Behind them, to the north and to the south, rose the great hills which had remained snow-clad throughout the ages. But there the iron cliffs of the coast line stretched out at something like a uniform level. Far as the eye could see the smiling ocean lay spread out, glittering under the keen spring sunshine, while below them, marked clearly, sharply, lay the ugly ruins of torn rock which the storms of centuries had hewn from the parent cliffs.
It was a scene these men knew by heart. All three were gazing out seawards. Their eyes were fixed upon a vessel that looked to be driving head on, under full sail, for the merciless rocks guarding the entrance to the river mouth.
It was a sight that stirred the white men deeply. It was a sight that filled them with a strangely oppressive feeling of complete helplessness, and left them no longer concerned with those things which a moment before had completely preoccupied them. Here, on a calm Spring day, with a seemingly flat sea, a white man’s vessel under full sail—no wreck, no derelict with broken masts and spars, and with perhaps the steering-gear carried away—was heading calmly, almost it seemed, happily, to become a total wreck on perhaps the cruellest coast in the world. It was amazing! It was staggering! The awesomeness of the spectacle left them without a word.
Not so, however, the half-breed who had brought the news. Perhaps he was less stirred by such a vision of coming disaster. Perhaps, in his curious, savage mind, the life or death of a few crazy white-folk was of no serious account. At any rate, he was under no spell of silent awe.
“It all same lak I see this white man do all time,” he commented for his companions’ benefit. “What you mak? I tell you this. White man sailor see big bay. He see it all through much long glass. He say, ‘Yes, it good. We mak him land.’ He not think nothing. He not think ever. He white man. He do as he please. Yes. It same all time. White man boss look for oil. He say, ‘We find him.’ So he look where only hill, an’ forest, an’ river. He look for oil. Psha! I see white man down the coast same lak this, too. He come down in big canoe. He look, look all time for some thing. I not know. He search much. He climb rock. He peek in cave. All time he look where nothing is. That white man, sure. All time look where nothing is. I know. This man sailor. He mak break up all bimeby. He look for some thing. So he come. He sure find something bimeby. Plenty rock. Plenty all break up. Plenty all go dead.”
“Oh, beat it!”
It was Peter who flung his impatience at the half-breed. His chatter at such a moment was insufferable. Out there far beyond the headland the vessel was steadily heading on its course. It was racing down out of the northwest straight, almost as an arrow’s flight, for the desperate entrance to the bay.
McLagan remained silent. He seemed oblivious to everything but the amazing vision of the doomed ship. His narrowed eyes searched her closely. She was smallish, as sea-going vessels went. He gathered from her sails and masts she was some sort of full-rigged ship, perhaps a coaster. Her sails were full in the fair wind. She was yawing slightly, but not sufficiently to set her aback. But it was sufficient to suggest some lack of control. Suddenly an inspiration took hold of him. He turned to the now silent half-breed.
“You, Sasa,” he said sharply. “It was blowing yesterday an’ you didn’t go out poaching the salmon. That poor devil of a ship’s caught in your death current. She’s made a lee shore and got caught in the current. She’ll pull up right on the beach of our river, do you understand? He’s no fool skipper looking to make a landing. He can’t darn well help himself. Don’t you see? Here, Peter.” He turned to the oil man on the other side of him and his tone was urgent and thrilling with the horror of the thing he realised was about to happen. “You don’t know this coast like we do. There’s a maelstrom current out there. The only crazy man in the world who’d go near it is this feller, Sasa. Ther’ isn’t a steamer in the world could beat its way out of it if it once got caught up in it. As for a windjammer like that—psha!” he threw up his hands expressively. “That’s it. He’s made a lee shore in the gale. And now—God help him.”
He turned again to Sasa.