthem, and, through weeks, would haunt their dreams.
They counted their number. Fifty-nine living men were there; andthere was one dead body--that of Tim Tuttle of Raggles Island, who hadstrayed away from his fellows and been lost. And thus they awaited thefull break of day, while eyes were strained into the departing night.Where was the ship? Had she survived? These were the questions theyasked one another.
"What's that patch o' black?" Bill o' Burnt Bay asked. "Due west,lads--a mile or more off?"
"Sure, it looks like the ship," some of the men agreed.
As the light increased, the storm passed on. A burst of sunshine atlast revealed the _Dictator_, lying on the ice, listed far to port. Thebroken ice in which she had been caught, they learned afterwards, hadbeen forced under her, and she had been lifted out of danger when thefields that nipped her came together.
When it is said that old Captain Hand welcomed his crew with open arms,and embraced Archie--the meanwhile searching through all his pocketsfor a handkerchief, which he could not find--there remains little to betold. He was more haggard than the rescued men. What depths his bravespirit sounded on that long night are not to be described.
"Well, b'y," was what he said to Archie, "you're back, is you?"
"Safe and sound, cap'n," the boy replied, wearily, "and hungry."
"Send the cook for'ard with the scoff!" roared the captain.
Before noon, all the men were safe aboard, and the ice was breaking up.When the _Dictator_ settled softly into the water, at the parting ofthe fields, the pelt was stowed away. She had no difficulty in makingthe open sea; and thence she set forth in search of other floes andother seal packs.
* * * * *
The _Dictator_ made Long Tom Harbour without mishap. There it was madeknown that the name of Billy Topsail of Ruddy Cove was "on the books,"and not a man grumbled because the lad was to share with the rest.There, too, old John Roth, to whom two "white coats" had been promised,claimed the gift of Archie, and was not disappointed. And there Archiesaid good-bye to Billy for the time.
"I'll see you this summer," he said. "Don't forget, Billy. I'll spenda week of vacation time with you at Ruddy Cove."
"No," Billy replied. "You'll spend it at New Bay. Sure, me name is onthe books, an' I'm goin' after lobsters with me own skiff in July."
"I'll go with you, if you'll take me," said Archie. "And I can never,never forget that you----"
"Sure," Billy Topsail interrupted, flushing, "you'll go with me t' NewBay. An' times we'll have of it!"
"Good-bye!"
"Good-bye, b'y!"
And so they parted on terms of perfect equality.
* * * * *
That summer, Billy Topsail went to New Bay. But it was not in a skiff;it was in a swift little sloop, especially made to be sailed by a crewof one. It came North, mysteriously, from St. John's, to the wonderof all Green Bay; and its name was _Rescue_. And a letter came Northfor Bill o' Burnt Bay: which, when he read it, stirred him to theprofoundest depth of his rugged old heart, for he roared in a mostunmannerly fashion that he'd "be busted if he'd take a thing forstandin' by such a lad!" In reply to a second letter, however, Billsaid he would "be willin' t' take it on credit, if he'd be 'lowed t'pay for it as he could." So that is how Bill o' Burnt Bay came to sailto the Labrador in his own fore-and-after, when the fish were running.
And, once, Sir Archibald Armstrong turned to his son. "Well, my boy,"he said, slowly, "I've been wanting to ask you a question. What do youthink of your shipmates?"
"I think they're heroes, every one!" Archie answered.
"Do you think you now know the difference between a man and a tailor'slay-figure?"
"Oh, sir," Archie laughed, "I'll never forget _that_!"
Billy Topsail had never needed to learn.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] It is related by the survivors of the steamship _Greenland_disaster, of some years ago, in which sixty lives were lost, that oneman was in this way carried half a mile over the ice. When he wasfound, he had gone mad.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
Page 49, "cost" changed to "coast" (a rocky sea-coast)
Page 142, "peninsular" changed to "peninsula" (bleak peninsula to the)
Page 216, "Lan
dside" changed to "Landslide" (Landslide at Little Tickle)
Page 274, the anchor for the footnote after "raftin' ice" was added tothe text.
Page 328, "handkerckief" changed to "handkerchief" (pockets for ahandkerchief)
The Adventures of Billy Topsail Page 40