Part 15

There was still an open space at each gable end, but it was their intention to leave windows here. Poles were fastened in such a way that a square space was left in each gable, which admitted an ample amount of light, and the remainder was filled in with brush, like the sides. The door, of course, had been attended to in the construction of the frame.

It had been hard work, but they were all adepts at the business, and knew exactly how to do each thing. The consequence was, that by sundown their camp was all completed, and only needed a few finishing touches, which could very well be postponed till the following day.

They all sat down to their evening repast with the consciousness that they had passed a well-spent day. Solomon had done his duty, as usual, with a minute conscientiousness, and a painful care of the smallest details, which was evinced by the exquisite flavor of the oyster stew. The chief regret that they had was, that Arthur and Tom were not there to share it.

After tea none of them ventured to move. They were more utterly fagged out than they ever remembered to have been in the whole course of their lives. There had, of course, been times when they had been more exhausted, and Phil could tell a tale of weariness which might have shamed his present feelings; but for the fatigue resulting from sheer hard work, they never knew anything that had equalled this. Their hands were all covered with blisters and balsam, while an additional air of shabbiness had been given to them by new rents and tatters in their clothes.

After sunset they noticed that the wind was stronger and the sea rougher. The Petrel had moved also still farther in to the shore.

“Another night’ll finish her,” said Bruce, “if this wind continues.”

“I hope they’ll land,” said Bart, thinking of Arthur and Tom.

“Well, as to that,” said Bruce, “it seems to me that they won’t feel inclined to sail all night; and they’ll land, if they only can; but the trouble is, they may find themselves off some coast where no landing can be made.”

“I dare say,” said Bart, thoughtfully, “that the coast is rough enough all along, for most of the way; but then, fortunately, this wind is off the land; so they’ll be all right. The danger would be if it was in any other direction. As it is, the closer they keep in to the shore, the safer they’ll be; and, in fact, the safest place for them would be close in under the highest cliffs.”

“Well, that certainly is a consolation,” said Bruce, with a sigh of relief. “I’ve been a good deal bothered all the afternoon, for I noticed that the wind was rising. I rather think you’re in the right of it, Bart, and I’m glad enough that you thought of that.”

“O, they’re all right,” said Phil, “as long as the wind is this way.”

“The throuble is,” said Pat, “they might have to go round some headland, and thin they’d catch it, hot and heavy.”

“O, they wouldn’t try it if it was too rough,” said Bart. “They’d haul up ashore, and wait till the wind went down. The fact is, they’ll do just as any of us would do in the same circumstances. Neither Arthur nor Tom is inclined to run any risks. They know that there’s no hurry, that we’ve got lots of provisions. They’ve got a good supply, too, and so they’ll take it easy. My opinion is, they both landed two or three hours ago, hauled up their boat high and dry, picked up some drift wood, and are at this moment sitting in front of a roaring fire, calmly discussing what had best be done to-morrow.”

This discussion about the fate of their two absent friends made them all feel quite at their ease once more, and soon after they went to bed inside of the camp.

Here they found a pleasant surprise awaiting them, which had been devised by Solomon. He had taken the fat out of some of the jars of potted meat, and put it in two cups. In these he had ingeniously arranged floating wicks, and lighted them. So now, as the boys entered, they were surprised at a cheerful glow inside. At first they were alarmed, and thought the camp was on fire; but a second look showed them the truth.

Their camp now seemed very cheerful indeed. The ground was quite dry, and each one rolled himself up in his blanket, which formed their only preparation for bed. Here, reclining on the soft grass, with the green walls of their camp encircling them, they chatted pleasantly for a short time, and at length, one by one, dropped off into sound and refreshing slumbers.

On awaking they all hurried forth. They found that the wind had increased, and must have been increasing all night. Close in under the shore the water was smooth enough, but a mile outside it began to roughen, and a white line of breakers shone along the base of the headland.

But it was the Petrel that now engaged all their attention. She had been forced in to within a stone’s throw of the shore, and had evidently touched bottom, for she lay a little over on one side. She had reached a place where the sea felt the effect of the wind, and the waves broke over her decks. She rose and fell occasionally, with a slow, heavy movement, at the force of the waves that beat upon her. The shore immediately opposite the place where she had grounded was all white with foam, and it seemed as if the bottom where she touched might be strewn with rough, jagged rocks.

Hard indeed was the resting-place to which the Petrel had come after so long a wandering!

The boys looked on in silence. They did not exactly lament the fate which seemed to impend over her, but, at the same time, they felt as though, in some way, it might be a disaster to themselves. For the Petrel, as long as she had floated, had served, at least, as a sort of signal by which any passing vessel might be attracted; whereas, if she were destroyed, their chance of rescue in that way grew less. They also felt that the large store of provisions and supplies on board might yet be needed; and in case of the unsuccessful return of Arthur and Tom, they might need to visit her once more. But now all hope of this seemed at an end. In this half-developed regret at her fate, there was, however, no thought of salvage; that subject was forgotten.

After breakfast their attention was once more directed to the Petrel. Any further operations in the camp had now to be postponed, for the attractions of the imperilled ship were too engrossing to admit of lesser thoughts.

“I say, boys,” said Bruce, “why can’t we try to get nearer? We can work our way along at the top of the bank, I should think.”

“Of course we can,” said Bart. “At any rate, it’s not very far.”

“It won’t be worse than the upper part of that miserable brook,” said Phil.

“Sure an I’d go on me hands and knees all the way, so I would, to git nearer to her,” said Pat.

The coast that ran along terminated in the headland, between which and the cove it consisted of steep banks, at first wooded, and rough cliffs. The top of the bank all along was covered with trees, and seemed to offer no greater difficulties than any other part of the woods. The headland itself seemed over a mile away, and the Petrel was some distance inside of this.

They thus resolved to go, and set forth at once.

“Be back in time for dinna,” said Solomon, as they climbed up the steep bank to get to the top..

“O, yes,” was the reply, as they vanished into the woods.

It was decidedly rough walking. The ground was uneven, rising into mounds and depressed into hollows. Sometimes fallen trees lay before them; at other times underbrush so dense and so stubborn that a way could only be forced through with the most persevering effort. Besides, it was absolutely necessary to keep as near as possible to the edge of the cliff, for they all knew how easily they might be lost, if they once ventured out of sight of it. So they kept on, close by the brink, even though places occasionally appeared which seemed much easier to traverse.

At length they reached the place immediately opposite the Petrel. She lay within easy stone’s throw. Before them the cliff went down with rough, jagged sides, and the shore at its foot was covered with masses of rock that had fallen there from the precipice. It was not more than sixty or seventy feet down. On this elevation, and at this distance out, they felt the full force of the blast.

The Petrel had certainly grounded, and it was evident to them that the bottom was rough and irregular. She lay over on her side, her stern nearest to the shore. The bows were sunk under to the depth of about a foot, while the stern rose a little. She swayed backward and forward with a regular motion, and there was a dull, gringing, creaking noise, that came from her to their ears, and was plainly discernible through the noise of the surf on the rocks below. The sea at this point was quite heavy, and rolled over and over the doomed ship. The long waves came sweeping up at successive intervals, and at every stroke the Petrel would yield, and then slowly struggle back.

“I wonder how long she can stand this sort of thing,” said Phil.

“Not long, I should think,” said Bart; “but after all, the wind isn’t very strong just yet, and if there are no rocks under her, she may hold out some time.”

“If this wind grows to a gale, she’s done for.”

“But then it may not get any worse, and if it goes down, I’d undertake to swim on board.”

“O, of course, if it gets smooth.”

“What do you say to going out to the point?” said Bruce.

“O, yes, let’s go.”

The point was not far away, and the woods were thinner. They reached it without much difficulty. Standing here an extensive scene came upon their view.

On the left, the coast line ran on for a few miles, rough and rugged cliffs, with a crest of stunted trees. On the right, the coast line was what they had already seen. In front was the boundless sea, covered with foaming waves. At their feet the surf thundered in a line of foam, and tossed its spray high on the air.

“I don’t altogether like the look of things,” said Bruce, after a long and silent gaze upon the sea and the rough coast in the west.

“O, don’t fret,” said Bart. “Look, Bruce, close in to the shore under the cliffs: why, it’s smooth enough there to paddle a raft in. They’ll keep close in to the shore, and land whenever they want to.”

“Only they might try to round a headland like that,” said Bruce, pointing to a cliff which terminated the view towards the left, at the base of which there was a line of white foam; “and if they did,” he added, “I’m afraid neither Arthur nor Tom--”

He stopped abruptly, leaving the sentence unfinished.

XXI.

_The Expedition and the Voyagers.--Speculations.--Dinner followed by a Change of Wind.--A Squall.--Shipping a Sea.--Nearer the Shore.--An iron-bound Coast.--Rounding the Headland.--Startling Sight.--The Column of Smoke.--A Man on the Beach.--The shipwrecked Stranger.--Astonishing Disclosures.--Where are we?--The mournful Truth.--Anticosti!--Arthur contains his Soul.--The Boys and the Boat both hauled up.--The Expedition ends._

ARTHUR and Tom, on rounding the headland, kept on their course, following the line of the shore. The water was smooth, and the breeze continued moderate, yet fair. The sail worked well, the boat glided smoothly through the water, and they slipped on past the shore at a rate which was most gratifying to both of them. They kept away about a mile from the land, a distance which seemed to them to allow of a ready resort there in case of need, while at the same time it was far enough out to get the full benefit of the breeze, and maintain a sufficiently straight course.

The coast was most forbidding. Rugged cliffs arose, or rocky, sterile banks, crested with stunted spruce. Hour after hour passed by, and mile after mile of the coast slipped away behind them, but not the slightest sign appeared of human habitation or of human life; nothing but the same iron-bound shore, and the same unbroken solitude.

From time to time they came in sight of places which were more inviting. Sometimes there were shelving beaches, which appeared to be covered with sand or pebbles; at other times they saw coves, whose aspect was less forbidding than that of the bolder coast line; and on one occasion there was a small harbor, which, in comparison with the rest of the country, was decidedly inviting, and, if their errand had been less pressing, they would certainly have entered it, and explored the surrounding region. But, as it was, they passed on, noticing as they passed that here, as everywhere else, there was not a field, not a pasture, not a clearing; that there were no signs of cattle or of man.

So passed the hours of the morning.

The sun attained its meridian, and the two voyagers thought of dinner. The provident care of Solomon had furnished them with everything that could be desired on such a trip as this, and the repast was not only abundant, but attractive.

“I wonder what speed we have been making,” said Arthur.

“Five miles, I should think,” said Tom, “at least.”

“So should I; but, then, we can’t be certain. There may be currents, or we may be deceived in our estimate. Let’s say four, and then we’ll feel certain. It’s after twelve now; we left at six; that’s six hours.”

“Four miles an hour--little enough,” said Tom. “Well, that’s twenty-four miles. If this sort of thing can only be kept up, we’ll get to St. Pierre in no time.”

“That’s the very thing,” said Arthur,--“if it can only be kept up. But I’m afraid it’s a little too good to last.”

“At any rate,” said Tom, cheerily, “we’ll make the best of it while we can.”

Arthur’s forebodings, though not based upon any ground of alarm, were, however, actually justified by the event, and not very long after. For scarcely had they finished their repast, when they became aware of a very serious increase in the wind. A series of puffs, which almost amounted to squalls, came down, and in a very short time the sea began to rise to a very unpleasant extent.

“We’ll have to keep in closer,” said Arthur.

“Yes,” said Tom, “fortunately the wind’s off the land, and, if we can get in nearer, we’ll be all right.”

But it was not so easy to get in nearer. Tom, however, took a paddle, while Arthur held the boat as close to the wind as possible, and thus, in process of time, they drew her in far enough to get into smoother water. This was not accomplished without some trifling casualties: several waves dashed their spray into the boat, and they shipped one sea which was heavy enough to drench them both, and leave as much as a barrel full of salt water behind. This showed them what they might expect if they dared to keep too far away from the land.

They were now close in to the shore, and they proceeded onward slowly, but securely. It was not quite equal to their previous progress, but it was free from danger and inconvenience.

“I’m afraid,” said Tom, “that we’re going to have a turn of luck.”

“O, we’re doing well enough,” said Arthur.

“Yes, but we’ll be sure to come to some headland, and there we’ll stick, for we shan’t be able to round it. This boat can’t stand any sea.”

“Well, we’ll wait till the time comes,” said Arthur, “and not fret till then.”

“It’s lucky for us,” said Tom, “that the wind’s the way it is. If that was a lee shore, we’d be done for.”

“Well, if the wind had been any other way we shouldn’t have started, you know,” said Arthur, “and if it changes we’ll go ashore and haul up--that’s all.”

“We couldn’t find a landing-place just here very easily. I don’t think I ever saw a more rascally place in my life.”

“It’s rather rough, I must confess,” said Arthur, “but we’ll find a better place before long.”

They were within an eighth of a mile from the land. It rose there in high, rocky cliffs, crested, as usual, with stunted trees, and fragments of rock at its base.

“This seems to run on for a long way ahead,” said Tom.

“Yes,” said Arthur, “but I shouldn’t wonder if behind that point ahead the land got better. It stands to reason that these cliffs can’t extend forever. There must be places here and there where gullies occur--places where brooks run down, you know.”

“O, I dare say; but I only hope we may get to some such a place before the wind changes.”

“Why, is the wind going to change?”

“I don’t know. I merely supposed a case.”

“O, I dare say the wind’ll keep in this direction for ever so long yet.”

They sailed along slowly under these cliffs for about a couple of miles, and at length reached the point of which Arthur had spoken. They passed this, full of curiosity as to what lay beyond. They saw that the land here receded for a mile or two,--very gradually, however,--while several miles ahead it projected itself once more into the sea, and was terminated by a precipitous headland. These receding shores showed a different appearance from that of the cliffs which they had just been passing. They were wooded down to the water’s edge, which they approached by a gentle declivity, while about two miles ahead they disclosed a wide area where there were no trees at all.

Whether this was cultivated ground, cleared ground, or pasture, they could not very well make out; but they had not caught sight of it before they saw something which at once riveted their attention.

It was a column of smoke!

“Hurrah!” cried Tom. “We’ve come to a settlement at last. Well, it’s about time. Hurrah! We’re all right now.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, “there must be some life about--though I can’t see any sign of any settlement.”

“O, there must be a settlement somewhere about. We can’t see it yet.”

“There certainly must be people, for there is the smoke.”

“The settlement is farther back; away from the shore.”

“Yes, or perhaps behind that headland. I dare say there’s a harbor there, and a fishing settlement. This may be some solitary house.”

“Solitary or not, it’s all the same to us. It shows us that we have come near to human beings again.”

A straight course towards the place where the smoke arose would have drawn them into rough water; so they hugged the shore, and followed its curve, in order to avoid the danger. For a time the smoke was concealed from view; but at length, as they went on, it came into sight again, and appeared twice as near as when they had first seen it. Here they saw a beach, which ran away for a long distance; and they noticed now that the smoke itself seemed to rise from a point on the beach about a mile away.

“That’s queer,” said Tom. “The smoke can’t be from a house at all.”

“No, some one has been making a fire on the beach. But it’s all the same. It shows that people are living hereabouts, and that’s all we want.”

“Well, we’ll soon know.”

“Tom!”

“What?”

“I should laugh if this place were to turn out to be Gaspé, after all.”

“O, there’s no doubt about the place. It must be Newfoundland.”

“Hallo!”

This exclamation came from Arthur. He said no more, but pointed in silence, while Tom looked eagerly in that direction.

On the beach, about a quarter of a mile away, they saw a moving figure. It was a man. He was running along with irregular steps, waving his arms in the air in a wild way, and evidently trying to attract their attention.

They at once headed the boat in nearer to the shore, so as to meet him as soon as possible. As they neared the shore the man neared them. The beach was smooth, and his staggering, irregular steps could not have been caused by the rough ground, while his wild gesticulations seemed unaccountable.

“He must be drunk,” said Tom.

Arthur said nothing.

The boat grounded, and the next moment the man reached the spot. No sooner had he come up to them than he fell on his knees, and, grasping the bows of the boat, bowed his head, and sobbed convulsively.

They saw, as he came up, that he was pale and emaciated. He was panting heavily from his exertions. He wore a flannel shirt and canvas trousers. He looked like a common sailor from some ship, and not at all like a fisherman or farmer. The boys stared at him without saying one single word.

At length the man rose and looked at them with a searching and curious gaze.

“A couple o? youngsters,” said he at last, as though speaking to himself. “Queer, too--youngsters! Say, boys, is your ship near by?”

“Not very.”

“Where do you come from?”

“O, from over there,” said Arthur. “The fact is, we got ashore.”

“Got ashore!”

“Yes; and we’ve come here to look up some settlement.”

“Got ashore! settlement!” said the man.

“Yes,” said Arthur. “And we’d like to go, as soon as possible, to the nearest settlement. We want to engage a schooner to go back with us and get our friends.”

At this the man stared at them for a few moments in a wild way, and then burst forth into laughter so strange and so wild that both the boys felt uncomfortable. Tom began to think that he was not drunk, but insane, and felt sorry that they had allowed the boat to touch the shore.

Suddenly the man stopped, and looked at them with a totally different expression. He looked at them fixedly, and there was on his face a certain pity and commiseration which struck them forcibly.

“Boys,” said he at length, in a gentle voice, “you’re on the lookout for a settlement, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, look at me. Now look at all this country. Well, I’m the only settler here. I’m the only settler you’ll ever find here, if you sail a hundred years. Do you know where you’ve got to?”

“Why, we thought it was Newfoundland,” said Tom.

“Or Gaspé,” said Arthur.

The man looked at them with a solemn face for some time, and said not a word.

“Poor boys! poor boys!” he murmured at last; “p’raps they was worse off’n I was. An air you all alone, boys?”

“No; we’ve left our friends some, miles back.”

“O, an you thought you was on Newfoundland coast, or Gaspé, an you goes off to hunt for help, an you leaves your friends. Well, now, have they got lots to eat?”

“O, yes.”

“Lots?” repeated the man, with some energy. “Lots, now, railly?”

“Plenty--enough to last them for a year.”

The man sighed.

“An so you comes off for help. Why did they let you youngsters go? Why didn’t the men go?”

“O, we’re all boys,” said Tom.

“Well, that’s queer, too.”

“A kind of pleasure party,” said Arthur.

The man shook his head mournfully.

“An so you thinks you’ve got onto Newfoundland or Gaspé,” he said.

“Yes. Why? Where are we? Can you tell us? And who are you? and what are you doing here?”

Tom said this.

“Me?” said the man. “Look at me. Can’t you see what I be? Do I look like a gentleman farmer? Is this the country for a emigrant? Me!” he repeated, with a bitter laugh. “Poor boys! poor boys! Why, I’m jest like you. I’m ship-wracked--on’y I knows where I be, an that’s more’n you do, it seems.”

“Shipwrecked!” exclaimed Tom.

“Yes, wracked--the worst sort; an this here country--so you think it’s Newfoundland or Gaspé? Well--it ain’t either.”

“What is it?”

“The worst place in the world--that’s what it is; a place where there ain’t no hope, and there ain’t no life. It’s only death that a man can find here.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tom. “Tell us what place it is.”

The man looked at them both, one after the other, with a solemn face.

“I been ship wracked,” said he, “an I been here more’n a fortnight; an this here place is--Anticosti!”

“Anticosti!” exclaimed both the boys, exchanging glances of horror, while a feeling of despair came over them.

“Yes,” said the man, “this here country’s Anticosti--un woe to the poor wretch that’s cast ashore here. For there ain’t no life here, an there ain’t no hope, an there ain’t no food; an the only thing a man can do is to lie down an die as fast as he can.”

A long silence followed. The boys felt utterly overwhelmed. They had all heard enough about Anticosti to make the name one of dread, and to surround it with the darkest gloom and the most formidable terrors.