There are no boys in the world more plucky than the sons of the fisher-folk of Newfoundland. If every tale of daring and heroism on the coastal waters were related, only a bulky volume could possibly contain them. There seems to be no fear in the hearts of these lads, and their endurance in times of distress is amazing.

At the time of writing there comes to hand a story of the sufferings of two boys living at Harbour Breton who, a few weeks ago, strayed in a dory from the fishing-grounds. Sometimes a fog will suddenly spread itself over the fishing-grounds, thus making the return to land a very difficult and hazardous task to inexperienced juveniles. One of these treacherous fogs had set in on this occasion, and in rowing to land, as they thought, the boys were unfortunate enough to lose their way. For four days and three nights they tugged at the oars of their little boat, and at last reached the land near La Poile in an exhausted and almost starving condition.

When the boys saw the shroud of fog enveloping the fishing-grounds they pulled up the “killok,” and evidently, as they thought, began to row towards the shore. They had been pulling at the oars for about two hours without any knowledge of the direction in which they were going. Through a slight “lift” of the fog they caught sight of two fishermen in a dory with sail set, and in the hope that they had a compass on board, they inquired if they were on the right course. The two fishermen informed the boys that they were on the wrong course, and then gave them instructions in which direction they were to row. The next six hours were devoted to strenuous pulling of the oars; but as they could not hear the familiar sound of the surf driving on the land, there was no alternative but to anchor for the night. Alas! when they threw out the “killok” they found that the “rode” was too short for the anchor to reach the bottom. So once more they were forced to take the oars in hand and row forward.

A breeze had suddenly sprung up from the north-east, accompanied by a choppy sea, and the slender craft not only began to take in water, but it started to drift. All night long the boys alternately bailed out the water and endeavoured to keep the nose of the dory towards the sea. When the first faint streaks of light appeared on the eastern horizon the boat was still drifting, and they both became fatigued for want of food and sleep. All day long she drifted on, and when darkness came there was only the prospect of another night at sea, without sleep and food. They had with them a small loaf of bread, which, although saturated with water in the bottom of the craft, they decided to gather up and lay aside for the time when the pangs of hunger were no longer endurable.

The wind did not abate until the following night, and as they had some vague idea that land was not very far off, they rowed all through the night until daylight appeared once more. During the day they were compelled to eat the saturated loaf; and as the third night drew near their throats became parched with thirst, and their tongues had swollen to such an extent that conversation between them was almost impossible. In the dory were five frozen herrings and a codfish, which the boys decided to eat while the boat drifted about until the morning. They had no sooner swallowed their unpalatable meal, however, than they were seized with vomiting and excruciating pains in their stomachs. In spite of their sufferings, they took up the oars once more, and, though extremely weak, did their best to row on they knew not whither.

Sixty hours without sleep or food, with their clothes frozen as stiff as boards, was a great test of courage and physical endurance; but they were determined not to abandon hope until their strength and senses were completely overpowered.

The fourth day found them still rowing aimlessly through the fog. Towards evening it seemed as though they were to lay down their oars and abandon themselves to the mercy of the sea. But the sound of guns in the distance inspired them with hope, for they instinctively knew that someone was shooting birds on the land. They called into play the remaining strength they had, and rowed in the direction whence the reports of the gun had come. In a short time the little dory came slowly into the harbour, and the men who had been shooting birds, seeing their pitiable condition, ran down to their assistance. So exhausted were these two little fisher-boys that they had to be lifted out of the dory. The rescuers at once placed them upon their shoulders, and hurried off with them to the nearest habitation, where every kindness was extended to them by the fisher-folk of La Poile.

During this perilous adventure it is said that they must have rowed at least 120 miles. But to-day the brave little fellows laugh over their experiences, and tell you jokingly that they think they are now fully qualified to take their position with the hardy members of the banking crews.