Bobby of the Labrador by Dillon Wallace

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But Skipper Ed had something on his mind. After the departure of the
_Good and Sure_ his face looked troubled, and more than once he
murmured, "Better luck, I hope. Better luck." And as the days passed his
anxiety increased, and Bobby and Jimmy frequently surprised him looking
intently at them.

Then came a morning when Bobby complained of feeling ill, and Skipper Ed
directed that he must not go with the others of them to jig, but must
remain in the tent, and he prepared a hot drink for Bobby, and wrapped
the lad warmly in blankets. That very day Jimmy, too, fell ill, and Abel
fell ill, and a day later Mrs. Abel also complained. "Measles," said
Skipper Ed.

And measles it was, and a serious condition of affairs confronted
Skipper Ed. He gave up his fishing and devoted his whole attention to
his four patients, and he thanked the Lord that he himself had passed
through the ordeal as a child, and was immune.

Because the people on the Labrador can seldom be brought to understand
that a patient with this ailment must be kept warm and free from
exposure or chill until the period of rash is passed, it is too often a
fatal disease there--and an epidemic is sure to result in many deaths.
In tent life, in time of gales and driving storms, it is frequently
difficult, and sometimes indeed impossible, to properly care for the
patients, for the tents of the people are seldom stormproof or
rainproof.

And so it was that Skipper Ed, who was not only nurse but cook, was more
than occupied. There were times when confinement grew irksome to his
patients, and at those times he was compelled to resort even to force to
prevent one or another from going out into the chilling sea breeze. And
one morning Bobby did evade him and go out, and became chilled, and the
following day lay, as Skipper Ed verily believed, at the door of death.

CHAPTER XIV

VISIONS IN DELIRIUM

There came a terrible day and night when Bobby's life hung in the
balance. A burning fever was upon him. His reason wandered, and he
talked of strange things.

"Mamma! Mamma!" he called, and time and again he plead: "Uncle Robert,
give me a drink of water! Uncle Robert, I'm so thirsty! Oh, I'm so
thirsty!"

And then it would be Abel Zachariah or Mrs. Abel, or Jimmy, or Skipper
Ed himself, who was addressed. Every subject under the sun was running
through Bobby's poor, delirious mind. Sometimes he spoke in Eskimo,
sometimes in English. "Father!" he would cry, "see this cod. He's a fine
one! We'll have a fine catch this season." And so he would ramble along
about the fishing for a time, and then perhaps grow silent, only to
resume, upon some other thought.

After each brief silence there was something new. Perhaps he was warning
Jimmy to run, or declaring that he knew he could get the bear if he only
had time to load. Or perhaps he was telling Mrs. Abel that he was tired,
oh, so tired, and begging her to sing a lullaby to him as she used to do
when he was little.

Skipper Ed, foreseeing this state of affairs, had removed his other
patients, who were now convalescing, to his own tent, where he gave them
strict instructions as to their conduct, and such casual attention as he
could. But for the most part he remained with Bobby. Indeed, during the
day and night of Bobby's delirium he scarcely left Bobby's side for an
instant. And more than once during this period of vigil and fear and
foreboding Skipper Ed fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to the
Great Master in an appeal for his young friend's life.

It was near sunrise on the second morning of his delirium that Bobby
suddenly ceased to speak and lay very quiet--so quiet that an awful
dread came into Skipper Ed's heart. He leaned over the still form and
with fearful apprehension listened for breathing that he could not hear,
and felt for heart beats that were too faint for his discovery.

And then again he fell upon his knees, for he was a God-fearing man and
he had the love of God in his heart, and he prayed that if it were not
too late God in His goodness would again place the breath of life into
Bobby and return him to them. He prayed aloud, and as he prayed the
tears ran down his weather-beaten cheeks.

At last he rose. Bobby's face had assumed an unnatural, peaceful repose.
The color had left the cheeks that had been fever flushed for so long.
The lips were partly open, and there was no movement or sign of life.

Skipper Ed staggered to the tent front, and thrusting the flaps aside
staggered out. The world lay quiet and serene, as though it held no
grief. The waves lapped gently against the rocks. The sky was afire with
radiant beauty.

For a long while Skipper Ed stood there, his face drawn and haggard,
his tall form bent, uncertain which way to turn or what to do. Presently
the fire faded from the sky, a breeze sent a ripple over the calm
waters, and the big sun rose out of the sea, as though to ask him why he
mourned. And then he whispered, "Thy will be done. If it is Thy will to
take him from us, oh God, give us the strength and courage to accept our
bereavement like men."

Then it was that a new, strange peace came upon Skipper Ed, and he
reentered the tent, to stoop again over Bobby's couch, and as he did so
his heart gave a bound of joy, and a lump came into his throat. Bobby
was breathing--ever so softly--but breathing.

With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became more
apparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end of
an hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reason
had returned to them.

"I've--been--asleep--dreaming--queer--dreams," Bobby murmured faintly.

"Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep."

"I--feel--very--weak."

"Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed,
choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck for
you now, lad. Better luck."

"May--I--have--a--drink?"

Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby's
head, held the cup to his parched lips.

"Father--and mother--and Jimmy--where--are--they?" Bobby feebly asked,
for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence.

"They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and get
chilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of staying
in," said Skipper Ed.

And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep and
strength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheer
their hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed its
climax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast.

With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others were
able to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too,
was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor daily
asserting itself.

But hours of sunshine were few now, and more often than not the sky was
leaden and somber, and the wind blew raw and cold, and already the
clouds were spitting snow. The fishing season had passed almost before
they realized it. The weeks of idleness had been costly ones, and when
the time came for them to return to the cabins at the head of Abel's
Bay, and make ready for winter, they had garnered little of the harvest
that had promised so well.

"Every season can't be a good one for us," remarked Skipper Ed as they
struck their camp. "Better luck next year; better luck. And we should be
mighty thankful we're all alive and all well. That's good luck--good
luck, after all."

But they were to be denied many things that winter that the fish they
had not caught would have brought them. The little luxuries in which
they had always indulged occasionally were not to be thought of; and
pork, which is almost a necessity, was to become a rarity and a luxury
to them, and there were to be times when even the flour barrel would be
empty.

But this was a part of the ups and downs of their life, and one and all
they accepted the condition cheerfully, for who, they said, does not
have to endure privations now and again? And they had always done very
well in other years, and the needs of life are small; and so they had no
complaint to make. Comfort and privation are, after all, measured
largely by contrast, and what to them would have been comfortable and
luxurious living would have seemed to you and me little less than
unendurable hardship.

Bobby and Jimmy were as glad, now, to return to the snug cabins as they
had been to set out for Itigailit Island in the summer, and as they
looked back over the few short weeks, the July day when they had their
adventure with the bear seemed to them a long, long while ago.

And when the boats were loaded Bobby ran up to say good-bye for a
season to the cairn and the dead man mouldering beneath it, and to the
wide open sea, and the misty horizon out of which he had drifted, and
then they hoisted sail and were off.

Another long winter with its bitter cold and drifting snow, its joys and
its hardships and adventures, was at hand.

CHAPTER XV

MAROONED IN AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD

That was indeed a winter of bitter cold and of almost unexampled
severity. It came suddenly, too, and with scant warning, as we shall
see, and a full fortnight in advance of the time when it should have
come.

Abel and Skipper Ed took Jimmy with them that year upon their autumn
seal hunt. It was deemed wise to leave Bobby behind with Mrs. Abel,
despite his protest. Though he was willing enough to remain when Mrs.
Abel declared that because of her recent illness she wished some one to
stay at home and assist her, for she did not feel equal to the task,
unassisted, of making things snug for the winter. And of course there
was none but Bobby to stay.

And so it came about that Bobby, with many longings and regrets, though
cheerful enough withal, stood down on the beach one frosty September
morning and watched Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy sail away
for the hunt, while he comforted himself with the thought that another
year he, too, would go.

Indeed, he had already taken part in the spring hunt, and though he gave
no hint that he had guessed what was in their minds, he knew well enough
that the plea that he was needed at home to assist Mrs. Abel at the work
was a subterfuge of his foster parents, instigated, he had no doubt, by
Skipper Ed. He was also satisfied that the real reason why he was left
at home was because they deemed him not yet strong enough, as a result
of his own recent illness, to withstand the unavoidable exposure and
hardships to which the seal hunters would be subjected on the open and
unprotected coast. And he had to confess to himself that he had not
indeed recovered the full measure of his activity and hardihood, and
that there was reason and justice in their course.

A raw wind was blowing, but a fair wind, and in a little while the boat,
bowling before the breeze with all sail set, was lost to view. Then,
disconsolately, Bobby turned back to the cabin, but Mrs. Abel took good
care that he was kept so busy that he soon forgot his disappointment in
work.

And that day he and Mrs. Abel had a jolly dinner of boiled goose, and
tea, and that evening they sat a full hour beyond their bedtime while
she recounted to him in her own quaint way the story of his coming from
the place where mists and storms are born, and told him how he was sent
by God to be their son, and how little he was, and how ill he was when
Abel first placed him in her arms, and how she had hugged him to her,
and had nursed away his fever, and how glad she and Abel had always been
that God had sent them a son.

The days passed thus until they lengthened into a week. Though Bobby was
content enough, it was but natural that he should be a bit lonesome now
and again, and eagerly wish the fortnight gone that yet must pass
before the return of the seal hunters.

The wild geese and ducks were still in flight, coming in great flocks
from the lakes of the vast unknown interior and from the farther north,
on their way to milder southern climes. There were several marshes near
Abel's Bay where the migrating flocks tarried for a time to rest and
feed, and of mornings they would pass with a great roar of wings and
loud honking from the bay to these marshes, and at night they would
return.

It was Bobby's custom morning and night to lie in wait for them with his
shotgun, and he always returned to the cabin with as many birds as he
could carry. These were hung in the entrance shed of the cabin, where
they would freeze and remain fresh and good until needed for the table.
And thus he too was doing his part in providing for the long winter
which was at hand.

The goose-hunting season was always one of great sport for Bobby, but
this year he found it lonesome enough without Jimmy's company. It was
this loneliness, no doubt, that prompted him, one morning in the
beginning of the second week after the departure of the seal hunters, to
take Abel Zachariah's old skiff and pull far down the bay in the hope
that he might kill a seal on his own account. It was a gray day, with
leaden clouds hanging low. Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay,
throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark.

Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near
which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were
to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea
pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite
full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them
dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a
fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its
downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and
drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might
escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag.

This was exciting sport--so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself
to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he
would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop
which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it
lost its interest.

Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he
ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee
of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was
well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked
and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling
it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner.

He was thus busily engaged when snow began to fall. Thicker and thicker
it came, but Bobby was well protected and he finished his cooking and
his meal without a thought of danger or concern for his safety. And,
when he had eaten, reluctant to leave his cozy fire, he tarried still
another half hour.

"Well," said he, rising at length, "the snow's getting thick and I'd
better be pulling back. My! I didn't know it was so late! It's getting
dusk, already, and it'll be good and dark before I get home!"

Then, to his amazement, he discovered when he emerged from his
sheltered nook that the wind had risen tremendously, that the cold had
visibly increased, and that the chop had developed into a considerable
sea, and that the snow, too, driving before the wind, was blinding
thick.

Bobby was not, however, alarmed, though he realized there was no time
to be lost if he would reach home before the full force of the rising
blizzard was upon him, and he chided himself for his delay. But the old
skiff was a good sea boat, and Bobby was a good sea-man, and he pulled
fearlessly out upon the wind-swept waters. And here the driving snow
soon swallowed up the land, but Bobby was not afraid, and pulling with
all his might turned down before the storm.

For a little while all went well, and Bobby was congratulating himself
that after all he would reach home before it became too dark to see.
Then suddenly a big sea broke over his stern, and left the skiff half
filled with water. This was serious. He could not relinquish the oars to
bail out the water. Another such deluge would smother him.

Then he realized that the seas had grown too big for him to weather, and
his one hope was to make a landing. He searched his mind for a section
of the shore within his reach, sufficiently free from jagged rocks and
sufficiently sheltered to offer him a safe landing, and all at once he
bethought himself of the bird island where he and Jimmy had gone egging,
and which he had visited many times since.

He was, fortunately, very near the island and when he heard the surf
beating upon its rocky shores he determined quickly to make an effort to
run upon its lee shore. Here, he argued, he could bail the water from
the skiff, and then could pull across to the mainland, where he could
haul up the skiff and walk home. It would be a disagreeable tramp in the
storm, but it was his safest and his only course.

But even in the lee of the island the seas were running high and dashing
upon the rocks with such force that for the instant he held off,
hesitating. There was no other course, however. The half-submerged skiff
would never live to reach the mainland. With every passing minute
conditions were growing worse.

And so, watching for an opportune moment, Bobby drove for the shore. A
roller carried the skiff on its crest, dropped it with a crash upon the
rocks, and receded. Bobby sprang out, seized the painter, and running
forward secured it to a bowlder, that the next sea might not carry it
away.

Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging
and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and
as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out
of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of
the skiff was a great hole.

And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless
island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool--not even an ax--with
which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the
first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and
awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that
could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important
than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the
blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night.

CHAPTER XVI

A SNUG REFUGE

The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet
clothing was already stiff with ice. The northeast wind, laden with
Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the
bone.

The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it
would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a
sub-Arctic blizzard. Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it
would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds. Winter had
fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven.

But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly. He was not one of
those who with the least difficulty plunge into unnecessary
discouragement and lose their capacity for action. It was not in his
nature to waste his time and opportunities and energies worrying about
what might happen, but what in the end rarely did happen. He conserved
his mental and physical powers, and turned his mind and muscles into
vigorous and practical action. And like every fortunate possessor of
this valuable faculty, Bobby more often than not raised success out of
failure.

And so it came to pass that when Bobby found himself cast away upon the
naked rocks of a small and treeless sub-Arctic island, with no shelter
from the awful cold of a driving blizzard, and with no other tools than
his hands, he did not give up and say, "This is the end," and then sit
down to wait for the pitiless cold to end his sufferings. What he did
say was:

"Well, here I am in another mess, and I've got to find some way out of
it."

He examined the skiff carefully and the examination satisfied him that
it was too badly injured to be repaired with the means at his command,
and so with all his energy he set himself at once to making himself as
comfortable as the conditions and the surroundings would permit.

First he scoured the island for wood, for he knew that presently the
storm and blizzard would rise to such proportions as to render any
efforts to find wood impossible, and any attempt to move about perilous,
and therefore no time must be lost.

In a little while he succeeded in collecting a considerable amount of
driftwood, and when he turned his attention to other things he had the
consolation of knowing that the gale would sweep the snow from the rocks
and into the sea, and that any wood that he had overlooked in his
search, or had no time now to gather, would be left uncovered, where he
could find it when the blizzard was past and he could go abroad again.

He piled his fuel by the side of a big, high, smooth-faced bowlder which
he had purposely chosen because of its location, not far from the place
where he had been driven ashore, and on the lee side of the island. The
smooth face of this bowlder looked toward the water, and with its back
toward the wind it offered a fairly good wind-break, and a considerable
drift had already formed against its face, or sheltered, side, where the
snow lodged as it was driven in swirling gusts around its ends or swept
over its top.

When his wood was gathered, Bobby with much effort dragged the boat to
the rock, and then working hard and fast cleared away the snow as best
he could with the aid of sticks and feet from the smooth rock bed in
front of the bowlder, and on which the bowlder rested. He now carried
from the innumerable stones lying about upon the wind-swept rocks,
sufficient to build at right angles to the bowlder two rough walls about
two feet high and as long as the width of the boat. These walls were
perhaps eight feet apart, and when they were finished he raised the
boat, bottom up, upon them, the after part of the boat resting upon one,
the prow extending over the other, and the side of the boat shoved back
flush against the bowlder face.

Thus he made for himself a covered shelter, and the front of this he
enclosed with other stones, save for a space three feet wide in the
center, which he reserved for a door. From low spruce bushes--for there
were no trees on the island--he now gathered a quantity of brush and
arranged it under the boat for a bed.

Dusk was settling before these arrangements had been completed. When all
was at length as snug as his ingenuity could make it in the short time
at his disposal, he stored as much of the wood, under the boat as the
limited space would allow and still permit him room to stretch with
some comfort; and as quickly as possible he built a small fire just
outside the door. Already snow had drifted around the ends and on top of
the boat and his little fire reflecting heat within soon made his
covered nook comfortable enough.

Fourteen sea pigeons would make fourteen meals, though scant ones for a
husky fellow like Bobby. Now he was hungry enough, as indeed he always
was at meal hour and it did not take him long to pluck and dress one of
the birds, and in short order it was grilling merrily on the end of a
stick. There was no bread to keep the grilled sea pigeon company, but
Bobby did not mind in the least. Indeed, this lack of variety was no
hardship. He often dined upon meat alone, and now he was thankful enough
to have the sea pigeons, or indeed anything.

But almost before his supper was cooked the little fire, deluged with
clouds of snow, dried out and refused to burn, and it became evident to
Bobby that he must face the night without fire, and resort to other
means to protect himself in his narrow quarters from freezing. He was
already ashiver and his hands and feet were numb.

He had no blanket, and no other covering than the wet clothes he wore,
and he closed the door of his shelter as best he could with the sticks
of driftwood which were stored under the boat. There was nothing else to
be done.

The cold had become intense. The storm demon had broken loose in all its
fury and was lashing sea and land in wild frenzy. The shrieking wind,
the dull, thunderous pounding of the waves upon the rocks and the hiss
of driving snow, filled the air with a tumult that was little less than
terrifying.

No man unsheltered could have survived an hour upon the exposed rocks of
the blizzard-swept island, and cold and shivering as he was, Bobby gave
thanks for his narrow little cover under the boat, which in contrast to
the world outside appealed to him now as an exceedingly snug retreat. It
was safe for a little while, at least, and here he hoped he might have
the strength to weather the storm in safety.

And while he lay and listened to the roar and tumult of the storm,
presently he became aware that he was growing warmer. His shivering
ceased. The bitter chill of the first half hour after his fire went out
passed away, and in a little while to his astonishment he discovered
that he was not after all so uncomfortable.

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