ADRIFT.

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About midday, Captain Lund drove down on the ice to draw up the boat owned by his sons; after which he was to return a second time for the decoys and shooting-box of the homeward-bound sportsmen. The floe was fast wasting under the April sun, and his horses' iron-shod hoofs sank deep into the snow-ice, which the night-frosts had left at morn as hard as flint.

He drove with his habitual caution, sounding more than one suspicious place with the axe, and at last came to a long tide-crack, through which the open water showed clear, and which seemed to divide the floe as far as the eye could reach.

"I come none too soon," said the deliberate pilot; "and I must warn La Salle not to trust his boat here another night."

"Well, captain, what think you of the weather?" asked La Salle, as the shaggy pony and rough sled halted near the boat.

"It looks a little cloudy, but I guess nothing more than a fog may be expected to-night. You had better have your boat ready to get ashore right away; for the ice, though heavy enough, is full of cracks, and will go off with the first northerly gale which comes with the ebb."

"Well, I'll be getting the boat clear of the ice, and you may come for us the last of all."

And Lund, driving down the bar to his own boat, left La Salle busily at work, with axe and shovel, clearing away the well-packed ice which had for the last three weeks concealed the sides of the goose-boat.

By the time that Lund had hooked on to his own boat and driven up again, a large heap of ice and snow had been thrown out; but the runners were evidently frozen down, and the boat was immovable.

"I shan't have her clear until you get through with Davies's outfit; but I guess we shall be ready for you then."

Lund drove on, dragging the heavy boat up to the beach, and then concluded to haul it up the bank, above the reach of the increasing tides, and the danger of being crushed by the ice. As he cast off her rope, he felt a snow-flake on the back of his hand. Before he reached the ice, they were falling thick and noiselessly.

"I must hurry; for there's no time to lose. The tide is just at its turn; and if the wind comes from the north, the boys will be adrift. Come; get up, Lightfoot. G'lang! Whoop! Go it!"

Already the rising wind began to whirl the thick-falling flakes in smothering wreaths, and Lund groaned in spirit as, following the tracks of his last trip, the stanch little horse galloped down the ice.

"I am afraid this is the end of my vision; for the ice won't be long in breaking up now, and those boys are out in that d—n little craft."

And Lund in his perturbation swore and cursed after the manner of "sailor-men" generally; that is, when they most need to pray.

Suddenly the little horse hesitated, relaxed into a trot, snorted, reared, and stopped, wheeling half around, with the sleigh-runners diagonally across the half-effaced track, which came to an unexpected stop. Lund saw at once that another rod would have plunged horse and man into the Gulf; the ice-fields had parted, and the boats and their occupants were floating away at the mercy of the winds and waves.

"Let's see," said Lund; "the wind is nor'-east, and the tide will set them in some, too. So, if the gale does not shift, that'll carry them past McQuarrie's Point, and I'll hail them then, and let them know where they are. God grant that they've got the boat clear; for once away from the lee of the island, their craft would never find land in such a squall as this. "Come, Lightfoot," he added, as he sprang upon the sled, and brought his leathern reins smartly across the animal's back, "there's four lives on our speed; so go your fastest, poor fellow! and God help that we may not be too late."

Meanwhile La Salle and Peter had viewed with no little anxiety the sudden overclouding of the sky, or rather the heavy curtain of vapor which seemed to descend mysteriously from the zenith, rather than to gather from beyond the horizon.

"I no like snow; wind no good this time; tide too high. Spose Lund come, must get boat across crack yonder any way."

And the one-armed hunter plied the light axe with a haste which showed no small amount of anxiety.

The boat was soon clear, but the snow was falling so fast that they could scarcely see to windward at all, and no part of the land was visible. Again the Indian spoke, and a new cause of anxiety was stated.

"Where sposum boys this time? See boat little hile ago. No see any now. They no see hice. Spose shootum big gun call them hin?"

La Salle took the heavy piece, and was about to discharge it to leeward, when, from the very air above their heads, a voice seemed to call on them by name, "La Salle, Charley, Peter, ahoy!"

La Salle dropped the butt of his gun, and listened. Again the voice sounded apparently nearer than before. "Charley, Peter, ahoy!"

"That voice ole man Lund. I know it; but what for sposum voice there? Then track go that way. Ole man lose way, spose."

"Perhaps he has fallen in, Peter. Come, let's go."

And catching a rope near him, and forgetting to lay down the cumbrous gun, Charley ran towards the incessant and evidently-agonized cries, Peter following with an axe and a light fish-spear.

Scarcely had the runners gone a hundred yards before they stopped in dismay. At their feet the ice-field ended abruptly, and scarce a hundred yards away rose a wall of red sandstone, on whose summit stood Lund, peering down into the whirl of snow-flakes. His quick eye espied them, and he shouted his last advice.

"Launch your boat at once; don't wait. Keep under the lee. Don't try to save anything but your lives. Keep the wind at your backs in rowing, and mind the set of the tide eastward."

"Ay, ay! I understand. We're waiting for the boys!" shouted La Salle.

"I can't hear a word," called out Lund across the rapidly-increasing space.

"Give me that spear, Peter," said La Salle.

And snapping off the tiny barbs, he drew from his pocket a pencil, and wrote as follows on the slender rod of white maple:—

Holding up the rod to be seen by Lund, he placed it in the muzzle of his piece, and motioned to the captain to watch its flight. The pilot stepped behind a tree, and La Salle aimed at the face of a large snow-drift near him. The report echoed amid the broken ledges, the long white arrow sped through the air, and stuck in the snow close to the tree. Lund picked it up, and bent over it a moment; then bowed his head, as if assuring them of his approval of its contents.

Already the floe had moved into rough water, and the short waves raised by the increasing gale began to throw their spray far up on the ice. The snow-squall gathered fury, and La Salle, waving his hand, pointed heavenward, while Peter, knowing but too well the danger of their position, sank on his knees, and began the simple prayers of his faith. Lund saw them fade from view into the sleety veil that hid the waste of waters, and groaning in spirit, turned homeward.

"In half an hour no boat on the island can reach them, even if men could be found to face certain death in a snow-storm out on the open Gulf."

Peter rose to his feet, apparently almost hopeless.

"Good by, Saint Peter's! Good by, Trois Lieues' Creek! Good by, Lund! Poor Peter no more shootum wild goose here."

"Come, Peter, don't give it up so," said La Salle. "We must find the boys and get their oars and boat, and then well try and see what we can do to get ashore."

Peter's eyes brightened a little, and walking around the edge of the floe, they came, in the course of twenty minutes, to the boys, snugly seated under their inverted boat, in a hollow of a large berg, which, until that day, had never floated with the tide.

"Come, boys, this won't do. We're adrift, and getting well out into the Gulf. Turn over your boat, put everything into her, and let's try what we can do with the big boat."

In desperate haste the four took down the light craft, threw in the oars and guns, and dashed across the quarter of a mile which lay between them and the windward side of the ice. In about five minutes they reached the large boat; but all saw at a glance that little less than a miracle was needed to carry them safe ashore.

The snow was falling thick and fast, the wind driving it in eddying clouds, and amid it could be seen at times the white caps of the increasing surges as they broke on the edge of the floe. It was evident that it would be madness to attempt to leave their present position; yet all stood silent a moment, as if unwilling to be the first to confess the painful truth.

At last La Salle broke the silence. "It's no use, boys; we must stay here all night. And first, let's get both boats down to the berg, for this floe may go to pieces any time; but that is all of twenty feet thick, and will stand a good deal yet. Come, pile in the decoys and tools, and let's get under cover as soon as we can."

The decoys of iron and wood, and even those of fir-twigs, of which they had added some three dozen, were piled into the boats, and taking hold at the painter of the largest, they soon trundled the heavy load to the thickest part of the field.

"Sposum we get Davies's box and 'coys too. Then we makum camp, have plenty wood too. Spose field break up, loosem sartin," said Peter.

"You're right. Come, boys. We don't know how long we may be on this ice-field, and we shall need all the shelter we can get, and fuel too."

It was nearly an hour before they found the box and its pile of decoys, but the box had been furnished with rude runners, and being already clear of the ice, there was no delay in what was evidently becoming a dangerous proximity to the sea; for that edge of the ice was already breaking up, as the rollers broke over it, bearing it down with the weight of water. Sunset must have been close at hand when the party arrived, wet, weary, and almost despairing, at the berg.

"Now, boys," said La Salle, "we must build our house at once, for no one can tell how long this storm may last. Luckily we have two shovels and two axes. Peter and I will cut away the ice, and you two will pile up fragments, and clear away the snow and rubbish."

Choosing a crater-like depression on the summit of the berg, La Salle laid out a parallelogram about eight feet square, and motioning to Peter, proceeded to sink a square shaft into the solid ice, which, at first a little spongy, rapidly became hard and flinty. Aided by the natural shape of the berg, in the course of an hour a cavity had been cleared out to the depth of about six feet. Over this was inverted the box belonging to Davies, and this was kept in place by fragments of ice piled around and over it, after which the interstices were filled with wet snow, and the whole patted into a firm, impermeable mound.

On the leeward side the wall had been purposely left thin, and through this a narrow door, about three feet high, was cut into the excavation. Lighting his lantern, La Salle stepped inside, finding himself in a gloomy but warm room, about nine feet high in the walls, and eight feet square. Taking the dryest of the fir decoys, he cut the cords which bound them together, and laying the icy branches of their outer covering on the bare ice, soon formed a non-conducting carpet of fir-twigs, of which the upper layers were nearly dry.

The whole party then entered, carefully brushing from their clothes and boots as much of the snow as possible, and, seating themselves, for the first time rested from incessant exertion amid the furious peltings of a driving north-east snow-storm.

La Salle motioned to the rest to place their guns in a nook near the door, and taking the boiler of the lantern, filled it with snow, and placed it above the flame. Regnar, noticing this, went out and brought in the rude chest containing the remnants of their little stock of coffee, and the basket with what was left of the day's lunch.

In the former were found a few matches, about a half pound of coffee, perhaps a pound of sugar, a box and a half of sardines, and two or three dozen ship's hard-bread. In the basket were left several slices of bread, a junk of corned beef weighing about two pounds, and some apples and doughnuts.

In a short time the tiny boiler, which held about a pint, was full of boiling water, to which La Salle added some coffee, and soon each had a small but refreshing draught, which helped wonderfully to restore their usual warmth and vigor of circulation. From the lunch-basket, whose contents had remained untouched all day, a slight meal was taken, and then the remainder of the provisions put carefully away, although a second cup of coffee was left preparing in the lantern for possible contingencies.

La Salle looked at his watch—it was nearly eight o'clock.

"We are now well down off Point Prime, and are probably under the lee of other ice, as we no longer feel the tossing of the sea. The boats are all ready for use, but it is not likely we shall need them to-night, unless, indeed—Let us hold a council of war, and decide at once on our course of action."