Bobby of the Labrador

A LONELY JOURNEY

Weary as Jimmy was, he lay awake for a long time, torn by emotions and filled with misgivings and wild imaginings. Would he ever see good old Partner again? Would he ever see the cozy cabin that had been his home through all these happy years? Would he ever again sit, snug in his big arm chair before the big box stove with its roaring fire, while Skipper Ed helped him with his studies or told him stories of the far-off fairy land of civilization?

Then for a time he fell to thinking about Bobby, and, in his old way, to worrying, and to wondering if, after all, he could not or should not make one more attempt to rescue his comrade.

"I never should have let him go that last time," he moaned. "If he perishes it will be my fault! I'm older and I should have thought further! I should have kept him back! But I'm so in the habit of letting him go ahead! Oh, I should have held him back! I should have held him back!"

And in this soliloquy Jimmy unconsciously admitted, though he did not know it, that Bobby was his leader still, as he always had been, and that Bobby's will and judgment dominated. Bobby had decided to go upon that last attempt to find snow suitable for an igloo, and Bobby went, and Jimmy could no more successfully have interposed his judgment against Bobby's than he could have stopped the blowing of the wind.

"No," he admitted to himself at last, "I could not have done anything more to find Bobby. In this terrible storm I would have perished, for it is physically impossible to move about."

And so presently Jimmy, easing his conscience, permitted his better judgment to prevail, though once he had been upon the point of digging out of his retreat and throwing himself again into the maelstrom of suffocating snow and darkness. And then he prayed the good Lord to preserve Bobby's life and his own, and to guide them back to safety, as only He could, for they were in His care.

Even under the snowdrift that had quickly covered him Jimmy could hear the shrieking wind and thunderous pounding of ice and seas, and there was little wonder that at last he fancied the floe rising and falling beneath him, and he lay in momentary expectation of being cast into the water and crushed beneath mighty ice pans.

But Jimmy was young, and nature's demands were strong upon him, and presently, snug under his accumulating blanket of snow, a drowsy warmth stole over him, and he slept.

How long he had been sleeping Jimmy did not know, when he awoke from a dream that he and Skipper Ed and Bobby were in a snow Igloo and the top had fallen in and was suffocating him with its weight. For a moment, until he marshaled his wandering wits, he believed it no dream at all, but a reality, and then as the happenings of the previous afternoon and night were remembered, he realized his position, and Bobby's going, and he began wildly digging away the snow with his hands.

It was a hard task, but at last he made an opening through the drift, and was astonished as he forced his way out to find that it was broad day and the sun shone brightly and a dead calm prevailed.

But a wild terror came upon him as he looked about. Less than fifty feet from the place where he had lain waves were breaking over the edge of the ice. On the opposite side and very close to him lay the land, and the ice upon which he stood was jammed against the land ice, offering him a clear road to safety.

But safety now meant nothing to Jimmy. The main ice pack from which his little section had broken, lay glimmering in the sunlight a full two miles to the southeast and well out to sea, and Bobby was either on that pack or had been lost in the sea. The discovery made Jimmy numb with fear and consternation.

He recognized the land near him as the farthermost point of Cape Harrigan. The pack in its southward drift had come in contact with Cape Harrigan's long projection of land, the wind had severed the pack, and, while the comparatively small section of floe upon which he stood had remained jammed against the land, the main floe, reaching far out beyond the obstruction of the cape, had been swept on and on, and was now floating steadily southward.

In frantic frenzy Jimmy ran about and shouted, and searched every nook and turn of his little corner of the original floe for Bobby, but there was no trace of his missing comrade. Again and again he searched, but without reward. Bobby was gone and Jimmy no longer had any doubt that he had perished.

With heavy heart he at last set about with his snow knife, digging the komatik from under the drift and getting his load in order, and then he roused the dogs from their drifts and drove them to the land. The great floe was now but a speck upon the far horizon.

There was nothing more he could do. He felt very much as Skipper Ed had felt the day before, and was feeling that very morning, and he remembered, and repeated over and over again, what Skipper Ed had so often said: "Our destiny is in God's hands, and our destiny is His will."

Jimmy's travels had carried him south nearly to Cape Harrigan on two or three occasions when he had been with Skipper Ed in their trap boat in summer, and he knew that he could not be above two days' journey from the head of Abel's Bay, for now it was March and the days were growing long. And between Cape Harrigan and Abel's Bay was a Hudson's Bay trading post where he and Skipper Ed sometimes traded furs and salt trout for flour and pork and tea, and beyond this point he knew the sledge route well.

So, as there was nothing else to be done, he turned the dog team northward, in the hope that he might find the trading post and the old familiar trail.

The weather was keen, the air was filled with floating rime, which shimmered and sparkled in the sunshine, and Jimmy's garments were covered with it, but, plodding disconsolately on and on, his heart heavy with the tragedy and his thoughts filled with Bobby and the happy years of comradeship that were ended, he did not feel or heed the cold or dazzling glitter of the snow, until in mid-afternoon his eyes began to trouble him, and he realized that snow-blindness was threatening.

Presently, however, the long, wolf-like howl of dogs came down to him over the ice, and rounding a point of land he discovered, directly ahead of him, and nestling at the foot of a great barren hill, the white buildings of the fort. His dogs immediately broke into a run, and a few moments later he was safe at the post.

The factor and the people were very hospitable and kind to Jimmy, after the manner of the Coast. They agreed that he had left nothing undone that he could have done. The tragedy was, after all, an incident of life, and all in a day's work, and to some extent they reconciled him with himself, but they could not ease his sorrow.

They would not permit Jimmy to proceed further that night, though at first he protested that he must, that he might so much the sooner ease Skipper Ed's anxiety, so far as his own safety was concerned. But the preceding twenty-four hours had tried his physical powers, and when he entered the heated post kitchen his eyes became so inflamed that he consented to stay.

The dogs, which had not received their daily portion the previous evening, were ravenous, and when they were fed Jimmy stretched his sleeping bag upon the floor in the kitchen and slipped into it, and almost immediately fell into deep slumber.

A mild attack of snow blindness held Jimmy prisoner all the next day. This was exceedingly disappointing. Bright and early the following morning, however, wearing a pair of smoked goggles to protect his eyes from the daily increasing sun glare, he set out for home, and only halted for a little at the cabin of Abraham Moses, the nearest neighbor of Skipper Ed and Abel Zachariah, where he must needs stop for tea and bread, else Abraham would feel offended.

It was near sunset when he arrived again at Abel Zachariah's. They met him as they had met Skipper Ed, and welcomed him warmly, and when they heard his story of Bobby's disappearance they had no blame for him and no complaint, but said again that God had sent them Bobby, and God had called him back again, and God knew best, for He was good. And then Jimmy left them and hurried eagerly on to the cabin home that so recently had seemed lost to him forever. How good it looked that cold winter evening, and when he quietly pushed the door open and silently entered, and surprised Skipper Ed with his coming, and when Skipper Ed clasped him in his arms and thanked God over and over again for sparing his partner, Jimmy sank down in his chair and cried.

CAST AWAY ON THE ICE

It was one of Bobby's characteristics never to acknowledge himself defeated in anything he undertook to do, so long as there seemed a possibility of accomplishing the thing in hand. He had set out to find a suitable drift and to build a snow house. He was confident such a drift was to be found not far from the komatik where he had left Jimmy, for in passing to Itigailit Island and back with loads of seals earlier in the day he had observed some good hard drifts which he believed to be in this locality, though he was aware that in the blinding snow he may have stopped the dogs a little on one side or the other of them. So he felt assured that he and Jimmy had overlooked them in their previous search, and this time he was determined to find them.

This it was, then—this dislike to feel himself beaten—rather than dire necessity, that had sent him on the final search. And, too, the man who lives constantly in the wilderness never endures unnecessary hardships. He makes himself as comfortable as the conditions under which he lives will permit, and provides himself as many conveniences and comforts as possible under the circumstances in which he finds himself, without burdening himself with needless luxuries.

Bobby had hinted to Jimmy that they might protect themselves under the snow, after the manner of the dogs. He had done this once during the winter, when he and Abel Zachariah were hunting together and were suddenly overtaken by a storm. But at best this was an uncomfortable method of passing a night, and a last resort, and Bobby was therefore quite willing to endure preliminary discomfort in order to secure an igloo.

Engrossed in his search he wandered much farther afield than he had intended, and much farther than he knew, which was a reckless thing to do. And so it came about that presently, when his search was rewarded by a solid drift of hard-packed snow, and he shouted to Jimmy to come on with the dogs, no answer came from Jimmy, and Bobby, endeavoring to locate himself, became quite confused and uncertain as to the direction in which Jimmy and the komatik lay, for his course had been a winding course, in and out among the hummocks, and in the blinding, swirling snow he could never see a dozen feet from where he stood.

Then he shouted again and listened intently, and again and again, but only the roar and boom of sea and pounding ice and the shrieking and weird moaning of the wind gave answer.

"Well, I've lost Jimmy, sure enough," he acknowledged to himself at last, after much futile shouting, "and I'm lost myself, too! I don't know north from south, and I couldn't hit in ten guesses in which direction the komatik is! This is a pretty mess!"

Dusk was not far off, and there was no time to be lost, and without further parley or useless waste of breath and strength Bobby set bravely to work with his snow knife, as any wilderness dweller in similar case would have done, and in a little while had prepared for himself a grave-shaped cavern in the drift, with a stout roof of snow blocks, and when it was finished he crawled in and closed the entrance with a huge block.

This emergency shelter was, of course, not to be compared with a properly built igloo, but an igloo he could scarcely have built in the face of the storm without assistance. It was, however, much more comfortable than a burrow in the drift, such as Jimmy had made, for it gave him an opportunity to turn over and stretch his limbs, and it afforded him, also, a considerable breathing space.

"'Twould be fine, now, if I only had my sleeping bag," he soliloquized, when he had at last composed himself in his improvised shelter. "I hope Jimmy's just as snug. I told him about getting in the snow like the dogs do, and he'll do it and be all right, and he's got his sleeping bag, too."

Bobby was not given to vain regrets and needless worry, as we have seen, but nevertheless he could not keep his mind from the possible fate of himself and Jimmy, and think as he would he could conceive of no possible means of their escape, save in the possibility of the floe coming again in contact with land. Then his thoughts ran to Abel and Mrs. Abel, and before he was aware of it he was crying bitterly.

"If I'd only hurried on, as Skipper Ed told me to!" he moaned. "I'm always doing something! And there's Jimmy in the—in the fix too! And it was all my fault!"

And then he remembered the evening devotions that Abel and Mrs. Abel were doubtless then holding in the cabin. He could see Abel taking the old worn Eskimo Bible and hymnal from the shelf, and Abel reading and the two good folks singing a hymn, and then kneeling in praise and thanks to God for his mercies. And joining them in spirit he sang the Eskimo version of "Nearer My God to Thee," and then he knelt and prayed, and felt the better for it.

For a long while he lay, after his devotions were ended, recalling the kindness of his beloved foster parents. But at last he, too, like Jimmy, fell asleep to the tune of the booming ice and howling wind, and, exhausted with his day's work, he slept long and heavily.

When Bobby awoke at last he perceived that it was twilight in his snow cavern, and, listening for the wind, discovered to his satisfaction that it had ceased to blow.

"Now I'll find Jimmy," said he, seizing his snow knife, "and see how he spent the night in the storm."

He removed the snow block from the entrance and cut away the accumulated drift, and crawling out at once looked about him with astonished eyes. On one side very near where he had been sleeping waves were breaking upon the ice, and far away beyond the waters lay the bleak and naked headland of Cape Harrigan. In the east the sun was just rising, and the snow of the ice pack sparkled and glittered with wondrous beauty.

But Bobby saw only the open water, and the distant land, and nowhere Jimmy or the dogs. A sickening dread came into his heart. The water had eaten away the ice as he slept! That was the side upon which Jimmy must have been! Jimmy was gone! He had no doubt Jimmy's body was now floating somewhere in that stretch of black water!

Then he ran out over the ice and among the hummocks, shouting: "Jimmy! Jimmy! Answer me, Jimmy, and tell me you're alive! Oh, Jimmy! Tell me you're alive!"

But no Jimmy answered, and, overcome with grief, Bobby sat down upon the snow and threw his arms over his knees, and, pillowing his head in the crook of his elbow, wept.

"It's all my fault! It's all my fault!" he moaned. "I the same as killed him! I led him into it! Oh, if I hadn't gone back for the whip! Oh, if I'd only hurried when Skipper Ed told me to!"

But Bobby was young and healthy and active, and had an appetite, and the air was excessively cold. The appetite began to call for food and drink, and the cold drove him to exercise. And so, rising at last and drying his eyes, he very wisely resolved:

"There's no good to come from crying or mourning about Jimmy, I suppose, or what's past. I've got to do something for myself now. There's a chance the ice may drive back with a shift of wind, and I've got to try to keep alive as long as I can."

He had nothing to eat, no cup into which to melt ice for water, and no lamp or seal oil with which to make a fire over which to melt the ice had he possessed a cup, but he set out at a rapid pace to explore the ice field, clinging as he walked to his snow knife, the only weapon he possessed, for his rifle had been left upon the komatik, and in a little while he discovered that the pack was not so large as he had supposed it to be, for the heavy seas of the night before had eaten away its edges. It had broken away, indeed, to a point far within the boundaries of their old igloo and the place where they had hunted.

"The first little blow will break the whole floe up," he said dejectedly. "Anyhow I suppose it won't matter, for I'll soon starve to death without a gun."

But out to the southward lay a great field of ice, and it seemed not so far away. An hour's observation assured Bobby that his small floe was traveling much more rapidly than this larger field, and was gradually approaching it. Late in the afternoon he caught the glint of miniature bergs, as the sunlight touched them, rising above the great floe ahead, and as he watched them a burst of understanding came upon him.

"It's the great North pack!" he exclaimed. "It's the Arctic pack! If I can get on that I'll be safe from drowning, anyhow, for a few days! It's stronger than this, and it'll stand some good blows."

To quench his thirst he clipped particles of ice with his snow knife and sucked them, while he ran up and down to keep warm. And, as night approached, he built a new night shelter from snow blocks, near the center of his floe, and, very hungry and despondent, crawled into it to lie long and think of Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and the lost happiness in the cabin which was his home; and of Skipper Ed and Jimmy, and of the old days that were now gone forever, when he and Jimmy had played together with never a thought of the terrible fate that awaited them; and of the adventure on the cliff, and the hundred other scrapes into which they had got and from which they had somehow always escaped unharmed; and even of the lonely grave on Itigailit Island, and the cairn of stones he had built upon it.

"A tragedy brought me into the country," he said to himself, "and a tragedy has taken me out of it, and the end of my life will be a tragedy."

And then, after long thought:

"Skipper Ed says our destiny is God's will. But God always has a purpose in His will. I wonder if I've fulfilled my destiny, and what the purpose of it was. Maybe it was just to be a son to Father and Mother."

He mused upon this for a long time, and then his thoughts ran to Skipper Ed and Jimmy:

"I wonder what there is in Skipper Ed's life that he's never told us," he pondered. "He's always said he was a wandering sailorman, who stopped on the coast because he liked it. He never was a common sailor, I'm sure. I never thought of that before! Sailors aren't educated, and he is! And whenever Jimmy or I asked him to tell about his own life before he came here he always put us off with something else."

And then he fell asleep to dream that he and Skipper Ed were walking under strange trees, with flowers, the like of which he had never seen, blooming all about them and making the air sweet with their perfume.

A STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE

It was fortunate that Bobby had selected the center of the floe for his night shelter, for when he awoke in the morning and crawled out of his snow cavern he discovered that the unstable shore ice of which the floe was composed had been gradually breaking up during the night into separate pans, and that he was now upon a comparatively small floe, little more indeed than a large pan, which had originally been the center of the great floe upon which he went adrift.

Surrounding him was a mass of loose pans, rising and falling on the swell, and grinding and crunching against one another with a voice of ominous warning. With quick appreciation he was aware that his position was now indeed a perilous one, for it was obvious that his small remnant of floe was rapidly going to pieces.

But another and more sinister danger threatened him, should he escape drowning. Bobby was ravenously hungry. He had eaten nothing since the hasty luncheon of sea biscuit and pork on the night he and Jimmy parted. He had been terribly hungry the day before, but now he was ravenous and he felt gaunt and weak. As though to tantalize him, numerous seals lay sunning themselves upon the ice pans, for it was now past sunrise, but his only weapon was his snow knife, and he was well aware that the seals would slip into the water and beyond his reach before he could approach and despatch them.

Looking away over the mass of moving ice he discovered to his delight that the loose pans surrounding the little floe upon which he stood reached out in a continuous field to the great Arctic pack which he had watched so anxiously the previous day. And, what was particularly to his satisfaction, the pans were so closely massed together that by jumping from pan to pan he was quite certain he could make the passage safely, and for a time at least be secure from the threatening sea.

Running over loose ice pans in this manner was not wholly new to Bobby. Every hunter in the Eskimo country learns to do it, and Bobby had often practiced it in Abel's Bay when the water was calm and the ice pans to a great extent stationary. But he had never attempted it on the open sea where the pans were never free from motion. It was, therefore, though not an unusual feat for the experienced seal hunter, a hazardous undertaking.

The situation, however, demanded prompt action. Should wind arise the ice pans would quickly be scattered, and all possibility of retreat to the big ice field cut off.

Bobby, after his manner, not only decided quickly what to do, but acted immediately upon his decision. The distance to be traversed was probably not much above a mile, and, selecting a course where the pans appeared closely in contact with one another, he seized his snow knife, which he had no doubt he would still find useful in preparing shelters, and leaping from pan to pan set out without hesitation upon his uncertain journey.

It was a feat that required a steady nerve, a quick eye, and alert action, for the ice was constantly rising and falling upon the swell. Now and again there were gaps of several yards, where the ice had been ground into pieces so small that none would have borne his weight. He ran rapidly over these gaps, touching the ice as lightly as possible and not remaining upon any piece long enough to permit it to sink.

And so it came about that presently with a vast sense of relief Bobby clambered from the last unstable ice pan to the big ice pack, and for a time, at least, felt that he had escaped the sea.

For a moment he stood and looked back over the hazardous path that he had traversed. Then climbing upon a high hummock, which attained the proportions of a small berg, he scanned his surroundings.

To the northward lay the loose ice; to the eastward and southward as far as he could see stretched the unbroken ice of the great field; to the westward and two miles distant was the black water of the open sea, dotted here and there by vagrant pans of ice which glistened white in the bright sunlight as they rose and fell upon the tide.

Suddenly his attention was attracted to something which made him stare in astonishment and wonder. Near the water's edge, and extending back from the water for a considerable distance, there appeared innumerable dark objects, some lying quiet upon the ice, others moving slowly about.

"Seals!" exclaimed Bobby. "Seals! Hundreds—thousands of them! I can get one now before they take to the water! They're too far back to get to the water before I can get at them!"

And scrambling down from the hummock he set out as fast as he could go, highly excited at the prospect of food that had so suddenly come to him.

"Oh, if I can get one!" he said as he ran, "if I can only get one! God help me to get one!"

With this prayer on his lips, and keen anxiety in his breast, he neared the seals. Then, all of his hunter's instincts alert, his advance became slow and cautious. Crouching among hummocks, he watched his prey, and studied the intervening ice, and its possible sheltering hummocks. Carefully he stalked, now standing still as a statue, now darting forward, and at last proceeding on all fours until finally he was quite certain that those farthest from the water could not escape him. Then springing to his feet he ran at them.

Bobby had until now kept his nerves under control, but with the attack a wild desperation took possession of him, and looking neither to one side nor the other he slaughtered the seals, one after another, as he overtook them, until, the first frenzy of success past, he realized that he had already killed more than he could probably use. Then he stopped, trembling with excitement, and looked about him. Five victims of the two species known to him as harp and jar seals had fallen under his knife.

Now he could eat. This thought brought relaxation from the great physical strain and mental anxiety that had spurred him to activity and keyed his nerves to a high pitch since leaving his snow cavern early in the morning, and with the relaxation he was overcome by emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes, and suddenly he felt very weak.

"The Lord surely has been taking care of me. Maybe it is my destiny to live, after all, and if I get out of this I'll never forget 'twas the Lord took me through."

Bobby's undivided attention until this time had been centered upon the seals which he had attacked, which were among those farthest from the open water. Now as he dried his eyes and, still trembling from effort and excitement, drew his sheath knife to dress the animals, he looked about him, and what he saw brought forth an exclamation:

"Puppies! That's what all the seals are here for!"

And, sure enough, lying about on the ice were a great number of little white balls, so small and white they had escaped his notice at a distance, and each white ball was a new-born seal. That, then, was why old seals were so numerous and so fearless.

But Bobby had no time to think about this. Hunger was crying to be satisfied, and now that food was at hand he was hungrier than ever. As quickly as he could he dressed one of the seals, and as he had no means of cooking the meat made a satisfactory meal upon the raw flesh and blubber, after the manner of Eskimos.

This done he looked about him for a suitable place to build a shelter, and finding a good drift not far away set about his building with greater care than on the night before, and before noon time had a small but well-fashioned igloo erected with a tunnel leading to the entrance that he might better be protected from the wind.

He now skinned and dressed the remaining seals, and spreading the skins for a bed on his igloo floor felt himself very comfortably situated under the circumstances.

"Now," said he, surveying his work, "if I only had a lamp and a kettle I could get on all right till the ice drives ashore or I'm picked up or the pack goes to pieces and I won't need to get along any more."

But this last thought he quickly put from him with the exclamation: "That's silly! I won't worry now till I have to. I'll just do my best for myself, and if the Lord wants me to live He'll show me how to save myself, or He'll save me."

Then Bobby sat down to think. The pieces of ice which he melted in his mouth in lieu of water he was convinced had a weakening effect upon him, and his mouth was becoming tender and sore from sucking them, and he preferred his meat cooked. He had plenty of matches in his pocket, for the man who lives always in the wilderness is never without a good supply, but since he had gone adrift they had been of no use to him, without means or method of making a fire.

"I've got it!" said he at last, springing up. "I'm sure it will work!"

Opening the jackknife he cut from one of the skins a large circular piece, and at regular intervals near the edge of this made small slits. Then from the edge of a skin he cut a long, narrow thong, and proceeded to thread it through the slits. This done he tightened the thong, puckering the edge of the circular piece of skin until it assumed the form of a shallow bowl perhaps fifteen inches wide. This he set into a snow block in order that it might set firm and retain its shape. This was to be his Eskimo lamp.

Now he tore a strip from his shirt, folded it to proper size, filled his lamp with oil from the blubber, drove the point of his snow knife into the side of his igloo in such manner that the side rested in a flat position on the top of the bowl, and saturating the cloth with the oil he arranged it upon the knife, taking care that it did not touch either side of the bowl. This he lighted, and to his great delight found that his lamp was a success.

It was easy to grill small pieces of seal meat over this, but the problem of melting ice for water was a puzzling one. Finally this, too, was solved, by improvising another bowl from sealskin and suspending over it a piece of ice. This bowl he held as near as possible to the flame without putting it in danger of scorching the skin. The ice, suspended by a thong directly above the bowl and a little on one side of the flame, began at once to drip water into the bowl. The water resulting was very oily and unclean, but Bobby in his position had neither a discriminating taste nor a discriminating appetite.

"Well," said Bobby that evening when he had settled himself comfortably after a good meal of grilled meat, "this isn't as comfortable as home, but it's away ahead of raw meat and ice, and no igloo at all. And it's safe for a while, anyhow."

And so our young adventurer took up his lonely life upon the shifting ice, and day after day he watched the baby seals grow, and wondered at it, for each morning they were visibly larger than they had been the previous night. And he wondered, too, that each mother should know her own little one, by merely sniffing about, for the babies, or "white coats" as he called them, were as like as peas.

Thus he had lived ten lonely days, and sometimes he believed God had forgotten him, when one morning a black streak appeared in the sky and then another and another, and something wonderful happened, for God had not forgotten Bobby and was guiding his destiny.

THE SHIPS THAT CAME DOWN TO THE ICE

Closer and closer came the three black streaks, and presently the masts, then the funnels, and finally the hulls of three ships appeared, first one, then another, then the third. Bobby watched them with awe and wonder. He even forgot for a time that a way was opening for his escape.

The three ships were streaming directly toward the ice, and in the course of an hour after he had first sighted them the advance ship came to, half a mile or so from the floe, and not above a mile to the southward of him. Boats were lowered before the steamer had fully stopped, and immediately men swarmed over her sides and into them, and in a moment the boats put off for the ice, the men climbed out upon it and presently were running everywhere, beating to the right and to the left with clubs.

Then the boats returned to the ship to fetch more men, and still more, until there were more men upon the ice than Bobby had ever seen before, and all beating about them with their clubs. So it was with the other ships as they came up; they, too, sent scores upon scores of men to the ice in boats.

Bobby was astonished beyond measure at what he saw, and at first he was afraid, and watched from a distance. But at last he recalled that he had heard of this thing before. These were the seal hunters from Newfoundland, and with bats they were slaying the young white-coat seals, and such of the old seals, also, as did not slip away from them into the water.

Finally some of the sealers from the first ship were making their way up over the ice in the direction of Bobby's igloo, and presently he knew they would be upon the very seals that he had watched with so much interest growing from day to day. Among these were two men with guns, instead of clubs, and these two devoted their attention to the old seals, which now and again they shot.

Overcome with awe and wonder, and timid in the presence of so many strangers, Bobby kept himself from view while he watched, though he knew that presently he would be called upon to present himself, in order that he might escape from the floe, for in all probability no other opportunity would come to him.

So, uncertain, expectant, and trembling with excitement, he remained concealed behind an ice hummock until the seal hunters in advance had nearly reached him, and further concealment was impossible. Then he stepped boldly out.

The effect of Bobby's appearance was instantaneous and wonderful. A man in the advance, looking up, saw the strangely clad figure apparently rise out of the ice itself. The man turned about and wildly broke for the boats. Then another and another took one terrified glance at the supposed apparition, and tarrying not, turned about to compete with the first in a mad race for the boats. Shouts of "Ghost! Ghost!" filled the air, and then the stampede and panic became general, though after the manner of panic-stricken crowds, perhaps none but the first two or three had the slightest idea why or from what they were running.

The two men with guns were still some little distance from Bobby when the stampede began. One of these men was perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, the other many years his senior. They were dressed after the manner of sportsmen, and were evidently not members of the sealing crew. They did not join in the stampede as the men rushed past them in wild flight and confusion, but in utter astonishment looked for its cause in the direction from which the men had come, and discovered nothing more terrifying than Bobby, standing alone and no less astonished at what had occurred than themselves, and more than half inclined to run as fast in the opposite direction as the sealers had run toward their boats.

"Uncle, there's an Eskimo!" exclaimed the younger of the two, observing Bobby's seal-skin garments, but at that distance unable to note that his features were wholly unlike those of an Eskimo.

"Sure enough!" said the older man. "That explains it! The men weren't expecting to see any one, and they've taken him for a ghost! Come on, Edward. Let us interview him."

"How could an Eskimo get out here on the floe?" asked Edward, as they set out toward Bobby. "We're a long way from land."

"I don't know," said his companion. "We'll soon learn. But Eskimo hunters go a long way after seals, and he's probably on a hunting expedition."

"Why, he hasn't the features of an Eskimo, though he's dressed like one; and he's a handsome looking chap!" said Edward, in an undertone, as they drew near Bobby, who had overcome his inclination to run and had not moved.

"Good-morning!" greeted the older man a moment later, when they were within speaking distance.

"Good-morning, sir," said Bobby, timidly.

"We thought you were an Eskimo, and" laughing, "the men apparently thought you were a ghost. You gave them a fine fright."

"I didn't mean to frighten them," said Bobby apologetically. "I only wanted them to take me off the ice."

IN STRANGE LANDS

Mr. Winslow and his nephew Edward Norman were sportsmen who, as many other sportsmen had done before them and have done since, had gone as passengers with the sealing fleet that they might see the big ice and secure for themselves trophies of the seal hunt of their own killing. And so it came about that they met Bobby, and took him under their care. Indeed, Mr. Winslow felt an unusual interest in the lad from the moment he met him, for Bobby had an open, frank countenance and a pleasing manner.

But they would not permit him to talk or tell them much of his story until they had him on shipboard, and Bobby had eaten and bathed and changed his ill-smelling skin clothing for a suit that Edward Norman pressed upon him. And though the clothes were a trifle large, and the trousers two or three inches longer than was necessary, they set Bobby off to good advantage and wrought a wonderful change in his appearance.

"You're to stay in the cabin as our guest," said Mr. Winslow when Bobby was dressed, and would have gone forward to the sailors' quarters. "I have arranged it with the Captain. I am very much interested in what you said about Skipper Ed. His name, you said, is Edward Norman. Who is he?"

"Skipper Ed's our nearest neighbor," Bobby explained simply.

"Do you call him 'Skipper' because he is a sea captain? Has he always lived on the Labrador coast? You see," added Mr. Winslow, "I'm greatly interested because his name is the same as my nephew's. It is a strange coincidence, and we should like to learn all about him."

"We've always called him 'Skipper,'" answered Bobby. "He was a sailor once, but that was long before I came. He's lived at Abel's Bay, I heard him say, over twenty years. He's told Jimmy and me a lot about Harvard College, and when he was a boy he lived in a place called Carrington—"

"What! Carrington?" exclaimed Mr. Winslow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir," said Bobby. "He's often told Jimmy and me about his home there when he was a boy."

The two men looked at each other and they were plainly excited, and in an intensely expectant voice Mr. Winslow asked:

"Did he ever speak of his family?"

"Yes, sir—of his father and mother and brother and sister," said Bobby.

"Anything else?"

"Why, yes, sir; about the trees and flowers and garden and—"

"I mean about himself," interrupted Mr. Winslow. "Did he ever tell you about a bank, or why he left home?"

"No, sir," said Bobby. "I remember, though, a story he used to tell us about two boys whose father had a bank. One borrowed some money from the bank and lost it gambling, and because he had a wife and little child the other brother told their father that he did it, though he didn't know anything about it until after it was done. The brother that took the money tried to stop him. The father of the boys sent the one who said he took the money away, and he went and settled in a land like The Labrador, and never saw his old home or any of his people again."

The two men were leaning eagerly forward during this recital. When Bobby had finished they sat back and looked into each other's eyes, and after a moment Mr. Winslow spoke:

"There is no doubt, Edward, that Skipper Ed is your uncle—your father's brother who disappeared so long ago, when you were a baby."

"Yes," agreed Edward, "and we must go to him and take him home again."

"You—don't—mean—you're Skipper Ed's people?" stammered the astonished Bobby.

"Yes," said Mr. Winslow, "Edward's father and Skipper Ed were, I believe from what you have told us, brothers, and in that case Mrs. Winslow is Skipper Ed's sister. She was a little girl when he went away. We must look into the matter, and we shall all be very glad if it proves to be true."

And then they talked for a long while, and drew from Bobby the story of their life at Abel's Bay—of how Skipper Ed had taught him and Jimmy, and the evenings spent in talking and studying in the easy chairs before the big box stove in Skipper Ed's cabin, and about Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel—so much, in fact, about their daily lives and hopes and disappointments that presently his two hearers felt that they had known Bobby and his friends all their life.

And Bobby told them the story of his own coming to the Coast, as he had heard it from Abel and Mrs. Abel many a time, of how he had been found drifting in a boat with a dead man, of the grave Abel had made on Itigailit Island for his dead companion, and the cairn he himself had built.

"We have the boat yet," said Bobby, "for it was a good boat. Father has always taken great care of it. He and Mother always say it's the boat God sent me in out of the mists from the far beyond, where storms are born."

"What a romantic life you've led!" said Edward. "Your very advent upon the Coast was romantic—and tragic. And the way we found you today is no less so."

"Have you no clue that would help you identify yourself? No clue as to where you came from? Was there nothing to identify the dead man?" asked Mr. Winslow.

"No," answered Bobby, "and I've never thought about it very much. Mother has the clothes I wore, wrapped in a bundle and stowed into a chest. I've often seen the bundle, but I never undid it or meddled with it for she prizes it so."

"It was probably a boat from a whaling or fishing ship that was wrecked," Mr. Winslow suggested. "Perhaps you were the captain's son. You should look into the bundle; it may help to identify you, and you may have relatives living, perhaps in Newfoundland, who would be glad to know of you."

For two weeks the Fearless, which was the ship upon which Mr. Winslow and his nephew were passengers, remained near the ice, her crew of nearly two hundred men engaged in killing seals and in loading them aboard, and then at last, with a cargo of nearly forty thousand carcasses, she set sail to the southward.

The days were lengthening rapidly now, and with every mile the atmosphere grew milder. The Labrador coast was still ice-bound, and it would be many weeks before the harbors were cleared and vessels could enter them, but Mr. Winslow promised Bobby that as early as conditions would permit they would sail northward to Abel's Bay, and perhaps charter a vessel for the journey. Indeed, he and Edward were nearly if not quite as anxious for this as Bobby.

It was during the first week in April that the Fearless steamed into St. John's harbor, and Bobby for the first time in his life saw a city, and great buildings, and railway trains, and horses—horses were his great mark of admiration—and very shy he was, for he had been transported to a world that was new to him.

And then, in a swirl of ever-growing wonders, they were away on a railway train, and for a night on a steamer, and again on a train, moving at a gait that made Bobby's head whirl, and at last budding trees were seen, and green fields—all the marvelous things of which Skipper Ed had so often told him.

At last they left the train one evening at Carrington, which, as everyone knows, is a suburb of Boston. Bobby was hurried with Mr. Winslow and Edward Norman into an automobile, which whirled away with them to a great old house, where they were greeted at the door by Mrs. Winslow, whom Bobby thought nice and motherly, and whom he loved at once; and by a white-haired old gentleman and old lady who Bobby learned were Edward's grandparents.

Bobby was made quite dizzy by much talking and by innumerable questions that he was called upon to answer, and when Mrs. Winslow and the white-haired old lady cried at the story of Skipper Ed, and the old gentleman repeated over and over again: "Is it possible! Is it possible! My poor Edward! My long lost boy!" he almost cried himself, though he could see nothing to cry about, really, except Jimmy's supposed death.

And then came wonderful days while Bobby watched the marvelous blossoming of the trees in the garden, and as they were transformed into masses of pink and white, and flower beds became spots of glowing color, he believed a miracle had been performed before his very eyes—as, indeed, one had. And there were times when he believed he must be dreaming, and not living in the world at all, and then he would pinch himself to make certain he was really alive and awake, and that he had not perished on the ice after all and awakened in Paradise.

But in his room of nights when the lights were out and he was alone and all was still, he had many sleepless and homesick hours. Then it was he longed for the old times again in the cozy cabins, and for Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, and felt that he would give all the world to have them back.

And so the weeks passed until the lengthening days of June were well advanced, and Mr. Winslow announced that he had chartered a small auxiliary schooner and that she was ready for the northern voyage, and then for two nights before their departure for St. John's, where the schooner was in waiting, Bobby could scarcely sleep at all, so eager was he to return home to Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, that they might know he still lived, for he often thought of them there in the cabin, very lonely without him.

One day late in June Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, with Edward Norman and Bobby, went down to Boston, where they boarded their steamer, and immediately the lines were thrown off and the steamer had turned her prow seaward, Bobby nearly shouted with joy, and every throb of the steamer's engine, and every turn of the propeller, brought fresh delight to his heart, for they were beating away the miles that separated him from home.

In Halifax there was a day's vexatious delay while they awaited the St. John's steamer, but at last it came, and at last they were on board the schooner Gull in St. John's harbor, and at last the Gull was plowing northward past stately icebergs glimmering in the sunshine, and vagrant pans of ice rising and falling on the swell, and home was drawing near.

THE MYSTERY CLEARED

How slowly those last days dragged away! Bobby could scarcely restrain his impatience. But one day in the middle of July Itigailit Island was sighted, and that evening the Gull anchored in its lee. Abel Zachariah had not come out to his fishing yet, and the island was bare and deserted. Bobby's emotion nearly got the better of him when he remembered that stormy winter's day when he had last been here, with Skipper Ed and Jimmy.

They launched a motor boat with which they had provided themselves, and went ashore for a half hour, while Bobby pointed out Abel's landing place, and the place where they always pitched their tent, and where the snow igloo had stood. The seals were gone, so Bobby knew Skipper Ed and Abel had hauled them home before the ice broke up.

And then Bobby took his friends to see the grave, and the cairn he had built over it, and for a little they stood, in silence and in pity for the nameless man who lay there.

Day comes early in this latitude at this season, and at two o'clock, in the morning twilight, anchor was weighed, sails hoisted before a good fair breeze, and the Gull was plowing her way into Abel's Bay, with Bobby as pilot, for he knew its waters as you and I know our city streets. And what old friends the distant mountains and headlands seemed, as he pointed them out to his companions!

It was mid-afternoon when the Gull at last approached the head of Abel's Bay, and in the distance the two cabins gradually came into view. Skipper Ed's cabin was the nearer, and their course was laid toward it, and presently two figures were discerned at the boat landing.

"That's the Skipper on the left!" exclaimed Bobby. "I know him because he's so tall! The other must be Father, but he doesn't look like Father, either!"

And then, standing intently gazing at the men, he suddenly shouted:

"It's Jimmy! Oh, it's Jimmy! He was saved! He was saved! He was saved! Oh, thank God, he was saved!"

And in spite of himself tears of joy sprang to Bobby's eyes, and he leaned over the rail and shouted and shouted, and waved his hat, and at last Skipper Ed and Jimmy heard, and they knew his voice, and they too shouted and waved their hats, in no less excitement and joy than Bobby.

Presently the Gull's sails were run down, her chains rattled, and she was at anchor. As quickly as might be the launch, which was in tow, was drawn alongside, and Bobby, with Mr. and Mrs. Winslow and Edward Norman, were chugging toward the landing, where the two eager men stood to greet them.

It would be quite impossible to describe the joy of the greeting, and the explanations and the reunion that followed. As quickly as he could do so Bobby, with Jimmy to accompany him, ran away to make glad the hearts of Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, who greeted him as he knew they would, and who believed they had never been so happy in their life. And embracing Bobby, Mrs. Abel cried over him, and they both declared that God was better to them than they deserved.

Skipper Ed was indeed the long lost Edward Norman. His brother, young Edward's father, had confessed shortly after Edward's disappearance all that had taken place. He was forgiven and made restitution, and had never again gambled. Several years later he and his wife were lost at sea, with Mr. and Mrs. Winslow's little son.

It had happened many years before. Robert Norman, Skipper Ed's brother, was invited, with his wife and Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, to cruise in a friend's yacht. Mrs. Winslow falling ill was unable to go, and therefore Mr. Winslow also declined the invitation. Robert and his wife urged, however, that the Winslows' little son, who was a namesake of Robert and of whom they were exceedingly fond, be permitted to accompany them. The child had been in poor health, and upon the recommendation of their physician consent was finally given. Edward, who was attending school at the time, was not of the party.

The yacht had voyaged northward, stopping for several days at various ports from which letters were received. Finally a letter from Sydney, Nova Scotia, stated that the party had decided upon a still more northerly cruise, and for a little while might not be in touch with the mails. That was the last that was ever heard of the yacht or any one on board.

And so for a full three hours they talked of home, and sorrowed over long-ago partings and the dead, and rejoiced over their reunion and the living, until Skipper Ed suggested that they all pay their respects to Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and complained that he had hardly seen Bobby at all, and that they had not become properly acquainted with his partner, who had run off to Abel's with Bobby, which was quite to be expected under the circumstances, for the two boys were like brothers.

Because it was easier for Mrs. Winslow than the rough and wet path, they chugged over in the motor boat, and were met at the landing by Abel and Mrs. Abel, who saw them coming and ran down to meet them, with much good-natured laughter, and ushered them into the cabin where, after the hospitable fashion of the country, they were called upon to drink tea.

"Bobby," suggested Mr. Winslow, when they had risen from the table, "I'm immensely interested in what you told me about yourself. May we not see the package of which you spoke? It might throw some light upon your parentage."

And when Bobby told Mrs. Abel that the visitors had requested to see the little clothes he wore when they found him, she and Abel were greatly pleased, for they were proud of Bobby, and without delay she opened the chest in which she kept her treasures and brought forth a neatly wrapped package, which she delivered to Mr. Winslow.

For many years the package had not been opened. It was covered with cloth, and tied with a buckskin thong. Mr. Winslow placed it on the table, and as he undid it the others grouped themselves around him.

On the top of the package lay the little dress. He lifted it and shook it out and held it up for inspection, and then a strange thing happened. Mrs. Winslow, mildly curious, had been standing by Skipper Ed. Her face suddenly went white, she reached for the garment, examined it for a moment, and then exclaimed:

"Oh, my little Bobby! Oh, my little boy! That was his dress! It was his!"

There was excitement at once. Mrs. Winslow became so dizzy and faint that Skipper Ed sat her in a chair. Mr. Winslow's hand trembled as he examined the other articles of clothing. Then he opened the wallet in which Mrs. Abel had placed Bobby's little ring, for he had long since outgrown it.

"The ring Robert gave him on his third birthday, just before they left us!" said Mrs. Winslow, bursting into tears. "His name is in it—'Bobby.' Let me see it."

She was right. The identification was perfect. But none seemed yet to remember that the tall, handsome lad standing with them was the same Bobby. The parents were lost in the sorrowful yesterday and forgetful of the happy today, until Skipper Ed asked:

"What was the name of the yacht in which they were lost?"

"The Wanderer," said Mr. Winslow.

"The boat Bobby was found in was a yacht's boat, and it bore the name Wanderer. There's no doubt, I think, of the identification. Bobby, you scamp, why aren't you kissing your mother? Quick, now. And there's your own father, too; and don't forget I'm your old uncle."

Suddenly this brought the father and mother to a realization that this Bobby was their Bobby—their lost child—the boy they had so long mourned as dead—and they drew him to them and the mother wept over him, and fondled him and caressed him, and for a time there was so much confusion, with every one talking and nobody listening, that they quite forgot the notebook. But at last, when some order had been restored, Mr. Winslow opened it, and read. It contained some odds and ends of items, with a closing entry which cleared up much of the mystery of the Wanderer:

"At sea, in an open boat," it was dated.

"Two weeks ago the yacht Wanderer, when somewhere S.W. from the Greenland coast, collided in a dense fog with an iceberg. Her bow was stove in and she began to sink at once. The boats were immediately lowered and my wife and myself with our little nephew, Robert Winslow, and a sailor named Magee, succeeded in getting away in one of them, while the remainder of our party and crew were divided among three other boats. But in the dense fog we somehow became separated from them.

"Magee as he entered the boat seized my shotgun and a pouch of loaded shells, the only things within reach, and we saved nothing else. Fortunately the boats had been used on shore expeditions and ours was provisioned with a bag of sea biscuits and a quantity of water, and contained some blankets.

"On the day following the wreck my wife was taken ill, developing, I believe, pneumonia. On the fifth day she died. I would have kept her remains with us in the boat, but Magee insisted that she be buried at sea, claiming that the presence of her body would have a constantly depressing effect upon us. I offered a prayer and said an improvised burial service over her, we wrapped her in a blanket, and weighting her body with an anchor buried her. My heart went into the sea with her, and but for my young son at home and my little nephew, I would have wished to follow her.

"Yesterday Magee went mad. He began to talk wildly, and to brandish the loaded gun. I feared he would do injury with it, and endeavored to take it from him. In some manner it was discharged, and I was injured, I am well aware, fatally. I lost consciousness, and when I awoke today Magee was gone. In his frenzy he must have plunged overboard.

"My strength is nearly gone, and it is hard to hold a pencil. Should our boat by chance be discovered, let the finder communicate with Mr. Henry Winslow, Carrington, Massachusetts, and care for the little boy, who is his son. I commend the child to God's care, and as I die I pray God that my son Edward may grow to noble and Christian manhood—that he may possess as true and noble and Christian a character as my long-lost brother for whom he was named, the brother who sacrificed so much for me and him, and whom I wronged so deeply. God has forgiven me and I die in peace.

"Robert Norman."

It was difficult to read the final lines, for the pencil had wavered sadly, and it was evident that the entry had been finished with intense effort.

When Mr. Winslow at last laid aside the yellow old notebook there were no dry eyes, and for a little while all were silent. Then Edward took Skipper Ed's hand in a strong grasp.

"With God's help," said he, "I will live as my father wished, and always endeavor to be worthy his ideal."

But our story must end. I might relate how Bobby and Jimmy went to college, for Skipper Ed would not part from his partner. How the three always spent their summers with Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and provided for their comfort until in the fullness of years they went to their final rest; and how Edward erected a stone on Itigailit Island to his father's memory. But already our story has grown too long.

We may be sure in the busy years that followed, Bobby and Jimmy never forgot the cabins at Abel's Bay, nor the cozy hours in the easy chairs before the big box stove. Nor Skipper Ed's teaching: "Destiny is God's will."

THE END

The Wilderness Castaways

By

DILLON WALLACE

ILLUSTRATED BY H.S. WATSON

One of the "meatiest" stories for boys that has seen the light for many years. The tale of how two lads, one a self-reliant Newfoundlander, and the other an over-pampered New Yorker, went adrift in a fog on Hudson Bay and were forced to make their own living out of the wild in a sub-Arctic winter. It is full of adventure from first to last.—Boston Globe.

Full of hunting, of peril, and privation, and shows how a grim outdoors can transform the life of a self-centered youth. It is the work of a man who knows the heart of a boy, as well as the heart of the wilderness.—Epworth Herald.

One of the best boys' stories published is this record of a spoiled New York lad and a sailor boy who became separated from a hunting party. Their adventures, and the change wrought in the selfish city lad are told with a vividness and sense of humor which will appeal at once to the boy reader or any other.—American Tourist.

The story is brimful of exciting incidents, and will be numbered among the boy readers' favorites.—San Francisco Bulletin.

Mr. Wallace has made a gripping story, and held up manliness and courage in an attractive light—Boston Journal.

In this book two boys make good, and that is a mighty good thing to present in any book for boys.—Baltimore Sun.

12mo. $1.25

A.C. McCLURG & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS-CHICAGO-ILLINOIS