The Wilderness Castaways Part 12

Cruise to th' s'uthard when fog clears and look for wrecked boat. No use though. No use!"

That night they drew out into deep water, and the next day lay to in the fog. Then the gradually rising wind increased in velocity, the fog was blown away, and a terrific northeast gale broke upon them. For two days and two nights it swept Hudson Bay with its fury, and when it ceased a jam of Arctic ice blocked the western coast of the bay, rendering any search for the wreckage of the boat quite useless.

A conference was held, and upon Captain Bluntt's advice Remington, against his desires, however, finally agreed to turn homeward.

The pa.s.sage of Ungava Bay and Hudson Straits, now blocked with a shifting ice pack, was accomplished without accident, and once in the open Atlantic the _North Star_ steamed for St. Johns, putting in at a Newfoundland outport, en route, to permit Remington to cable Mr.

Densmore in New York, to meet him at Sydney to receive bad news. This he did that the shock of Paul's supposed death might not come to the parents too suddenly.

The two young sportsmen proceeded at once by train from St. Johns to Port a Basque, and when their steamer from that place reached Sydney, they found Mr. Densmore awaiting their arrival at the dock.

They boarded the train, and in a stateroom in the parlor car Remington gave the grief-stricken father a detailed account of what had occurred.

"It is a terrible blow to me, and his mother will be prostrated," said Mr. Densmore. "But, Remington," placing his hand on the young man's shoulder, "rest a.s.sured I am satisfied everything possible was done to save my boy. You were guilty of no negligence, and I shall always have a kindly remembrance of the interest you took in Paul's welfare."

CHAPTER VII

ADRIFT ON AN ICE PAN

A steady and gradually strengthening breeze was blowing from the North. The boys, wet to the skin, huddled close together on the center of the drifting ice pan and in the lee of the boat. Presently Paul, less inured to cold and exposure than Dan, began to shiver, and Dan suggested:

"Get in your sleepin' bag. 'Tis rare cold, an' you shakes like un had th' ague."

"No, I'd be afraid to lie down," objected Paul, "but maybe we could wrap a pair of the blankets around us. There are three pairs in my bag."

"Now maybe we could be doin' that," said Dan. "I'll get un."

He felt in the dark among the things which had been piled together, and presently drew the inner pair of blankets from the bag. This they wrapped around their shoulders, drawing it close about them, with a camp bag for their seat and the boat at their back.

"Is there no help for us--no hope that the ship's boat will pick us up in the morning?" asked Paul.

"I'm not sayin' that," comforted Dan. "Th' ship'll sure cruise t' th'

s'uthard with daylight, an' if th' fog clears she'll be findin' us, an' th' ice holds together."

"Do you think the ice will hold together until morning?"

"I'm hopin' so. An' with light I'll be tryin' my hand at fixin' th'

boat, an' I'm thinkin' we may fix un."

They were quiet for a long while, when Dan asked, softly:

"Sleepin'?"

"No."

"Cold?"

"Freezing."

"Snuggle closter."

Paul drew very close to Dan, who drew the blanket tighter.

"Warmer?"

"Yes, that's better."

"Ain't so scairt?"

"No--I don't know--I'm getting used to it, I guess."

"Yes, we'll be gettin' used to un before day, an' then we'll be doin'

somethin'. Dad says always keep un nerve an' be plucky, an' th' worst fixes can be got out of someway."

"This is a pretty bad fix, though. Guess your dad was never in a fix like this."

"Oh, yes, he were. Dad were on th' old _Narwhal_ when she were nipped, an' twelve of her crew were lost. He were adrift on th' ice for a week before he were picked up. An' he's been on four vessels as were wrecked. Dad's been in some wonderful bad places, but he always gets out of un for he always keeps his nerve--an' when they ain't nothin'

he can do for hisself, he prays. Dad's a wonderful religious man."

"Can you pray?"

"Oh, yes; I been prayin' quiet to myself, settin' here. Can you?"

"I know the Lord's Prayer. Mother taught me to say it when I was little."

"Say un to yourself. 'Twill do good."

Another long silence, and Dan asked:

"Been prayin'?"

"It won't do any good; I'm sure it won't. I said it once but it don't seem to belong to this fix."

"'Twill help us if we prays the best we can. Dad says: 'Do everything you sets your hand to the best un knows how; if 'tis workin', work the best un can; if 'tis prayin', pray the best un can.'"

"Oh, Dan, if I'd only stopped fishing when you called me! If I'd only gone back to the ship then, we'd have been all right! Oh, why didn't I go! Why didn't I go!"

"Maybe the Lord were plannin' to have us go adrift, and He were keepin' you fishin'. Dad says sometimes th' Lord does such things to try folks out an' see what they'll be doin' for theirselves."

"No, Dan, it was my fault. Oh, why didn't I go when you called me! Now we'll both be drowned, and it's all my fault."

"Don't be feelin' so bad about un, Paul," Dan soothed. "While they's life they's a chanst. Dad's always sayin' that, an' he says, 'If you ever gets in a tight fix, lad, do all you can to get out of un, an'

when they ain't nothin' more _you_ can do, an' you're sartin' they ain't, then pray to th' Lord, an' leave un to He. But,' says Dad, 'don't waste no time prayin' an' askin' th' Lord's help when they's anythin' you can do yourself. He won't pull you out of no sc.r.a.pe when you ain't doin' th' things He's laid out for you to do first.'"

"But what can we do?"