“’Twill be a bit hard,” North said again.
But the salmon-fishers have a way of landing under such conditions. When their nets are in danger they do not hesitate. The man at the oars lets the boat drift with the breaker stern foremost towards the rocks. His mate leaps from the stern seat to the ledge. Then the other pulls the boat out of danger before the wave curls and breaks. It is the only way.
But sometimes the man in the stern miscalculates––leaps too soon, stumbles, leaps short. He falls back, and is almost inevitably drowned. Sometimes, too, the current of the wave is too strong for the man at the oars; his punt is swept in, pull as hard as he may, and he is overwhelmed with her. Donald knew all this. He had lived in dread of the time when he must first make that leap.
“The ice is comin’ in, b’y,” said North. “’Twill scrape these here rocks, certain sure. 58 Does you think you’re strong enough to take the oars an’ let me go ashore?”
“No, sir,” said Donald.
“You never leaped afore, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“Will you try it now, b’y?” said North, quietly.
“Yes, sir,” Donald said, faintly.
“Get ready, then,” said North.