I mustered up enough courage to crawl to the ladder, climbed up, looked out,—and what a night! The stars seemed large and brilliant enough for planets, the moon almost large and bright enough for the sun. How it danced on the foamy crests of the tide-rifts when the whitecaps broke, throwing the silvery spray all around the heaving, plunging, tossing boat. Iliamna and Redoubt stood in their majesty, silent onlookers at the battle that was waging between the little boat and the powerful elements,—wondering who was going to be the victor. I dropped bade into the hold half believing it was all a dream, when I heard the captain shouting to the pilot, “Keep her head on, head on!” For fear of drifting upon the rocks they were obliged to run many miles out to sea before they dared make the turn for the harbor. I heard him shout to the man at the wheel, “Head her into the harbor as quickly as possible when she is in the next trough!” We had now reached the critical moment,—would they select the right time to make the turn? When the boat was turned halfway to leeward and on the crest, the turbine without resistance spun around at a fearful rate, then the engine stopped for a moment and the breakers struck the side a terrific blow, causing the hull to creak and groan as though it were human and about ready to collapse. The water in the cabin overhead swished back and forth and the pots and kettles, as they beat against the walls, kept time with the rolling and plunging of the boat. The old tub righted herself, we had crossed the danger line, and were heading straight for the harbor.
When we reached quiet water the old-timers shook their heads and vowed that was their last trip in the Bydarky. What happened in the bunks no one would tell, though at least one of the party said that during the night he had offered many a silent prayer for the safety of the craft. There was a foot of water on the cabin floor, the pots and pans were drifting about amid a flotsam and jetsam of pork and beans, vegetables, and what not.
Thus we reached Seldovia and learned that the steamer Portland was about due on her last trip for the season. Coming home by way of the inside passage, we had a pleasant trip, full of interest in a hundred ways. On one occasion, while many miles from land, a curious little bird came fluttering from mast to mast. Evidently on its way south it had become exhausted in the long flight from some northern point and had taken a short cut across the water. Finally one of the passengers caught the little fellow and it proved to be a crossbill. The mandibles of this species are considerably crossed to assist in picking seeds from the pine cones of the northern land. It stayed with us all day and seemed to be perfectly contented and satisfied to be caressed in the open hand, but just as soon as the boat neared land it took to wing and with a graceful flight reached the timber safely. So the days passed until in due time we arrived at Seattle, where we took the train for the East.
CHAPTER IV
A TRIP TO NEWFOUNDLAND
In the spring I had made all preparations for a trip to Newfoundland, and arrived at North Sidney to take the steamer Bruce for Port aux Basques. Walking into the offices of the company upon the dock to make arrangements for my passage, my attention was attracted to a little group of men. I learned that the Government doctor was vaccinating every passenger before allowing him to enter Newfoundland, because at this time Sidney had an epidemic of smallpox. One of the officers shouted to me: “Here you, going over? Bare your arm.” I answered, “Not for me,” knowing it would be useless to go into the woods with a punctured arm. Just a little while before the boat cleared I slipped aboard, heard the officer shout “Cast away!” and we were off for Port aux Basques.
The sea was rough and in the morning all the “landlubbers” were “pale behind the gills.” On landing, every person called upon the customs officer to have his baggage cleared, and I was required to leave a deposit of fifty dollars for the return of my Auto Graflex camera. The train was scheduled to start in a few minutes, and all the passengers were aboard waiting for more than an hour, wondering what was delaying the start. Inquiry developed the fact that the trainmen were waiting for the wind to subside before they would venture across the viaduct over a swamp a few miles out. It seems that the train had been blown off the track several times by a strong wind. We finally crossed in safety.
Among the passengers were several fishing parties, and they were bubbling over with good fellowship in anticipation of the excellent sport they were going to have in pursuit of their favorite pastime. I believe every person should have a hobby of some kind to divert his mind from his burdens and petty cares. A chance to do something that we like fills us with pleasant thoughts, both in anticipation and realization. Several of the fishermen returned on the same train with me; they looked much better and were quite talkative about “whipping the stream,” their “wonderful casts,” and the “big fellows” they didn’t get. Their hearty appearance confirmed my theory.
Passing through the country, as far as the eye could reach we looked out over barrens covered with moss. Here and there a small body of blue water, like a jewel, broke the monotony. Perhaps a solitary duck floated peacefully on its glossy surface, waiting for the little brood soon to appear. Away over yonder on the opposite shore of one of the lakes stood a sentinel, the sandhill crane (Grus mexicana), knee-deep in the water, sedate and motionless, waiting an opportunity to catch some unsuspecting fish that might fortunately pass his way. The countless herds of caribou had returned to the north and were scattered all through the woodland hills, attending to their domestic duties. Towards evening the fishing parties began to drop off, one by one, at Middle Brook, Fischel’s Brook, and Harry’s River, all ideal streams for salmon and trout. They seemed scarcely able to restrain themselves until the morrow, when they could joint their rods, wade the crystal water, and cast the Jock Scott or Silver Doctor into the riffles again and again in anticipation of a strike.