He stood for a little longer gazing seaward, but nothing was to be seen but black, turbulent, surly waters and swirling snow, and at length he turned reluctantly back to his sledge.
The dogs were lying down, and already nearly covered by the drift. He called to them to go forward, and, arriving at the igloo, listlessly unharnessed and fed them, and retreated to the shelter of the igloo to think.
He could eat nothing that night, but he brewed some strong tea over the stone lamp. Then he lighted his pipe and sat silent, for a long while, forgetting to smoke.
With every hour the wind increased in force, and before midnight one of those awful blizzards, so characteristic of Labrador at this season, was at its height. Once Skipper Ed removed the snow block at the entrance of the igloo, and partly crawled out with a view to looking about, but he was nearly smothered by drift, and quickly drew back again into the igloo and replaced the snow block.
"The poor lads!" said he. "God help and pity them, and" he added reverently, "if it be Thy will, O God, preserve their lives."
Skipper Ed finally slipped into his sleeping bag and fell into a troubled sleep, to awake, as morning approached, with a great weight upon his heart, and with his waking moment came the realization of its cause. He arose upon his elbow and listened. The tempest had passed.
He sprang up, and drawing on his netsek and moccasins, for these were the only garments he had removed upon lying down, he went out and looked about him. The stars were shining brilliantly, and an occasional gust of wind was the only reminder of the storm. Mounds of snow marked the place where the dogs were sleeping, covered by the drift. The morning was bitterly cold.
He ran down to the ice edge, and gazed eagerly seaward, but nowhere could he see the ice pack. It had vanished utterly.
A sense of awful loneliness fell upon Skipper Ed. Reluctantly he returned to the igloo and prepared his breakfast, which he ate sparingly. Then until day broke he sat pondering the situation. There was nothing he could do, and he decided at length to return at once to Abel Zachariah's, and report the calamity.
When he emerged again from the igloo the last breath of the storm had ceased to blow and a dead calm prevailed. He loaded the komatik, and calling the dogs from beneath their coverlets of snow, harnessed them, and without delay set out for the head of Abel's Bay.