Left on Labrador Part 30

"Why, I'm hungry now!" Wade cried out; "but I don't see anything to eat but ice and rocks!"

"It's half-past eleven," Kit announced, looking at his watch.

"Seriously, what do you expect we can get hold of for grub, Raed?"

"Well, seals."

"Seals!" exclaimed Wade; "the oily, nasty trash!"

"Hunger may bring you to sing a different tune," Kit muttered. "I'm not sure that a seal's flipper might not be acceptable by to-morrow morning."

"There are plenty of kittiwakes and lumne and eiderducks about these islets," I suggested. "We can shoot some of them."

"And we can fish!" Weymouth exclaimed.

"Where's your hooks?" said Kit.

That question floored the fishing project.

"Well, we've got our muskets," replied Weymouth.

"How many cartridges in all?" Raed asked.

"Let's take account of them. They are like to be precious property."

"I've got eight," said Kit, counting them.

"I have seven," Wade announced.

"Six," said I.

"I took nine," Raed observed.

"You gave me five," reported Weymouth. "I have used one. Here's the other four."

"Thirty-four in all," said Raed. "Now, boys, these are worth their weight in gold to us. Not one must be wasted."

"My butcher-knife is like to come into good use." Donovan remarked, feeling the edge of it.

"Yes; and we've got our jack-knives too," said Kit.

"How about a fire?" Wade asked.

At that there were blank looks for a moment; till, with a queer grin, Donovan began to fumble in his waistcoat-pocket, and drew out, in close company with a rounded plug of tobacco, seven or eight grimy matches.

"Hurrah!" shouted Kit.

"You've allus been dippin' into me pretty strong about smokin'," said Don, looking around to Raed; "but you can't say that smokin' don't have its advantages sometimes."

"That's an argument for the weed that we can all appreciate at present, no mistake," Raed replied. "Don, keep hold of those matches, and see that they all strike fire, and I'll never preach to you again, so sure as my name is Warren Raedway."

_Bang!_ A distant _boom_ from the hated ship, now low down on the sea.

"The schooner is almost out of sight," said Kit. "She's a long way off. Perhaps it's the last time we shall ever set eyes on her pretty figure!"

"Oh, not so bad as that, I hope!" cried Raed. "Don't go to getting poetical, Kit. How about dinner? That's of more consequence just now than poetry. Time enough to make verses on this rather awkward episode when we're safe in Boston. Make a proposal for dinner, somebody.

Wade's starving."

"What say for the sea-horse!" exclaimed Donovan.

"Yes; how about that walrus?" Kit demanded.

"That sea-horse has got us into a fine sc.r.a.pe," muttered Wade. "It would have been better if we had left him undisturbed on his island."

"That's neither this nor there, now," said Kit. "Question arises, Can we eat him? Is it fit to eat? Did ever anybody hear of their being eaten?"

"The Huskies eat them, I believe," said Raed.

"The Huskies! Well, I mean civilized folks; ship's crews?"

n.o.body knew.

"The best way will be to try it for ourselves," remarked Donovan. "But we don't know that we killed him yet. We didn't stop to find out, you know."

"Then that is clearly the next thing to do," said Raed. "Let's go down to the boat, and take that round to the place where we fired at the second one."

"But how about the birds, the eider-ducks and kittiwakes?" said I. "We should find them more palatable than sea-horse--to begin with."

"Very well: you and Weymouth might go round the island to the left. It can't be more than a mile and a half or two miles. But do be prudent of your cartridges."

_Boom!_

Raed and Kit, with Wade and Donovan, then got into the boat, and pulled off round the islet to the right; while Weymouth and I, reloading our muskets, set off on our bird-hunt.

The west end of the island was considerably higher than the eastern portion. As we went on, we espied scores of little auks sitting upon the low cliffs.

"No use to waste powder on them," said Weymouth.

"But see there!" suddenly halting. "If those ain't geese, I'm mistaken,--out there on that gravel-flat, waddling along. Ain't those geese?"

Wild-geese they were, or, as some call them, Canada geese; nearly as large as our domestic geese, and of a gray slate-color. They did not seem to fear our approach much. We walked quietly up to fifty yards.

"I'll take that big gander," I said.

"All right," quoth Weymouth. "I'll take a goose."

We fired at them with a careful aim. Over went the gander and a goose.

The rest flew with loud squallings, save one with a broken wing, which Weymouth rushed after, and pelted to death with stones.

"A pretty good haul!" he exclaimed, holding them up. "Weigh eight or ten pounds apiece. But I didn't expect to see wild-geese up here," he added.