“Oh, yes, it was,” insisted Paul. “There aren’t many could have done it, and when the ship picks us up I’ll tell them all about it.”
But they were not to see the North Star again, and they were not to be picked up. They were destined to face the rigors of a sub-Arctic winter in the unknown wilderness upon whose shores they had drifted.
CHAPTER VIII
FACING STARVATION
Paul and Dan surveyed their surroundings. So far as they could discover, in the dense fog, which enshrouded land as well as sea, they were stranded upon a desolate, verdureless coast. Behind them rose a ledge of storm-scoured rocks which reached out into the sea in a rugged cliff to the eastward, and formed the point they had rounded to enter the bight. And out on the rocky point they could hear the breakers in dismal, rhythmic succession, pounding upon the rocks.
The sounding breakers made Paul shudder as he realized how narrowly he and Dan had escaped a fate of which he scarcely dared think. He was profoundly thankful for their deliverance, and rugged as their coast was he had no thought of complaint against the fate that had placed him upon it.
Nowhere was there a tree or even a bush to be seen. Even the moss that here and there found lodgment in crevasses of the rocks seemed to struggle for an uncertain existence. Some driftwood, however, strewn along the beach, offered fuel for their tent stove.
“’Tis a wonderful bleak place,” said Dan, “but I’m thinkin’ ’tis better inside, with timber growin’ an’ maybe a river comin’ in, t’ bring this drift down.”
“But it’s too late to go up there tonight,” protested Paul, dreading to venture upon the fog-covered water again, even in the boat.