VII.
Lost in the Fog.—At the Mercy of the Tide.—The last Rock.—Wanderings on a lonely Shore.—A great Discovery.—A new Mode of Cooking.
MEANTIME, what had become of the boys? Was the “B. O. W. C.” thus overwhelmed beneath the dark wave? Were all the grief, and the watching, and the tireless search of the noble-hearted Mr. Long to be unavailing?
We shall see.
As the boat sped away, dragged on by the swift current, the boys sat in astonishment and consternation. Bart supported Bruce’s head, and Arthur hurried to the stern to assist. They wet his pale brow in silence; while Bruce, in a faint voice, told them that he had been seized with a sudden spasm. He soon felt better, though unable to exert himself.
By that time the fog had closed in around them, and both the schooner and the shore had been shut out from their view. They were drifting swiftly on, they could not tell where. For a long time they sat watching and waiting—how long they did not know. In seasons of suspense, moments are prolonged to hours; and so it was here. On they went, and still on. Each one well knew all the possibilities of the danger that lay before them. There was a wide and a wild sea, overspread with fog-clouds, where the waves were rising and the night was coming down. Into the midst of all this they were being borne by swift currents. This they all knew, yet not a sound of dismay escaped any one of them. Whatever each one may have felt of fear, he sat in silence and gave no sign. There were stout hearts that beat in those slender, boyish breasts, that awaited, undismayed, the terrors of the deep.
Bart was the first to rouse himself.
“Boys,” said he, drawing forth a tin pail from under the seat, “we must fight for our lives, and make up our minds to pass the night here. Well have to use this concern, I think.”
“Here’s something, too, that may be of use,” said Arthur, drawing out a narrow plank from the bottom of the boat. “Phil, there’s another one; just draw it out.”
Phil reached down for it, but Tom Crawford dragged it out first.
“I’m stronger than you, Phil,” said he. “If there’s to be any paddling, I’ll do it.”
Meanwhile Arthur drew his knife, and began cutting at the plank so as to fashion it into an oar. Tom did the same.
Soon they were interrupted by a shout from Bart.
“Hurrah, boys! Land! land!” he cried. “Look! look!” and he pointed to the left.
True enough, there was the dim outline of black cliffs rising high not far away. Past these they were drifting. In an instant Arthur and Tom put out their planks, and began to use them as paddles, in the Indian fashion, heading the boat toward the shore, and putting forth all their strength. Bart, too, tried to use his dipper for a paddle.
The boat drifted on; but the current swept them in nearer and nearer. Some progress was also made by the paddles, rude though they were.
Borne on by the tide, the boat every moment drew nearer to the shore; yet every moment it was swiftly drifting by, and it now became a question whether it would be at all possible for them to reach, the land. Already they could see the end of the island, a precipitous cliff, not far away, toward which they were drifting. A few minutes more, and they would be there.
The cliff was high. At its base there was a ledge of rocks, which ran down into the water. At this low tide the ledge extended for a long distance, and terminated in a projecting mass, which was covered with an immense growth of sea-weed.. Around this point the current passed, and it was to this that the boat was speeding.
And now all their exertions were put forth to extricate the boat from the central grasp of the current. Already, thanks to their former exertions, they had forced it from the centre to the edge of the tide, and a few more vigorous efforts might bring them to the shore.
But so swift was the tide, that it seemed about to snatch them away from that shore when it was just within reach. It seemed as though they could almost have waded ashore if they had jumped overboard. But that, of course, could not be done, for the power of the current would have swept any one away who should try it.
To every stroke of the rude paddles the tide brought a counteracting influence; and for every six inches of forward motion, there were two feet of sidelong drift. The boat’s head was toward the shore, but her motion was broadside; and so the shore seemed ever near, yet inaccessible, and most unattainable when most within reach.
And so on past the whole length of the island, until the cliff at the farthest extremity was reached and passed. They were but ten feet from the shore. The rocky ledge, covered with sea-weed, still extended before them. It was to this that they now tried to force the boat.
Ten feet! Only ten feet! And the ten feet lessened to nine, and the nine to eight, and the eight to seven, and the seven to six.
But six feet between them and the shore!
But six feet! Would they—could they—fail at last?
Six feet only! But the tide was wild and strong, and now, at this last crisis of their fate, seemed like some living monster, fearful that his prey was escaping from his power. It was as though his grasp was fastened on them with a fiercer clutch and a more desperate tenacity,—as though, at this supreme hour, he had risen in his might, and, even at the very gate of his domain, had seized them, and was trying to draw them to destruction.
But six feet! Yet between them and the rock of their hope, even in those few feet of watery distance, what risks and dangers lay—what chances of loss—what baffled hopes—what despair!
The suspense was anguish.
On they went with the fury of the torrent. “O, why haven’t I a paddle!” groaned little Phil Kennedy. Bruce raised himself, and looked around, with his pale face and staring eyes. Arthur, and Tom, and Bart put forth their last energies.
Four feet!
Not a word was spoken. The tightly compressed lips, the resolute eyes, the frowning brows of the struggling boys, spoke of their resolution; their panting, heaving breasts told how heavily they labored with their clumsy, unwieldy oars.
A roar sounded in their ears to the right. It was the rush of the current as it swept past the extreme verge of the ledge. There was the open sea. There lay their last chance; beyond it—destruction.
They knew it—they felt it. That sound struck on their ears like the knell-of doom. One last effort—one superhuman struggle. Nearer came the boat; although even then trembling on the extreme verge, yielding to the current, it turned slightly, bringing its head closer to the rock.
It was done.
In an instant, arms were outstretched, and Bart’s hands were clinging to the sea-weed. For a moment the boat was checked.
Tom Crawford and Phil Kennedy grasped the sea-weed also; and at that instant, Arthur, seizing the boat’s rope, sprang ashore. His leap jerked the boat, which, caught by the tide, was swept off, leaving masses of sea-weed, torn from the rocks, in the hands of the boys.
A cry of despair arose.
But Arthur held the rope wound about his hands. As the boat moved, he steadied his feet for the struggle. The swift tide bore it off. As the rope tightened out, the fury of the current, driving against the boat, contended with the strength of that one boy. For a moment it was the boy who lost. At the first jerk, his feet slipped on the treacherous sea-weed. He fell. He was dragged toward the water.
No sound escaped from those in the boat,—not a word either of fear for themselves or of encouragement or warning to Arthur. Well they knew that Arthur would die on the rocks, or be drowned in the sea, rather than lose his hold of that rope, which, in his desperate purpose, he had twisted round his hands.
For a few moments Arthur could not recover himself. On that slippery sea-weed there was no foothold. He was drawn nearer and nearer to the water. He looked around hastily. At last he saw the round top of a boulder a little on one side. To this he managed to work himself, letting the boat yield to the tide still more as he did so. A few steps, and he was there. He plunged into the water, he pressed his feet against that stone, and then, drawing himself back, he pulled with all his strength.
The boat yielded. The power was now in his hands. Grasping the rope nearer, he drew the boat in more closely, and at last it touched the-shore.
They were saved at last!
Out leaped Bart into the water, and, holding the boat, he added his strength to that of Arthur. The others followed as quickly as possible. Bruce had begun to regain his strength once more, and was able to get out without help. The unparalleled exertions which he had undergone on the cliff had given a severe strain, which, in his final struggle to reach the schooner, had resulted in a spasm of his heart. From this he was now rallying once more. Joy at reaching the land did much to restore him, and he was soon able to start wherever the others wished to go.
Their first movement was to go away from the ledge farther up to the beach. The rocks were flat, and not very difficult to walk over. They towed the boat as they went, which was a difficult task, but successfully accomplished. After severe exertions, they at length brought the boat about a quarter of a mile up to a place where there was an indentation in the line of shore, and scarcely any current. Here they hauled it up some distance, and fastened it securely. After this they went up to the gravelly beach at the foot of the cliff, and sat down to rest for a while, and to consider the situation.
The fog was as thick as ever, and they could see but a little distance along the beach, or out on the water. The side of the island on which they found themselves was sheltered from the chill wind. As to the boat, it was impossible to draw it up any farther. It would be necessary to wait until the tide rose higher, before they could bring it into a place of safety. But little could be done, except watch it from time to time.
It was now late, and darkness was coming on rapidly. Soon they would’ be surrounded by the impenetrable shades of night. Bart and Arthur offered to go along the shore and find some place where they could pass the night, leaving the others to watch the boat, and see if there were any signs of the schooner.
But then the important question arose, what should they do for their suppers? For a time this puzzled all of them.
“I’ll tell you what it is, boys,” said Bart at last; “I think I know how to get something; We passed a place down on the shore where there were lots of mussels. Tom, you come along with me, and Phil can go with Arthur. Bruce may watch here.”
This plan was eagerly adopted; and as there was no time to lose, the boys set out. Fortunately, the place spoken of by Bart was not far away, and fortunately, too, the rocks were covered with shell-fish of different kinds, and the hollows of the rocks filled with them. Tom and Bart heaped them into their handkerchiefs.
“Hallo!” cried Bart, suddenly, in a joyous tone. “See here, Tom.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
Tom went, and found Bart plunging his hands most vigorously into a pool of water, which the retreating tide had left in a rocky hollow.
“What have you got there?”
“I call them shrimps,” said Bart, holding one up in his hands. “They’re rather small, though. Go about and hunt up another hole.”
Tom went off, and in a short time called to Bart in a loud voice.
Bart started up.
Tom was walking toward him with a large, dark object in his hand.
“A lobster!” cried Bart. “A lobster! Hurrah! and hurrah again! Tom, you’ve saved us all from starvation. Good on your head. We needn’t wait here any longer, for it’s getting dark, and we’ll have to join the other fellows.”
On returning to Bruce, they displayed their treasures, to the great delight of all. Arthur and Phil had also been successful. Walking farther up the beach, they had come to the end of the cliff, and reached a steep, well-wooded bank. It was not far away, and there were fir trees, from which they could easily cut enough brush to make very comfortable beds. There was also plenty of drift-wood, with which they could make a fire.
Without any more delay, the boys all started off, first marking the place so as to know where to go for the boat. Beaching the bank, they gathered drift-wood, and logs, and fir-brush, with which they built a fire on the beach at the foot of the cliff, where it adjoined the bank. They had plenty of matches in their pockets, and soon the fire was lighted; the flames rushed fiercely through the inflammable brush-wood, and the boys kept gathering fresh fuel from all sides and heaping it on.
“And now to cook our tea,” said Bart. “Let’s get a lot of stones, and put them in the fire till they get red hot. Then we can draw them out, and roast all our shell-fish splendidly.”
This suggestion was at once acted on, and the boys gathered stones and threw them in.
After this they all went to work collecting driftwood from all sides, till a large pile was heaped up, sufficient to last them through the night.
Then, in turn, each one took the hatchet and went up the bank, and cut as much fir-brush as he considered necessary for a bed. The darkness had increased, and the fog intensified it; but the towering flames, as they leaped up, illumined the scene, affording them sufficient light to cut the brush, and throwing a strong glare along the beach as far as the place where their boat lay.
And next, they pulled out the stones from the fire, and arranging some of them in the sand, they laid the lobster on the top, and piled other stones around them, till the lobster lay buried in an oven as good and as serviceable as that of the best kitchen range. A number of shell-fish were thrown on other stones, and the shrimps were easily cooked by being laid on the top of a hot stone for a few minutes. While waiting for the lobster, they appeased their hunger by cooking and eating these smaller fry.
“I never ate baked lobster,” said Bruce; “but I’ve heard that it’s the best thing there is.”
“We’ll soon judge for ourselves,” said Bart. “Only before we fairly sit down to dine, let’s go off and draw the boat up farther.”
Four of them started off. They found that already the tide had risen so far that it was level with the bows. A long and vigorous exertion enabled them to draw it up farther, and then they went back to the fire.
By that time it was decided that the lobster had been baking long enough, and it was accordingly uncovered.
A cry of delight escaped them.
There lay the lobster, brilliantly red, as though red hot from the oven, and showing clearly the excellence of Bart’s contrivance.
“That’s the way the Micmacs manage,” said Bart. “And they wouldn’t look at a lobster that came out of a pot.”
Ranging themselves around the lobster, in front of the fire, the boys now began their repast. One and all pronounced it glorious. It was salt enough and juicy enough to satisfy the most delicate palate; and the severe exercise and long fast of the boys had given them appetites which would have made a worse dish acceptable.
“Well, boys,” said Bart, “here we are on a desert island, without a penny in our pockets; but it isn’t a bad place, after all.”
“I wonder if they will hunt after us.”
“Of course they will.”
“They ought to see this fire, at any rate.”
“I thought of that, and expected to see some signs of them before this.”
“Perhaps it’s too foggy.”
“O, if they were within a mile of us, they’d see that light.”
“I should think, if they came after us, they would have been within that distance.”
“O, we can’t tell. They may have got into another direction altogether.”
“Well, I suppose they’ll find us some time.”
“I’m sure I don’t care.”
“Nor do I.”
“Nor I.”
“Nor I.”
“We’ll have to prepare for life on a desert island. To-morrow we’ll explore it, and build Our camp. It’s lucky we have a hatchet and a pistol.”
“It’s lucky we have lobsters.”
“O, we’ll find lots of other things. There are sea-gulls’ eggs, I’ll bet.”
“And clams.”
“And perhaps oysters.”
“We’ll have to organize a government, and build a town. Wigwams will make the best houses.”
“No—spruce camps.”
“O, wigwams are the only things that will keep the rain off.”
“I wonder if we can find any birch bark.”
“We must explore to-morrow.”
“There’s one thing more to do to-night,” said Arthur. “For my part, I don’t want to have to run down to that miserable boat every ten minutes till high tide. I’ve had enough of her for one day. We must get her up now. There’s a lot of round sticks in that pile, and we can use them as rollers; so let’s go and get the boat up now.”
This proposition was at once acted on. Four good round sticks were found, and some others to serve as levers. With these the boys started off to move the boat.
They found it hard work, but practicable. The progress was slow, and it took a good hour; but at last they had the satisfaction of seeing the boat above high-water mark, and fastened to a piece of projecting rock.
Then they selected sleeping places, and spread their beds. After this they heaped up fresh fuel, and sat around the fire, making a hundred plans for their desert life. Arthur was the only one who did anything. He had found a piece of tough spruce, and with hatchet, and knife was busily shaping it into an oar.
At last they all retired to their beds, and slept.