Part 35 (1/2)
”We never should get through alive. I don't believe Wade would stand it to go a quarter of the distance. He's sick now, and, worse still, has no courage. He acts strangely.”
”Wade will rally when worst comes to worst, and be the head man in extremities.”
”Do you think so?”
”I do. Wade is kind of hot-blooded, you know. Being left here so sudden struck him all in a heap. But he will show blood yet, if it comes to a real hand-to-hand struggle to save our lives. A boy that took his musket, and went right into a fair, stand-up battle of his own accord, as they say Wade did, won't give in here without showing us another side to his character. One thing, he feels the cold here worse than we do: it pinches him all up. But he will come out of his dumps yet. Don't badger him: he won't leave his bones here. Seriously, I have more fear for Weymouth and Donovan than for Wade. That is most always the way where there's hards.h.i.+p and suffering. Your great, strong, thoughtless fellow is the first to give out and fail up. You mark my words, now. If we have to undertake this journey, Weymouth and Donovan will be the first to sicken and fall behind. I don't believe they would ever get through it. But, after the first three days, Wade would lead us all. He will sort of rally and rise as the peril and hards.h.i.+p increase. He is kind of discouraged now, because he sees what's before us, and has to muster his energies to meet it; but he is getting a reserve of will-force in store. There's a good deal in that, I tell you! A strong will has carried many a fellow through hards.h.i.+ps that would have killed men of twice the muscle without the will; and that's the way it will be with our two sailors, I'm afraid.”
”But I am not in favor of making this trip overland,” Kit added after we had sat musing a few minutes.
”What do you propose?”
”I think it best to work out of the straits in our boat, if we can.”
I had thought of that plan.
”We could make a sail out of this walrus-hide, and watch our chance with a favorable breeze to scud us along from islet to islet on the south side here. We could run down into Ungava Bay, clean to the foot of it; and then, leaving the boat, go across to Nain. It couldn't be more than a hundred and fifty miles from the foot of the bay. We could start off, and, with a strong spurt, do it in a week from that place, I think. We should, at least, be sure of getting seals for food. But Raed don't think it best.”
”Why not?”
”Well, he says, that, by the time we get into Ungava Bay, it will begin to freeze ice nights, enough to stop us. He thinks, too, that we should suffer a good deal more from cold on the water than on the land. Then we should have to wait for favorable winds, and be laid up through storms, besides the danger of getting capsized in gusts, and caught in the ice-patches. But he has agreed to leave it to the party to decide. I know the two sailors will vote to go by boat; but I'm not sure Raed is not right, after all. He's a better judge than any of the rest of us, I do suppose. I have a horror of starting off inland, though.”
A very reasonable horror, I considered it. Any thing but toiling over sterile mountains, for me.
We sat there for a long time looking off, pondering the situation.
Suddenly my eye caught on a tiny brown speck far to the northward. I watched it a moment, then spoke to Kit. He took out his gla.s.s and looked.
”That's some sort of a boat,” he said at length. ”Brown sail! That's a Husky boat, I reckon,--an _oomiak_.”
I took the gla.s.s. The craft was heading southward; coming, it seemed, either for the islet we were on, or else the large island to the south-east. I could see black heads under the large irregular sail.
”Coming down to the Labrador side,” Kit remarked. ”I've heard that they spend the summer on the north side of the straits; go up in the spring, and come back here to Labrador in the latter part of the season.”
”There are _kayaks_ with it,” he said, with the gla.s.s to his eye,--”one on each side; and there are one or two, perhaps more, behind.”
In the course of an hour it had come down within three miles, bearing off toward the large island.
”We had best get out of sight, I guess,” Kit observed. ”Don't care to attract them or frighten them.”
We went back a little behind the rocks; and Kit ran down to tell the rest of the party. They came back with them,--all but Weymouth, who was not very well, and had lain down for a nap.
”That's a big _oomiak_!” exclaimed Raed, taking a long look at it.
”One--two--three--five--seven _kayaks_.”
”How many do you make out in the big boat?” Kit asked.
”Nineteen--twenty; and I don't know how many behind the sail,” Raed replied.
”Those are the women and children, I suppose,” Wade said.
”Wade's thinking of the Husky belles,” Kit remarked with a wink to me; ”of the one he gave the scarf to. Let's see: what was her name?”