CHAPTER XVIII.

_AN INGENIOUS EXPEDIENT._

One morning a few weeks later the sun rose quickly over the horizon, as if it had overslept and was hurrying to make up lost time. Its angry crimson face threw a lurid glow across the sky, like the reflection of some mighty conflagration.

A small coast-boat, dancing on the waves of a flood-tide, tugged impatiently at her anchor, while a strong south wind sportively dashed an occasional drenching spray across her deck, much to the discomfort of a number of men lying there.

At length one of these recumbent figures rose slowly to his feet and scanned the horizon with a sailor’s eye. It was our old friend George Hopkins. He stood for a moment staring at the crimson sunrise, then touched the nearest sleeper with his foot. “_At-tee, Oulybuck, A-no-ee pi-chi-ak_ (Now, Oulybuck, it is a fair wind),” he said.

The Eskimo addressed threw back his blankets with a sleepy ejaculation, rose to his knees and then to his feet, gazing around him the while. When his eye encountered the threatening sky he uttered a disapproving grunt.

One by one four other Eskimos crawled from under their blankets, yawned, stretched themselves, and scowled at the approaching storm.

In a few minutes the little anchor was up and the boat was speeding on her way north. Hopkins perched himself in the stern to steer while the Eskimos dropped into positions of ease, awaiting orders.

Soon the wind freshened and the sea began to dance. As the boat cut her way through the billows a head was poked out from an improvised cabin amidships. It was the head of a man well on in years, with grey hair and a long grey beard. His keen blue eyes scanned the heavens, noted the direction of the wind, then turned to the steersman.

“Fair wind, eh! George?” he remarked.

Hopkins glanced at the lowering clouds, then with dubious cheerfulness, he replied: “Yes, but we’ll have bad weather before long.”

“Let us hope you are mistaken,” returned the other, withdrawing his head.

In a few minutes he reappeared fully attired. It was Chief Factor McLeod, accompanied by his daughter Lena and his nephew Frank, and on his way to inspect Fort Future.

Shortly after Mr. McLeod’s appearance the sound of girlish laughter, mingled with the protesting voice of a man, proceeded from the cabin. There was the noise of a scuffle, then a young woman burst out and sprang behind the Factor. As she stood there, her face alive with mischievous laughter, her eyes sparkling with merriment, her bosom heaving with the exertions of her playful struggle, she was the picture of a bonny, saucy, Scottish maiden.

Soon a fresh, boyish face appeared in the cabin doorway.

“Look here, Uncle,” groveled the young fellow, a little sulkily, “I wish you would keep that daughter of yours in order. She is more mischievous than a monkey. Yes, a monkey, miss,” he added severely, for the girl was making grimaces at him from behind her father’s back. “She can’t leave me alone five minutes, sir.”

“Lena! Lena!” admonished Mr. McLeod with a smile and a look of deep affection. “Will you never act as a grown-up young lady should?”

The girl laughed derisively at her cousin, then, abruptly turning her back, she caught her father’s arm and pulled him to the side of the boat. As they gazed over the turbulent waters, a low, hoarse roar made itself heard above the noise of dashing waves. The expected gale was upon them. A damp column of cold air struck the boat, bellying out the canvas with a jerk, and wrenching the yielding mass, until it bowed heavily over before the shock.

The mainsail was quickly dropped and the boat righted herself. Sluggishly great waves buffeted her, causing her to stagger when they struck.

Presently the gale became furious, fully justifying Hopkins’ prognostications. The sea was so rough that the boat was in great danger of being smashed by the sheer weight of water hurled against her side. But they were compelled to go on, however terrible the storm might be, for the wind had swerved round to the west and this, with the tide on the ebb, prevented them running close-in to anchor in one of the numerous rivers along the coast. The boat was fast being carried out to sea, the land was becoming a thin black line in the far distance, and shortly all trace of it was lost to sight.

Perceiving their peril, Hopkins gave the helm to a trusty lieutenant and stumbled forward to speak to the Chief Factor, who was standing there alone. He had long since sent Lena to the cabin and now stood with his arm twined around a back-stay, strung to the tension of a harpstring, and his eyes sparkling with excitement as the little craft beneath him tossed and rolled and tore along. His drenched hair and beard were flying back from his face, which was streaming with salt water.

“She’s not holding her own against the combined fury of wind and tide,” he cried at Hopkins’ approach.

“We’re being carried out to sea, sir,” declared George with some disgust. Just then a tremendous sea caught the boat and she gave a lurch, throwing him violently down. The plunging masses of water made her quiver to her keel, and threatened to swamp her, but digging her nose into the great waves she staggered on.

“Thank God we are still afloat,” murmured Mr. McLeod. “Another shock like that and it will be all up with us.” Then turning to Hopkins he enquired whether he had been hurt in the fall.

Hopkins shook his head.

“We are being carried out to sea, you say, but what can we do?” questioned the Factor.

“We can drop anchor, and try to ride it out, sir.”

The Factor shook his head. “The seas would smash us,” he said.

George nodded. “Then we must hoist the mainsail again. I’m afraid she won’t carry it, but we can try. There’s a shoal that runs from a point of land ahead of us; if we can make that we’ll anchor in the lee of it.”

“All right! Hoist your mainsail, then. But have it close reefed.”

Staggering back to the stern, Hopkins resumed charge of the rudder and the mainsail was reefed and hoisted, but with great difficulty, for the wind, catching the spreading canvas, flapped it with a report like a gun-shot, threatening to snatch it away. The extra sail caused the boat to heel over alarmingly.

A smothered ejaculation of concern came from the cabin and soon Lena appeared, enveloped in a serviceable macintosh. Perceiving that she was alone the Factor hastened to assist her to a position of safety. Meanwhile Hopkins was straining his eyes in search of land. He was feeling very uneasy, for it seemed impossible that the boat could much longer resist the perpetual attack of the waves. The point at issue was simply—would the coast-boat last till they reached a place where they could anchor, or would she be swamped or smashed to pieces before they reached a place of safety?

At length there was a shout from an Eskimo lookout in the bow.

“_Nuna!_ (land)” he cried.

“_Ninne? Ninne?_ (where? where?)” asked the other Eskimos in chorus.

“_Na-nee!_ (there)” cried the bowsman, pointing almost straight ahead.

“Thank God!” exclaimed Mr. McLeod, with a long sigh of relief, while Hopkins’ face cleared, and the Eskimos lost their anxious looks, for right ahead of them was a small island of sand, over which the waves broke in rapid succession. It was the shoal of which Hopkins had spoken, and for which they had been so anxiously looking.

Their jubilation was shortlived, however, for they had scarcely got the anchor ready before the boat struck something under water with a terrible thud and remained fast. The jerk caused by the sudden stoppage threw the men off their feet, and snapped the mainmast short at the shaft, carrying the sail and gear overboard. The boat heeled over, great waves dashed into her and in an instant she was full of water.

Quick of action, the Chief Factor caught Lena about the waist and hoisted her to the top of the cabin, then, scrambling up himself, he signaled to the others to do likewise. The roaring of the surf, breaking over the small island, drowned all other noises.

Turning to Hopkins and forming a trumpet with his hands, the Factor endeavored to make himself heard. “Tide’s going out,” he shouted. “Shoal will dry . . . may walk ashore . . . if boat will only last till then.”

Hopkins’ lips moved in answer but his words were carried away by the wind.

For two hours the group crouched miserably upon the cabin, clutching at anything within reach to save being washed away by the great volumes of water that poured over them. Lashed by the wind, and drenched to the skin, they waited for the tide to ebb and leave the boat high and dry upon the shoal. The tempest continued with unabated fury, but the little island grew larger every minute.

Gradually the billows receded from the boat. They then discovered that Hopkins had run her on a part of a shoal which extended to a great distance under water at high tide.

At length the shipwrecked party were able to drop over the boat’s side to the sand beneath, and walk to the prominence of the sandy island, where for a time, at least, they would be safe.

Calling Hopkins aside, the Factor attempted to prepare for eventualities. But it was only by turning their backs to the wind that they were able to distinguish what was said.

“Hopkins,” Mr. McLeod began, “it is necessary that we should discover if there is any means of leaving this shoal before the tide turns.”

“Yes, sir,” replied George, “and the sooner the better.”

“But it will necessitate an exploration of that part of the shoal,” said the Chief Factor, indicating the part nearest the mainland, “and that is still under water.”

“I am ready, sir.”

“Yes, George, I know you are always ready to do your duty, but you cannot go alone. We will go together. I must see for myself. My nephew and daughter will remain with the Eskimos. You will tell the Eskimos to stay near them till we return.”

Hopkins instructed the Eskimos who straightway grouped themselves near by.

Meanwhile Mr. McLeod was informing Lena of the proposed reconnaissance. Embracing her father, the girl urged him not to risk himself unnecessarily. The Factor promised to be as prudent as possible, then called Hopkins and they set out.

It was with the greatest difficulty that they faced the wind, but struggling desperately and unceasingly, they crept along. After an extremely difficult and laborious journey they arrived at the other end of the island, or shoal, and to their dismay found it was divided from the mainland by a large bay of water, which the wind was lashing into furious waves.

Taking off his l’Assumption belt and tying a stone in one end of it, Hopkins lowered it into the water to ascertain the depth, but was unable to touch bottom. At this, his face lengthened and the Factor, who had been closely watching him, gave a groan of dismay, for their hopes of escape by wading ashore were destroyed.

“Nothing but a raft can save us now,” said George dejectedly.

The other shook his head dubiously. He was turning his footsteps sorrowfully backwards when a great shout from his companion brought him to a halt. Turning quickly, he discovered Hopkins wildly gesticulating toward a point of land in the far distance, and looking in that direction, he first saw something infinitely small dancing upon the waters, then several small objects which speedily followed it. He turned to his companion for information.

“Eskimos,” explained Hopkins in answer to the other’s look of puzzled enquiry. “They’ve lashed their _ka-yaks_ (parchment canoes) together and are coming to help us. See,” he added excitedly, pointing to the far-off land, “they’re camped over there to hunt _nitchuk_ (seal).”

The Factor turned his eyes to the spot indicated by his companion and after close scrutiny made out several tiny white objects dotted about the sand—these were tents.

Chief Factor McLeod had witnessed many daring feats, but never one to compare with this which the Eskimos were attempting. The waves dashed threateningly over the _ka-yaks_, but seemed powerless to harm the fragile crafts, which floated with the buoyancy of cork. At times waves larger than their fellows caught them, and, carrying them up on their towering crests appeared to capsize them, but a few strokes of the _pou-tik_ (paddle) seemed to right them again.

As the Eskimos drew nearer, the Factor could see how skillful they really were, with what wonderful precision they handled the _ka-yaks_, which, in this instance were lashed together in threes, and any doubts he might have had about their effecting a rescue by this ingenious expedient were immediately dispelled. Turning, he gave a joyful shout, which, carried along on the wind, was plainly heard by the anxiously waiting party at the other end of the island. These instantly started to come to him. The Eskimos staggered on sturdily, but Lena found it difficult to force herself forward against the tempest; the wind caught her garments and pressed her backwards, threatening to throw her off her feet. It was only by desperately clinging to her cousin’s arm that she was able to keep her balance and walk slowly on.

Perceiving her predicament the Factor went to the rescue, and with the wind at his back he scudded along and was soon by her side. He managed, by shouting his loudest, to make her hear the broken sentences.

“Eskimos . . . encamped . . . neck of land . . . coming . . . _ka-yaks_ . . . . rescue us . . . .”

By the time they had reached the further end of the island, the _ka-yaks_ were lying high and dry upon the sand and the Eskimo strangers grouped together waiting to greet them.

With quaint gestures, the Factor endeavored to thank them for coming to the rescue of himself and party.

The intrepid Eskimos received phlegmatically the earnest expressions of gratitude.

They nodded deliberately, glanced at the ebbing tide, then walked to the _ka-yaks_ where they stood significantly waiting.

Divining from their behavior that they were anxious to start before the tide turned, which, flowing against the wind would make a rougher and angrier sea than ever, Mr. McLeod lost no more time, but straightway led Lena to the _ka-yaks_. A trio were now put on the water and Lena was lifted into the middle one. Then an Eskimo stepped quickly into each of the outside _ka-yaks_ and a start was made for the shore. The Factor watched the men paddle desperately for a few moments, then walked quickly to where a set of _ka-yaks_ was waiting for him. And in a very little while the whole number of frail craft were on the water, battling against wind and waves, which had providentially lessened in violence.

After an hour or so of arduous paddling the _ka-yak_ containing Lena touched the shore and the girl was lifted unceremoniously in a pair of malodorous arms and carried to dry land.

Then at intervals others of the shipwrecked crew arrived, all very wet, very cold, and very stiff from sitting in such cramped positions, and painfully they walked up to a large fire which the Eskimo women had kindled.

After such strenuous efforts, the thoughts of the Eskimo rescuers turned to a meal, and taking their shipwrecked comrades with them, they strolled to where several large kettles hung suspended over as many fires. Then the men seated themselves in a circle, the women arranging themselves in another at some little distance from them.

Two large, oblong, wooden dishes, one for each group, were brought from the fires and their contents emptied upon the ground. This was the signal for a mad rush. The men displayed remarkable agility as they scrambled with hearty laughter for the sickly mess—boiled seal meat—while screams from the group of women told that excitement was likewise rife in their midst. Procuring as much as they could hold in both hands, they retired to their former positions in the circle and with the aid of long, murderous-looking knives, wolfishly devoured their portions—cramming their mouths to the utmost extent and cutting off the remainder uncomfortably close to their flat noses and chins.

When all the solids had disappeared, liquids were brought on. Large kettles containing the water in which the meat had been boiled were carried into the centre of the two groups, which once more became struggling masses of humanity, all of them endeavoring to dip a can or a mug into the kettles at one and the same time. The uproar gradually subsided as each person retired to his or her place, chuckling over a mug of greasy liquid.

This simple but animated repast at an end, the Eskimos settled themselves for a deliberate smoke.

Meanwhile the wants of the Chief Factor and party had been cared for by the resourceful Hopkins, and they were glad to be able, at least for a little time, to rest and be thankful. But their respite was of short duration. Fate had chosen that, at that time and place, they should learn of the awful catastrophe at Fort Future and the harrowing news was travelling fast toward them in the person of Acpa, who was on his way with a party of Eskimos in a whaleboat to take charge of the ruins of the Company’s property at Fort Future in compliance with Kasba’s request, and was on the lookout for a suitable spot to put ashore and camp. Perceiving Eskimo tents dotted along the point of land, those in the boat quickly dropped the sail and pulled to the shore.

“Why, it’s Acpa!” declared George Hopkins, greatly astonished, as the old Eskimo stepped out of the boat. “Wonder what he’s doing here,” and with that he strolled down to greet the old fellow, little dreaming what terrible news he would bring back.