Adrift in the Ice-Fields

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[Illustration: ADRIFT. Page 162.]

Adrift In The Ice-Fields.

By

Capt. Charles W. Hall, Author Of "The Great Bonanza," Etc.

_Illustrated._

Boston: Lee And Shepard, Publishers. New York: Charles T. Dillingham. 1877.

Copyright: By Lee And Shephard. 1877.

Preface.

To open to the youth of America a knowledge of some of the winter sports of our neighbors of the maritime provinces, with their attendant pleasures, perils, successes, and reverses, the following tale has been written.

It does not claim to teach any great moral lesson, or even to be a guide to the young sportsman; but the habits of all birds and animals treated of here have been carefully studied, and, with the mode of their capture, have been truthfully described.

It attempts to chronicle the adventures and misadventures of a party of English gentlemen, during the early spring, while shooting sea-fowl on the sea-ice by day, together with the stories with which they whiled away the long evenings, each of which is intended to illustrate some peculiar dialect or curious feature of the social life of our colonial neighbors.

Later in the season the breaking up of the ice carries four hunters into involuntary wandering, amid the vast ice-pack which in winter fills the great Gulf of St. Lawrence. Their perils, the shifts to which they are driven to procure shelter, food, fire, medicine, and other necessaries, together with their devious drift and final rescue by a sealer, are used to give interest to what is believed to be a reliable description of the ice-fields of the Gulf, the habits of the seal, and life on board of a sealing steamer.

It would seem that the world had been ransacked to provide stories of adventure for the boys of America; but within the region between the Straits of Canso and the shores of Hudson's Bay there still lie hundreds of leagues of land never trodden by the white man's foot; and the folk-lore and idiosyncrasies of the population of the Lower Provinces are almost as unknown to us, their near neighbors.

The descendants of emigrants from Bretagne, Picardy, Normandy, and Poitou, still retaining much of their ancient patois, costume, habits, and superstitions; the hardy Gael, still ignorant of any but the language of Ossian and his burr-tongued Lowland neighbors; the people of each of Ireland's many counties, clinging still to feud, fun, and their ancient Erse tongue, together with representatives from every English shire, and the remnants of Indian tribes and Esquimaux hordes,--offer an opportunity for study of the differences of race, full of picturesque interest, and scarcely to be met with elsewhere.

The century which has with us almost realized the apostolic announcement, "Old things are passed away; behold, all things have become new," with them has witnessed little more than the birth, existence, and death of so many generations, and the old feuds and prejudices of race and religion, little softened by the lapse of time, still remain with their appropriate developments, in the social life of the scattered peoples of these northern shores.

Regretting that the will to depict those life-pictures has not been better seconded by more skill in word-painting, the author lays down his pen, hoping that the pencil of the artist will atone, in some degree, for his own "many short-comings."

Contents.

Chapter Page

I. Our Company 9

II. Building The Ice-Houses.--Matthew Collins'S Ghost 19

III. The Silver Thaw.--A Fox Hunt.--Anthony Worrell'S Dog 55

IV. The Grand Flight.--A Good Stratagem.--The Packet Light 75

V. A Mad Sportsman.--Snow-Blind.--A Night Of Peril 95

VI. Additions To The Party.--An Indian Outfit.--A Contested Election 110

VII. A CHANGE IN THE WEATHER.--BREAKING UP OF THE ICE.--JIM MOUNTAIN'S FIGHT WITH THE DEVIL 136

VIII. Float-Shooting.--A General Field-Day.--Changes Of The Ice 148

IX. Adrift 158

X. The Council.--Passing The Cape 169

XI. Taking An Inventory.--Setting Up The Stove 175

XII. Doctoring Under Difficulties.--An Anxious Night.--Frozen Up 187

XIII. The Chapel Bell.--The First Seal.--The North Cape.--A Snow-Squall 199

XIV. The Pack Opens.--Mysterious Murmurs.--Love Scenes And Sounds 207

XV. A Sail.--The Sealing Grounds.--The Esquimaux Lamp.--An Indian Legend 220

XVI. THE BREEDING-GROUNDS OF THE SEAL.--A CURIOUS SIGHT.--A SHARP ENCOUNTER.--ICE CHANGES 230

XVII. Enlarging The Boat.--Winged Scavengers.--Notice To Quit 244

XVIII. A CHANGE OF BASE.--BUILDING A SNOW-HUT.--THE VIEW FROM THE BERG.--A STRANGE MEETING 254

XIX. The Ring.--The Burial.--A Mausoleum Of Ice 263

XX. A Strange Life-History.--Among The Red Indians 271

XXI. Northward Again.--The Steamer.--Taking To The Boat 287

XXII. THE FORECASTLE OF THE SEALER.--A SEALER'S STORY.--THE LAST HUNT.--ARRIVAL AT ST. JOHN'S 303

XXIII. The Captain'S Visit.--Homeward Bound.--Brother And Sister 313

Illustrations:

Adrift.

Map of Prince Edward Island and the Northumberland Straits.

Adrift in the Ice Fields.

Capt. Lund headed a Party to assist their Friends

Gie me my Guse, Mon, and dinna delay me

Well, George, you're here at last

And the next Second the glittering Teeth were about to close upon his helpless Victim

On the Top of the Berg they felt repaid for the Fatigue of their Journey and Ascent

Kneeling beside it, the Lad bowed his Head as if in silent Prayer

In His Hands La Salle Waved the Banner

[Illustration]

[Illustration: (map of Prince Edward Island and the Northumberland Straits.)]

[Illustration: ADRIFT IN THE ICE FIELDS.]

Chapter I.

Our Company.

Five hundred miles away to the north and east lies the snug little Island of St. Jean; a beautiful land in summer, with its red cliffs of red sandstone and ruddy clay, surmounted by green fields, which stretch away inland to small areas of the primeval forest, which once extended unbroken from the shores of the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the waters of the Straits of Northumberland.

Drear and desolate is it in winter, when the straits are filled with ice, which, in the shape of floe, and berg, and pinnacle, pass in ghostly procession to and fro, as the wind wafts them, or they feel the diurnal impetus of the tides they cover, to escape in time from the narrow limits of the pass, and lose themselves in the vast ice-barrier that for five long months shuts out the havens of St. Jean from the open sea.

No ship can enter the deserted ports, over whose icy covering the farmer carries home his year's firing, and the young gallant presses his horse to his greatest speed to beat a rival team, or carry his fair companion to some scene of festivity twenty miles away. Many spend the whole winter in idleness; and to all engaged in aught but professional duties, the time hangs heavily for want of enjoyable out-of-door employment. It is, therefore, a season of rejoicing to the cooped-up sportsman when the middle of March arrives, attended, as is usually the case, by the first lasting thaws, and the advent of a few flocks of wild geese.

Among the wealthier sportsmen great preparations are made for a spring campaign, which often lasts six or eight weeks. Decoys of wood, sheet-iron, and canvas, boats for decoy-shooting and stealthy approach, warm clothes, caps, and mittens of spotless white, powder by the keg, caps and wads by the thousand, and shot by the bag, boots and moccasons water and frost proof, and a vast variety of small stores for the inner man, are among the necessaries provided, sometimes weeks in advance of the coming of the few scattering flocks which form, as it were, the skirmish line of the migrating hosts of the Canada goose.

It is usual for a small party to board with some farmer, as near as possible to the shooting grounds, or rather ice, for not infrequently the strong-winged foragers, who press so closely on the rearguard of the retreating frost king, find nothing in the shape of open water; but after leaving their comrades, dead and dying, amid the fatal decoys on the frozen channels, sweep hastily southward before cold, fatigue, hunger, and the wiles and weapons of man, can finish the deadly work so thoroughly begun.

Such a party of six, in the spring of 186-, took up their quarters with Captain Lund, a pilot, who held the larger portion of the arable land of the little Island of St. Pierre, which lies three miles south of the mouth of the harbor of C., and ends in two long and dangerous shoals, known as the East and West Bars.

The party was composed of Messrs. Risk, Davies (younger and older), Kennedy, Creamer, and La Salle. Mr. Henry Risk was an English gentleman, of about fifty-five years of age, handsome, portly, and genial, a keen sportsman, and sure shot with the long, single, English ducking-gun, to which he stuck, despite of the jeers and remonstrances of the owners of muzzle and breech-loading double barrels.

Davies the elder, an old friend of the foregoing, had for many years been accustomed to leave his store and landed property to the care of his partners and family, while, in company with Risk, he found in the half-savage life and keen air of the ice-fields a bracing tonic, which prepared them for the enervating cares of the rest of the year. The two had little in common--Risk being a stanch Episcopalian, and Davies an uncompromising Methodist. Risk, rather conservative, and his comrade a ready liberal; but they both possessed the too rare quality of respect for the opinions of others, and their occasional disputations never degenerated into quarrels.

Ben Davies, a nephew of the foregoing, and also a merchant, was an athletic young fellow, of about five feet eight, just entering upon his twenty-second year. A proficient in all manly exercises, and a keen sportsman, he entered into this new sport with all the enthusiasm of youth, and his preparations for the spring campaign were on the most liberal scale of design and expenditure. In these matters he relied chiefly on the skill, experience, and judgment of his right-hand man and shooting companion, Hughie Creamer.

Hughie was of Irish descent, and middle size, but compact, lithe, and muscular, with a not unkindly face, which, however, showed but too plainly the marks of habitual dissipation. A rigger by occupation, a sailor and pilot at need, a skilful fisherman, and ready shot, with a roving experience, which had given him a smattering of half a score of the more common handicrafts, Hughie was an invaluable comrade on such a quest, and as such had been hired by his young employer. It may be added, that a more plausible liar never mixed the really interesting facts of a changeable life with well-disguised fiction; and it may be doubted if he always knew himself which part of some of his favorite "yarns" were truths, and which were due, as a phrenologist would say, "to language and imaginativeness large, insufficiently balanced by conscientiousness."

Kennedy was a wiry little New Brunswicker, born just across the St. Croix, but a thorough-going Yankee by education, business habits, and naturalization. "A Brahmin among the Brahmins," he believed in the New York Tribune, as the purest source of all uninspired wisdom; and bitterly regretted that the manifold avocations of Horace Greeley had thus far prevented that truly great man from enlightening his fellow-countrymen on the habits and proper modes of capture of the _Anser Canadiensis_. As, despite his attenuated and dry appearance, there was a deal of real humor in his composition, Kennedy was considered quite an addition to our little party.

La Salle was--Well, reader, you must judge for yourself of what he was, by the succeeding chapters of this simple history, for he it is who recalls from the past these faint pen-pictures of scenes and pleasures never to be forgotten, although years have passed since their occurrence, and the grave has already claimed two of the six,--Risk, the robust English gentlemen, and Hughie, the cheery, ingenious adventurer. It is not easy to draw a fair picture of one's self, even with the aid of a mirror, and when one can readily note the ravages of time in thinning locks and increasing wrinkles, it is hard to speak of the robust health of youth without exaggeration. At that time, however, he was about twenty-three, having dark hair and eyes, a medium stature, and splendid health. Like Hughie, in a humbler sphere, he was a dabbler in many things,--lawyer, novelist, poet, trader, inventor, what not?--taking life easily, with no grand aspirations, and no disturbing fears for the future. In the intervals of business he found a keen delight in the half-savage life and wholly natural joys of the angler and sportsman, and ever felt that to wander by river and mere, with rod and gun, would enable him to draw from the breast of dear old Mother Earth that rude but joyous physical strength, with the possession of which it is a constant pleasure even to exist.

It was late at night when, by the light of the winter moon, the boats and decoys were unloaded from the heavy sleds, and placed in position on the various bars and feeding-grounds. The ice that season was of unusual thickness, and gave promise of lasting for many weeks. As under the guidance of Black Bill, they entered the farm-yard of his master, the elder Lund, they found the rest of the family just entering the house, and joining them, attacked, with voracious appetites, a coarse but ample repast of bacon, potatoes, coarse bread, sweet butter, and strong black tea. After this guns were prepared, ammunition and lunch got ready for the coming morning, for, with the earliest gleam of the rising sun, they were to commence the first short day of watching for the northward coming hosts of heaven.

The exact manner in which the ingenious Mrs. Lund managed to accommodate six sportsmen, besides her usual family of four girls, three boys, and a hired man, within the limits of a low cottage of about nine small apartments, has always been an unsolved mystery to all except members of the household. To be sure, Risk and the elder Davies occupied a luxurious couch of robes and blankets in the little parlor, and a huge settle before the kitchen stove opened its alluring recesses to Ben and his man Friday, while one of the elder sons and Black Bill shared with Kennedy and La Salle the largest of the upper rooms. In later years, the question of where the eight others slept, has attained a prominent place among the unsolved mysteries of life; but at that time all were tired enough to be content with knowing that they could sleep soundly, at all events.

Few have ever passed from port to port of the great Gulf, without meeting, or at least hearing, of "Captain Tom Lund," known as the most skilful pilot on the coast.

"Alike to him was tide or time, Moonless midnight or matin's prime."

And when his skill could not make a desired haven, or tide over a threatened danger, the mariners of the Gulf deemed the case hopeless indeed.

Every winter, however, the swift Princess lay in icy bonds, beside the deserted wharves, and the veteran pilot went home to his farm, his little house with its brood of children, his shaggy horses, Highland cows, and long-bodied sheep, and became as earnest a farmer as if he had never turned a vanishing furrow on the scarless bosom of the ocean. Always pleasant, anxious to oblige, careful of the safety of his guests, and with a seaman's love of the wonderful and marvellous, he played the host to general satisfaction, and in the matter of charges set an example of moderation such as is seldom imitated in this selfish and mercenary world.

After supper, however, on this first evening, an unwonted cloud hung over the brow of the host, which yielded not to the benign influence of four cups of tea, and eatables in proportion; withstood the sedative consolations of a meerschaum of the best "Navy," and scarcely gave way when, with the two eldest of the party, he sat down to a steaming glass of "something hot," whose "controlling spirit" was "materialized" from a bottle labeled "Cabinet Brandy." After a sip or two, he hemmed twice, to attract general attention, and said, solemnly,--

"It is nonsense, of course, to warn you, gents, of danger, when the ice is so thick everywhere that you couldn't get in if you tried; but mark my words, that something out of the common is going to happen this spring, on this here island. I went over to the Pint, just now, after you came into the yard, to look up one of the cows, and saw two men in white walking up the track, just below the bank. I thought it must be some of you coming up from the East Bar, but all of a sudden the men vanished, and I was alone; and when I came into the yard, you were all here! Now something of the kind almost always precedes a death among us, and I shan't feel easy until your trip is safely over, and you are all well and comfortable at home."

"Now, Lund," said the elder Davies, "you don't believe in any such nonsense, do you?"

"Nonsense!" said Lund, quietly but gravely; "little Johnnie there, my youngest boy, will tell you that he has often seen on the East Bar the warning glare of the Packet Light, which often warns us of the approach of a heavy storm. It is nearly thirty years since it first glowed from the cabin windows of the doomed mail packet, but to all who dwell upon this island its existence is beyond doubt. Few who have sailed the Gulf as I have, but have seen the Fireship which haunts these waters, and more than once I have steered to avoid an approaching light, and after changing my course nearly eight pints, found the spectre light still dead ahead. No, gentlemen, I shan't slight the warning. If you value life, be careful; for if we get through the breaking up of the ice without losing two men, I shall miss my guess."

"Come, Tom," said Risk, quickly, "don't depress the spirits of the youngsters with such old-world superstitions. As you say, they couldn't get through the ice now if they would, without cutting a hole; and when the ice grows weak, will be time enough for you to worry. Take another ruffle to your night-cap, Tom, and you youngsters had better get to bed, and prepare to take to the ice at six o'clock, after a cup of hot coffee and a lunch of sandwiches. Here's luck all round, gentlemen."

The toasts were drank by the three elderly men, and re-echoed by the younger ones, who chose not to avail themselves of the proffered stimulant, and then all sought repose in their allotted quarters. Fifteen minutes later the house was in utter darkness and silence, through which the varied breathings of sixteen adults and children would have given ample opportunities for comparison to any waking auditor, had such there been; but no one kept awake, and to all intents and purposes "silence reigned supreme."

[Illustration]

Chapter II.

Building The Ice-Houses.--Matthew Collins'S Ghost.

At daybreak the gunners arose, and without disturbing the members of the family, took some strong, hot coffee, prepared by the indefatigable Creamer, and ate a breakfast, or rather lunch, of cold meats and bread and butter, after which all proceeded to don their shooting costume, which, being unlike that worn in any other sport, is worthy of description here.

In ice-shooting, every color but pure white is totally inadmissible; for the faintest shade of any other color shows black and prominent against the spotless background of glittering ice-field and snow-covered cliffs. Risk and his partner wore over their ordinary clothing long frocks of white flannel, with white "havelocks" over their seal-skin caps, and their gray, homespun pants were covered to the knee by seal-skin Esquimaux boots--the best of all water-proof walking-gear for cold weather. Risk carried the single ducking-piece before mentioned, but Davies had a Blissett breech-loading double-barrel. They had chosen their location to the north of the island, near a channel usually opening early in the season, but now covered with ice that would have borne the weight of an elephant. With much banter as to who should count first blood, the party separated at the door; the younger Davies and Creamer, with Kennedy and La Salle, plunging into the drifted fields to the eastward, and in Indian file, trampling a track to be daily used henceforward, until the snows should disappear forever. The two former relied on over-frocks of strong cotton, and a kind of white night-caps, while La Salle wore a heavy shooting-coat of white mole-skin, seal-skin boots reaching to the knee, and armed with "crampets," or small iron spikes, to prevent slipping, while a white cover slipped over his Astrachan cap, completed his _outre_ costume. Kennedy, however, outshone all others in the strangeness of his shooting apparel. Huge "arctics" were strapped on his feet, from which seemed to spring, as from massive roots, his small, thin form, clad in a scanty _robe de chambre_ of cotton flannel, surmounted by a broad sou'wester, carefully covered by a voluminous white pocket handkerchief. The general effect was that of a gigantic mushroom carrying a heavy gun, and wearing a huge pair of blue goggles.

La Salle alone of the four carried a huge single gun of number six gauge, and carrying a quarter of a pound of heavy shot to tremendous distances. The others used heavy muzzle-loading double-barrels. A brisk walk of fifteen minutes brought them to the extremity of the island, and from a low promontory they saw before them the Bay, and the East Bar, the scene of their future labors.

Below them the Bar, marked by a low ridge, rising above the level of the lower shallows,--for the tide was at ebb,--trended away nearly a league into the spacious bay, covered everywhere with ice, level, smooth, and glittering in the rising sun, save where, here and there, a huge white hummock or lofty pinnacle, the fragments of some disintegrated berg, drifted from Greenland or Labrador, rose along the Bar, where the early winter gales had stranded them. Leaping down upon the ice-foot, the party hastened to their respective stands, nearly a mile out on the Bar--Davies being some four hundred yards from that of La Salle.

The "stand" of the former was a water-tight box of pine, painted white, and about six feet square by four deep, which was quickly sunk into the snow-covered ice to about half its depth; the snow and ice removed by the shovel, being afterwards piled against the sides, beaten hard and smooth, and finally cemented by the use of water, which in a few moments froze the whole into the semblance of one of the thousands of hummocks, which marked the presence of crusted snow-drifts on the level ice.

La Salle, however, had provided better for comfort and the vicissitudes of sea-fowl shooting; occupying a broad, flat-bottomed boat, furnished with steel-shod runners, and "half-decked" fore-and-aft, further defended from the sea and spray by weather-boards, which left open a small well, capable of seating four persons. Four movable boards, fastened by metal hooks, raised the sides of the well to a height of nearly three feet, and a fifth board over the top formed a complete housing to the whole fabric. La Salle and Kennedy swung the boat until her bow pointed due east, leaving her broadsides bearing north and south; and then, excavating a deeper furrow in the hollow between two hummocks, the boat was slid into her berth, and the broken masses of icy snow piled against and over her, until nothing but her covering-board was visible.

A huge pile of decoys stood near, of which about two dozen were of wood, such as the Micmac Indian whittles out with his curved _waghon_, or single-handed draw-knife, in the long winter evenings. He has little cash to spend for paint, and less skill in its use, but scorches the smooth, rounded blocks to the proper shade of grayish brown, and, with a little lampblack and white lead, using his fore-finger in lieu of a brush, manages to imitate the dusky head and neck with its snowy ring, and the white feathers of breast and tail.

These rude imitations, with some more artistic ones, painted in profile on sheet-iron shapes, of life-size, and a few cork-and-canvas "floaters," were quickly placed in a long line heading to the wind, which was north-west, and tailing down around the boat, the southernmost "stools" being scarce half a gun-shot from the stands.

By the time these arrangements were completed it was nearly midday, and the sky, so clear in the morning, had become clouded and threatening. The chilly north-west breeze, which had made the shelter of their boats very desirable, had died away, and a calm, broken only by variable puffs of wind, succeeded.

"We shall have rain or snow to-night," remarked La Salle to Kennedy, who, after a few moments of watching, had curled himself down in the dry straw, and begun to peruse a copy of the Daily Tribune, his inseparable companion.

"Yes, I dare say. Greeley says--"

What Greeley said was never known, for at that moment a distant sound rung like a trumpet-call on the ear of La Salle, and amid the gathering vapors of the leaden eastern sky, his quick eye marked the wedge-like phalanx of the distant geese, whose leader had already marked the long lines of decoys, which promised so much of needed rest and welcome companionship, but concealed in their treacherous array nothing but terror and death.

"There they are, Kennedy! Throw your everlasting paper down, and get your gun ready. Put your ammunition where you can get at it quick; if you want to reload. Ah, here comes the wind in good earnest!"

A gust of wind out of the north-east whistled across the floes, and the next moment a thick snow-squall shut out the distant shores, the lowering icebergs, the decoys of their friends, in fact, everything a hundred yards away.

"Where are the geese?" asked Kennedy, as, with their backs to the wind, the two peered eagerly into the impenetrable _pouderie_ to leeward.

"They were about two miles away, in line of that hummock, when the squall set in. I'll try a call, and see if we can get an answer."

"Huk! huk!" There was a long silence, unbroken save by the whistle of the blasts and the metallic rattle of the sleety snow:

"Ah-huk! ah-huk! ah--"

"There they are to windward. Down, close; keep cool, and fire at the head of the flock, when I say fire!" said La Salle, hurriedly, for scarce sixty yards to windward, with outstretched necks and widespread pinions, headed by their huge and wary leader, the weary birds, eager to alight, but apprehensive of unseen danger, swung round to the south-west, and then, setting their wings, with confused cries, "scaled" slowly up against the storm to the hindmost decoy.

"Hu-uk! hu-uk!" called La Salle, slowly and more softly.

"Huk! hu-uk!" answered the huge leader, not a score of yards away, and scarce ten feet from the ice.

"Let them come until you see their eyes. Keep cool! aim at the leader! Ready!--fire!"

Bang! bang! roared the heavy double-barrel, as the white snow-cloud was lit up for an instant with the crimson tongues of levin-fire, and the huge leader, with a broken wing, fell on the limp body of his dead mate. Bang! growled the ponderous boat-gun, as it poured a sheet of deadly flame into the very eyes of the startled rearguard.

A mingled and confused clamor followed, as the demoralized flock disappeared in the direction of the next ice-house, from which, a few seconds later, a double volley told that Davies and Creamer had been passed, at close range, by the scattered and frightened birds.

La Salle reloaded, and then leaped upon the ice, and gave chase to the gander, which he soon despatched, and returning, picked up Kennedy's other bird, with three which lay where "the Baby" had hurled her four ounces of "treble B's." Composing the dead bodies in the attitude of rest among the other decoys, he returned to the boat, and for the first time perceived that the geese were not the only bipeds which had suffered in the late bombardment.

Leaning over the side-boards of the boat, the fastenings of which were broken or unfastened, appeared Kennedy, apparently engaged in deep meditation, for his head was bowed until the broad rim of his preposterous head-covering effectually concealed his face from view.

"Here, Kennedy, both your birds are dead, and noble ones they are."

"I'm glad of it, for I'm nearly dead, too," came in a melancholy snuffle from the successful shot, at whose feet La Salle for the first time perceived a huge pool of blood.

"Good Heavens! are you hurt? Did your gun burst?" asked La Salle, anxiously.

"No, I've nothin' but the nose-bleed and a broken shoulder, I reckon. Braced my back against that board so as to get good aim, and I guess the pesky gun was overloaded; and when she went off it felt like a horse had kicked me in the face, and the wheel had run over my shoulder."

"Didn't you know better than to put your shoulder between the butt of a gun like that and a half ton of ice?" asked La Salle. "Why, you've broken two brass hooks, and knocked down all the ice-blocks on that side. Can't I do anything to stop that bleeding? Lay down, face upward, on the ice. Hold an icicle to the back of your neck."

"No, thank you; I guess it will soon stop of itself. A little while ago I cut some directions for curing nose-bleed out of the Tribune, and I guess they're in my pocket-book. Yes, here they are: 'Stuff the nostrils with pulverized dried beef, or insert a small plug of cotton-wool, moistened with brandy, and rolled in alum.' I'll carry some brandy and alum the next time I go goose-shooting."

"Or provide a lunch of dried beef," laughed La Salle; "but you had better keep your shoulder free after this, and you'll have no trouble. There, the bleeding has stopped, and you'd better load up, while I clean away this blood, and cover the boards with clean ice."

In a short time the marks of the disaster were removed, and the hunters again took shelter from the increasing storm, which had set in harder than ever. The snow, however, inconvenienced the friends but little, and as Kennedy could not read, they talked over the cause of his little accident.

"I had no idea that a gun could kick with such force. I shan't dare to fire her again, if another flock puts in an appearance," said the disabled goose-shooter.

"Had your shoulder been free, you would not have felt the recoil, which, even in a heavy, well-made gun, is equal to the fall of a weight fifty to sixty pounds from a height of one foot, and in overloaded or defective guns, exceeds twice and even three times that. It is a wonder that your shoulder was not broken, and a still greater wonder that you killed your birds."

At this moment a hail came from the direction of the other boat, which was answered by La Salle, and in a few moments, after several halloos and replies, two human forms were seen through the scud, and Ben and Creamer made their appearance, gun in hand. A brace of geese, held by the necks, dangled by the side of the latter, and showed that their shots had not been thrown away.

"This storm will last all night," said Davies, anxiously, "and we're only an hour to sundown. Creamer, here, started a little while ago to find out what you had shot. He lost his way, and was going right out to sea past me, when I called to him, and I thought we had better try to get ashore before it gets any darker."

"Does any one know in just what direction the Point lies?" asked Creamer, with that "dazed" expression peculiar to persons who have been "lost."

"Our boat lies nearly in a direct line east and west, and a line intersecting her stem and stern will fall a few rods inside of the island. We are about three quarters of a mile from the house, and by counting thirteen hundred and twenty paces in that direction, we should find ourselves near the shore, just below the house, if our course was correct," said La Salle.

"Yes," said Creamer, "but no man can keep a straight line in a storm like this, when one hummock looks just like another, and there isn't a star to lay one's course by."

"I once saw in the Tribune," said Kennedy, eagerly, "a way to lay a farm-line by poles stuck in the ground. It also recommended 'blazing' trees in the woods for the same purpose."

"To blazes with yer poles and blazed trees, Mr. Kennedy, saving yer presence; all the newspapers in Boston can't teach me anything in laying a straight line where I can have or make marks that can be seen; but there are no poles here, and we couldn't see them if we had them."

"Creamer, don't get so desperate. Kennedy has furnished the idea, and I think I can get the party ashore without any trouble. Now let all get ready to start, and I'll lay the course for the others."

In a few moments the decoys were stacked to prevent drifting, and the boat covered so that no snow could penetrate. A pair of small oars were first, however, removed, which were set upright at either extremity of the boat, and in direct line with the keel.

"There is our proper direction," said La Salle. "Now, Creamer, take your birds, gun, and one decoy, and align yourself with these oars when you have counted one hundred paces. When you have done so, face about and turn the beak of the decoy towards the boat. Now, Ben," continued he, when this was done, "walk up within twenty yards of Creamer, and let me align you; Kennedy will go with you, and, counting one hundred paces beyond Creamer, will be aligned by you. You will then be relieved by me, and placing yourself behind Kennedy, will direct Creamer to the right position, when he has paced one hundred yards farther. At every other hundred yards an iron decoy must be placed, pointing towards the boat."

The plan thus conceived was carried out until thirteen hundred paces had been counted, when La Salle, begging all to keep their places, hurried to the front. It was now nearly dark, and nothing but driving snow was anywhere visible. Creamer was at the lead, but disconsolate and terrified, having utterly lost his reckoning.

"We're astray, sir, completely," he said, hopelessly. "Mother of Heaven!" he ejaculated, as a dim radiance shone through the scud a little to their rear, "there's the 'Packet Light,' and we are lost men."

Buffeted by the heavy gusts and sharp sleet which froze on the face as it fell, La Salle felt for a moment a thrill of the superstitious fear which had overcome the usually stout nerves of his companion; but his cooler nature reasserted itself, although he knew that no house stood in the direction of the mysterious light, which seemed at times almost to disappear, and then to shine with renewed radiance.

"There is nothing earthly about that thing, sir. Macquarrie's house is a long piece from the shore, and Lund's is hidden by the woods. See; look there, sir, for the love of Heaven!" and the stout sailor trembled like a child as the light, describing a sharp curve, rose ten or twelve feet higher into the air, where it seemed to oscillate violently for a few seconds, and then to be at rest.

"Let us hail it, any way," said La Salle; "perhaps we have made some house on the opposite shore."

"We haven't gone a mile, sir; and as for hailing _that_, sir, I'd as soon speak the Flying Dutchman, and ask her captain aboard to dinner."

"Well, I'll try it, anyhow.--'Halloo! Light, ahoy!'" he shouted, placing his hands so as to aid the sound against the wind, which blew across the line of direction between them and the mysterious light. Again and again the hail was repeated, but no answer followed.

"You may call until doomsday, but they who have lit that lamp will never answer mortal hail again. They died thirty falls ago, amid frost and falling snow, ay, and foaming breakers, on this very bar, and the men on shore saw the light shiver, and swing, and disappear, as we saw it just now."

"Well, I don't believe in that kind of light, and I, for one, am going to see what it is. Now, don't move from your place, but watch the light, and if you hear the report, or see the flash, of my gun, answer it once with both barrels, counting three between the first and second shots. If I fire a second time, call all hands and come ashore."

"Well, Master Charley, I wouldn't venture it for all on the face of the earth; but we must do something, and the Lord be between ye and harm. See, now," he added, in a lower tone, "you're a heretic, I know, the Virgin pardon ye; but I'll say a Pater and two Aves, and if you never come back--"

"There, there, Hughie, old fellow, don't go mad with your foolish fears. Pray for yourself and us, if you please, for it is a terrible night, and we may well stand in need of prayer; but do your duty like a man. Stand in your place until I summon you, and then come, if a score of ghosts stand in the way."

The next second Hughie stood alone, watching the tremulous radiance of the mysterious beacon, which La Salle rapidly approached, not without fear, it may be, but with a settled determination superior to the weakness which he felt, for the danger, exposure, and settled fears of his companion had almost transmitted their contagion to his own mind. As he drew nearer, however, the apparition resolved itself into a large reflecting lantern, suspended from a pole, in the hands of Captain Lund, who had headed a party to assist their friends to find the shore. The approach of our hero was not at first noticed, as he came up the bank a little to the rear of the party.

"I'm sure, gentlemen, I don't know what to advise; and yet we can't let them perish on the floes. We had better get the guns, and build a bonfire on the cape below; perhaps they may see it; but it wasn't for nothing that I saw those men the other night. Poor La Salle laughed at it, but if he was here now--"

[Illustration: CAPT. LUND HEADED A PARTY TO ASSIST THEIR FRIENDS. Page 32.]

"He is here, captain, thanks to your lantern, although Hughie, who is out on the ice yonder, shivering with fright and fear, vowed that it was the 'Packet Light,' and would scarcely let me come to see what it was. But this is no time to tell long stories; so I'll give the signal at once."

Creamer, fearfully watching the luminous spot, saw suddenly beside a jet of red flame, as the heavy gun roared the welcome signal that all was well; and scarcely a half moment later a still heavier report called the perplexed and wearied party to the shore, where they found themselves but about ten minutes' walk from the house.

Half an hour later, the bustling housewife summoned them to the spacious table, which was crowded with a profusion of smoking-hot viands, among which two huge geese, roasted to a turn, attracted the attention of all. Mr. Risk saw the inquiring looks of the others, and "rose to explain."

"Davies and I claim 'first blood,' as you see, having killed this pair, which, early in the morning, flew in from the westward, and were just lighting among our decoys, when we each dropped our bird. We came in early, seeing the storm brewing, and, being warned by Indian Peter, we escaped much inconvenience, if not danger, and were able to supply a brace of hot geese for supper. We shall expect a similar contribution to the general comfort from each party in rotation, in accordance with the ancient usage of professors of our venerable and honorable mystery.

"Well, Lund," he continued, "the omen is not yet verified, although the party was nearly lost, and would have been altogether, if Hughie here had had his way, when he took your lantern for a ghost."

"Well, it does seem foolish, now that it is all over; but I have seen the 'Packet Light' myself too often not to believe in it, and so I was as simply frightened at the captain's lantern as the people of Loughrea were at Matthew Collins's ghost."

La Salle noted the look of annoyance which clouded the usually placid brow of their host, and hastened to allay the threatened storm. Rising from his seat, he begged the attention of the company.

"As we are to spend our evenings together for some weeks, it seems to me that it would not be a bad plan to require of each of our company, in rotation, some tale of wonder or personal adventure. Hughie has just referred to what must be an interesting and little known local legend of his mother isle. I move that we adjourn to the kitchen, and pass an hour in listening to it."

The proposition met with general favor, and rising, the company passed into the unplastered kitchen, through whose thin walls and poorly seasoned sashes came occasional little puffs of the furious wind, which whistled and howled like a demon without. The gunners seated themselves around the huge fireplace, in which a pile of dried gnarled roots filled the room with light and warmth, and lighting pipe or cigar, as fancy dictated, gave a respectful attention to the promised story.

As will be gathered from the preceding conversation, Creamer spoke excellent English, but as is often the case when excited, he lapsed at times into a rich brogue. This he did to a considerable degree in relating what he was pleased to call the story of

Matthew Collins'S Ghost.

"I was only a babe in arms when my father crossed the ocean to settle down on the Fane estate as one of the number of settlers, called for by the terms of the original grant. His father was a _warm_ houlder in Errigle-Trough, and had my father been patient and industhrious, he would in a few years have rinted as good an hundhred acres as there was in that section. But the agent tould of land at a shillin' an acre, with wood in plenty, and trees that grew sugar, and game and fish for every one, and my father thought that he was provided for for life, when, with his lease in his pocket and a free passage, he stepped on board the ould ship that bore us to this little island.

"He wasn't far wrong, for he died when I was fifteen, worn out with clearin' woodland, and working all winter in the deep snow at lumbering, to keep us in bread and herrin'. He was a disappointed, worn-out old man at forty, and it was only when he told of the good old times of his youth that I ever seen him smile at all, at all.

"Matthew Collins was a well-to-do farmer of the neighboring parish of Errigle-Keeran, and had a snug cottage and barn, with a good team of plough-horses, a cow, two goats, and a pig, beside poulthry enough to keep him in egg-milk, and even an occasional fowl or two on a birthday, or holy feast. He married Katty Bane, one of the prettiest girls and greatest coquettes in the whole parish. She, however, made him a good wife and careful manager, until the events of my sthory.

"One day, late in the fall, Matthew harnessed his horses in a hay-riggin', and drove off to the bog, five miles away, to haul in his winter's firin'. He wrought all day, getting the dried turfs into a pile, and had just half loaded his team, when a stranger, decently dressed, came up to him, and asked if his name was Matthew Collins.

"'That, indeed, is the name that's on me,' said Matthew; 'and what might you be wantin' of me?'

"'I've sorrowful news for you, Mat,' said the stranger. 'Your sister Rose, that married my poor cousin Tim Mulloy, beyant the mountains, is dead, and I'm sint to bid ye to the berryin' to-morrow.'

"For a few moments Matthew gave way to a natural feeling of grief at the loss of his sister; but he soon bethought himself that he was five miles from home, and that a circuitous road of at least twenty miles lay between his house and the parish of his sister's husband.

"'I can never do it, that's certain,' said he to the stranger. 'It's five miles home, and there's changin' my clothes, and a twenty-mile drive over a road that it's timptin' Providence to attimpt in the dark.'

"'It's a great bother, intirely," said the stranger, reflectively. 'Musha! I have it. Take my clothes, and take the short cut across the Devil's Nose. In three hours you'll be at the wake, and I'll dhrive the team home and tell the good woman, and be round with a saddle-horse before mornin'.'

"'Faith it's yourself that's the dacent thing, any how; and I'm sorry that I can't be at home to thrate you with a bottle of the rale poteen. Never mind; tell Nancy it's in the thatch above the dure; and you're welcome to it all the same as if I were there myself.'

"'We won't part without a glass, any how,' said the stranger, laughingly. 'I've a pint bottle of the rale stuff, and some boiled eggs, and we'll soon have a couple of the shells emptied, in the shake of a lamb's tail, and thin we'll change clothes and dhrink to your safe journey.'

"Accordingly the two exchanged clothes, and sat for half an hour, while the stranger described the last illness of the deceased, and the respect shown her memory by the people of her parish.

"'Divil a whole head will be left in the parish, if they dhrink all the whiskey; and there's stacks of pipes, and lashin's of tobacky, with tay and cakes, and the house in a blaze with mould candles. Is the road azy to find?' continued he. 'For I'm goin', mylone, where I never was afore.'

"'It's as plain as a pikestaff to the very door. Only take tent of the bridge at the slough, two miles beyant; for there's a broken balk that may upset ye.'

"'I'll warrant I'll look out for that. Have one more noggin. _Here's a safe journey and a dacint berrin' to us both._'

"With this rather Irish toast, the two separated, Matthew seeing the stranger safe off the moss, and then commencing his short but fatiguing journey over the narrow mountain path which lay between him and his destination.

"Long before sunset, the careful Katty had had the delph teapot simmering among the hot peat ashes; and the well-browned bacon and mealy potatoes, carefully covered to retain the heat, only awaited the return of 'the master' from the distant bog. They had no children; but Andy, Katty's brother (a _gossoon_ of thirteen), eyed the simple supper anxiously, going from time to time to the door to see if he could see the well-known gray horses coming by the old buckthorn, where the little lane joined the main road.

"The sunset, the night, came on, and Katty became hungry and out of temper.

"'Andy, _alannah_,' said she, 'run to the hill beyant, and try can you see aught of the masther; for I'm tired wid the day's spinnin', and hungry, and wake.'

"The boy went, but returned, saying that no team was in sight.

"'Thin, Andy, jewel, we'll have our supper anyhow; for the tay'll be black wid thrawin', and the bacon and praties spilt intirely.'

"Accordingly the two sat down and finished their evening meal, expecting every moment to hear the cheery voice of Matthew as he urged his _garrons_ with their heavy load up the steep lane beside the cottage.

"About nine o'clock, the wife became alarmed, and with Andy went to a neighbor's. Tim O'Connell, the village blacksmith, had just fallen asleep after a hard day's work, and woke in no very amiable frame of mind as Katty rapped at the door.

"'Who's there at all at this time of night?' said he, gruffly.

"'Only meself, Katty Collins, and Andy,' said Katty, rather dolorously, for she was now thoroughly alarmed.

"'Alice, _colleen_, up and unbar the dure. Come in, neighbor, and tell us what is the matther at all.'

"'O, Tim! Matthew's been gone all day to the bog, and isn't home yet. Could ye go wid the lad down the road, and see if anything has happened to himself or the bastes, the craters?'

"It was not like Tim O'Connell to refuse, and, calling his assistant in the forge, young Larry Callaghan, he lighted a tallow candle, which he placed in a battered tin lantern, and hastened out on his neighborly errand, while Katty was easily persuaded by Mrs. O'Connell to 'stay by the fire' until the men returned.

"The party saw nothing of the team or its owner until the dangerous road led into a narrow but deep ravine, at whose bottom an ill-made causeway led across a dangerous slough.

"'Holy Virgin, boys, but he's been upset! There's the cart across the road, and one of the bastes in the wather; but where's the masther at all? Come on, b'ys; we'll thry and save the _garrons_ any way.'

"They found the cart upset as described, and one of the horses exhausted with struggling under the pole. The other, saved only from drowning by the fact that its collar had held its head against the bank, had evidently kicked and splashed until the water was thick with the black muck stirred up from the bottom.

"It was only the work of a few moments to free the horse in the road, and then the three proceeded to unloose the other, and draw him to a less steep part of the embankment, where, making a sudden effort, with a mighty plunge, he gained the road, and stood trembling and shaking beside his companion.

"'Well done, our side,' said Tim, exultingly. 'Now for the masther. They've run away I doubt, and he's.--What's the matter with you, Andy, at all? What do you see? Mother of Heaven! it's himself, sure enough!'

"Tossed up from the shallows by the convulsive plunge of the steed, whose heavy hoofs, in his first mad struggles, had beaten the head out of all shape of humanity, in the narrow lane of light cast through the door of the open lantern, lay the dead farmer, with his worn frieze coat torn and blackened, and his black hair knotted with pond weeds, and clotted with gore.

"It was scarce an hour later that the emptied cart, slowly drawn by its exhausted span, bore to the little cottage a dead body, amid the wails of scores of the simple peasants, and the hysterical and passionate grief of the bereaved wife. It was with the greatest difficulty that she was induced to refrain from looking at the dead body; although so terribly was it mangled that the coroner's jury performed their duties with the greatest reluctance, and the obsequies were ordered for the very next day.

"The body was accordingly placed in a coffin, above which deals, supported on trestles, and covered by white sheets, bore candles, plates of cut tobacco, pipes, and whiskey. Although but little of the night remained after the coroner had performed his duties, yet so quickly did the news of the accident spread that hundreds of the neighbors came in before morning 'to the wake of poor Matthew! God rest his sowl.'

"The following evening, an unusually large procession followed the remains to their last resting-place. Nothing could have been more heart-broken than the bearing of the widow. Tears, sobs, and cries proclaimed her anguish incessantly, notwithstanding the attempts of friends to assuage her sorrow.

"As they drew near the graveyard, one Lanty Casey, an old flame of Katty's, tried to comfort her in his rough way.

"'Katty, _avourneen_, don't cry so, _avillish_. There's may be happiness for you yet, and there's them left that will love ye as well as him that's gone--if they'd be let.'

"Lanty was a noted lad at fair and pattern, but he got a box on the ear that made his head ring until the body was safely deposited in the grave.

"'Who are ye that talks love to a broken-hearted woman at the very grave? O, Matthew, Matthew, that I should live to see this day! _Ochone, ochone!_ are you dead? are you dead?'

"On her way home to her solitary hearth, Katty saw ahead of her the hapless Lanty, and hastened to overtake him.

"'Lanty, _avick_," said she, sweetly, 'what were you saying there beyant, a while agone?'

"'What I'm not likely to say again. I'm not fond of such ansthers as ye gev me; an' if ye don't know when you're well off--'

"'There, there, Lanty, dear; I'm sorry for that same, but what wud the people say, an' my husband not berrid? But I mustn't be seen talkin' more wid you. I'll be alone to-night when the _gossoon_ is asleep, and ye can dhrap in, and tell me what ye like, av ye plaze.'

"At about ten o'clock that night, the Rev. Patrick Mulcahy, while talking over the funeral, and the sad events which had led to it, was asked for by the young lad, Katty's brother.

"'Well, Andy, lad, what's wanting now? Is your sister feeling better, _avick_?'

"'Yes, sir; and she sint me, your riverence, to see wud ye come down and marry her to Lanty Casey the night.'

"'Are your wits gone _ashaughran_, ye _gomeral_? Or is Katty run mad altogether?'

"'It's just as I say, your riverence; and she says she'll pay you a pound English for that same.'

"'And I say that if I go down there to-night, that I'll take my whip with me to the shameless hussy. The Jezabel, and she nearly dyin' with grief this evening.'

"'An' you won't marry them, sir?'

"A staggering box on the ear with a heavy slipper flung from across the room sent the unfortunate messenger whimpering out of the door; while the priest, honest man, stormed up and down the room until the housekeeper entered with a waiter, on which were arrayed a decanter, some tumblers, a lemon, and a large tumbler full of loaf sugar.

"'Come, Peter,' said he, more calmly, 'reach the kettle from the hob, and we'll let the jade go. Perhaps she's out of her head, poor thing! and will forget all about what she says to-night by to-morrow morning. What are you grinning at there?'

"'Do you remimber the coult ye won from me whin I bet that ye couldn't light your pipe wid the sun?'

"'Yis, Pether. Ah, I had ye thin, sharp as you count yourself!'

"'Well, now, I'll bet the very moral of him against himself that Katty'll send up again--if she don't come herself.'

"'Done! for twice as much if you will. She doesn't dare--'

"'Good evening, your riverence,' said a woman's voice. And in the doorway stood Lanty Casey and Katty Collins.

"'We've come up, your riverence, to see if you'd plaze to marry us this night. They tould us you wor angry, sur, and, indade, I don't blame you; for you don't know all. The man who lies dead beyant was able to give me a home, and to keep a roof over the heads of my poor father and mother, and I gave up Lanty here for him. Now, sir, if you'll marry us, I'll give you the pig down below--and a finer's not in the parish; and if not--'

"The speaker paused, and, touching the arm of her companion, who evidently feared to speak, retreated into the kitchen to await the decision of Father Patrick, who was almost bursting with chagrin at the loss of his wager, and anger at the boldness of his parishioner.

"Peter laughed, silently enjoying his brother's discomfiture, and then suddenly broke out,--

"'Now, what's the use, sir, of spitin' yourself? You've lost the coult, and the woman is bound to have her way. Sure, an' if you don't tie the knot, all they're to do is to sind over to Father Cahill--'

"'The hedge priest--is it? No, I'll marry them. Let them come in, Mrs. Hartigan, but no blessin' can come on such a rite as this.'

"Without a word of congratulation, the priest performed the service of his church, and in silence the pair proceeded to the cottage of the bride, where they fastened the doors and windows securely, and retired. The rising moon lighted up the surrounding scenery, and the priest and his brother sat later than usual over their 'night-caps' of hot Irish whiskey.

"'Peter,' said Father Mulcahy, 'sind young Costigan down for the pig. Perhaps to-morrow Katty will rue her bargain, and we won't get the crathur.'

"Costigan (a tight little lad of fourteen), roused from the settle-bed by the kitchen fire, soon procured a short cord and a whip, and set off on his rather untimely errand.

"A few moments before, a man dressed in holyday garb tried the doors and windows of the cottage, and, finding them securely fastened, murmured,--

"''Tis frighted she is, an' I away, an' tired, too, wid spinnin', I'll be bound. Well, I'll not rise her now. There's clane sthraw in the barn, an' I'll slape there till mornin'.'

"The tired traveller had hardly laid himself down, with his head on a sheaf of oats, when he saw a youth enter the barn, and, deliberately taking a cord from his pocket, proceed to affix it to one of the hind legs of his much-prized pig, which resented the insult with a tremendous squealing.

"Matthew rose quietly, and lowered himself to the floor, catching a bridle rein, and getting between the trespasser and the wall.

"'I don't know what thievish crew claims ye, but I'll lay they'll see the marks of my hand-write under your shirt to-morrow,' said Matthew, savagely; but to his surprise the lad gave a single shriek, and sank down as if in a fit. A dash of water from the stable bucket recovered him somewhat, although his mind seemed to wander.

"'Holy angels be about us!--an' him dead and berrid--his very self--come back again!' And broken sentences of similar import were hurriedly murmured with closed eyes, as if to shut out some hideous sight; and the angry farmer was disarmed completely by the evident terror of the boy, who at last rose, fearfully opened his eyes, and looked around.

"'Yes, ye little thafe of the world, I've come in time--'

"With a meaningless yell, or rather shriek of terror, the boy rushed out of the door, fell on the frosty roadway, tearing his clothes and cutting through the skin of both knees; and heeding nothing but the terror behind, sprang again to his feet, and rushed down the lane and along the moonlit road, until, panting, bleeding, and breathless, he rushed into the priest's dining-room.

"'O, yer riverince, he's come back!' was all that the boy could find breath to say for a moment; and Peter, who was rather irascible, took up the discourse at once.

"'It's yourself that's come back in a fine plight, you graceless, rioting, fighting, thaving young scullion. Whose cottage have ye been skylarkin' round now? And where's the pig ye was sint for, at all, at all?'

"'Peace, Pether, and let me discoorse him. Don't ye know that when I sent ye for the dues of the church, ye was engaged in its sarvice,--in holy ordhers, as it were? And how comes it, then, that you come back without the pig, and looking as frighted as if Matthew Collins himself had come back?'

"'And so he has masther, dear,' said the poor boy. 'O, _wirra_, _wirra_, but afther this night I'll never be out mylone again. I shall always think that I see him forninst me, as I met him beyant, the night.'

"'Met Matthew Collins? The gossoon's crazy,' said the priest.

"'The young devil is lying, more likely. The dead don't come back to frighten honest folk, who want only their own,' said Peter, scornfully.

"'Now, Costigan, go back at wanst, and fetch the pig,' said Father Mulcahy, firmly, but kindly. 'Ye'll be ready enough to ate him this winther.'

"'O, masther, don't send me again! Ate that pig? An' if the pope himself said grace, I'd sooner starve than ate a collop of the crater. Why, either his sperit, or the devil in his shape, kapes watch over it; and all the money in Dublin wouldn't timpt me there agin after dark.'

"'Well, sir,' said Peter, savagely, 'the boy's frikened at somethin', that's certin'; and we shan't get the crather up here the night at all, unless it's done soon. It's only a stip just, and I'll go and get the pig, and find out what frighted the lad--a loose horse or cow, I'll be bound.'

"Accordingly, Peter set off on his errand, accompanied by Costigan, who went only on condition that he should not enter the barn, and only consented to go at all under threat of a tremendous thrashing if he refused.

"Scarcely an hour, therefore, had elapsed before Matthew was again awakened from sleep by the intrusion of a second midnight visitor.

"'Where is the baste, any way?' asked the man, in gruff, angry tones.

"'He's right at the ind of the haggard, in the right hand corner,' tremulously answered a boyish voice from the distance of a few rods.

"'Faith, but the villains is intent on my pig, any how,' muttered the perplexed but angry Matthew, as he saw the struggles of his favorite when the robber attempted to secure a cord to her hind leg, which he seemed to find a difficult task.

"'The curse of Crom'll upon ye for an unaisy brute, any how, Ned! Ned Costigan, I say, come, ye little divil, and help me tie the knot, ye frikened _omadhaun_. There's nothing here to be afraid of, barrin' the gray horses an' the ould cow. Come, I say.--The Vargin and St. Pather presarve me! Are ye come back?'

"'Yes, I've come back, and ye'll go back to whoever sint ye, with my mark on yer shoulthers,' said Matthew, grimly, as, suiting the action to the word, he drew a stout stick from his sleeping-place, and brought it down with emphasis upon the head and shoulders of the priest's brother, who, though ordinarily considered 'as good a man' as there was in the parish, could scarcely persuade himself that he was not the victim of a terrible dream. Although he mechanically grappled and strove with his fearful antagonist, he felt the fierce breath of a demon, as his breast pressed against that of the dead, and the fierce eyes of a fiend, or an avenging ghost, glared into his, as they fought and wrestled, now in the dark shadows, and now in the narrow lane of moonlight, which peered through the open door. It was no wonder that even the instinct of self-preservation failed to nerve him to meet such a foe, and that Matthew found it a surprisingly easy matter to give him a terrible beating.

"Fifteen minutes later, Peter, wan and covered with cuts and bruises, entered the priest's house, and swooned on the threshold. It was nearly daylight before he recovered himself sufficiently to corroborate the story of the lad, that the ghost of Matthew Collins jealously watched over his favorite pig.

"'An' why didn't he watch his wife too, Peter?' asked the priest, archly.

"'Faix! an' I dunno. But the same man set great store by that same baste--bad scran to her! I wish you had been wid us to discoorse the shpirit, and sind him back to _his place_.'

"'Faith, and only that it's daylight now, an' near time for matins, I'd just step over, and show ye the powers that are delegated to the clargy, avick. I'd like to see if Matthew Collins would dare to face me afther I've buried him dacently.'

"'An' married his wife again,' said Peter, with a feeble attempt at pleasantry.

"'I've doubts if I did wisely there, Peter. Sure and if the ungratefulness of those they love is enough to keep the dead from resting quietly, Matthew Collins should be one of the first to come back and haunt his dishonored homestead.'

"'But if all the dead min that lave wifes aisily consoled for their loss, were to come back, there'd be plinty of haunted houses,' said Peter, pithily.

"'Well, we'll watch there the night, and try to find out the mysthery,' said the priest. 'But I'm off to matins. Be sure and see that Mrs. Hartigan has the breakfast ready when I return.'

"The bell calling the peasantry to their morning service awoke Matthew, who hastened to his cottage, which he found as closely barred and bolted as the night before.

"'She's gone to chapel long before this. Well, I'll have a wash at the spring, and away to church.' Saying which, he carefully picked the straw from his coat, cleaned his dusty shoes with a wisp of dry grass, and after a thorough washing of face and hands, he took up the worn felt hat of the stranger, and set off down the lane.

"As he got nearly to the main road, a group of neighbors passed along; but instead of answering his cheerful greeting, they crossed themselves, and hastened on with longer strides, turning from time to time, and looking at him in a most puzzling manner.

"'Sure, the folks are mad,' muttered poor Matthew, 'or else 'tis late we are--that must be it. Well, we can run, any way.' And suiting the action to the word, he began to run after his neighbors, who, terribly frightened, strove with all their might to preserve undiminished the distance between them.

"'Faix, half the people is late--or is it a fire is ragin'? Well, I dunno, but I'll be on hand any how.' And Matthew, taking a long breath, pressed on after the flying crowd, which grew larger each moment, as group after group of staid and devout worshipers recognized the features of their dead neighbor, and joined the panting crowd, which, crossing and blessing themselves, and shrieking and praying with terror, sought the protection of the church, and having, as they deemed, found a refuge from the apparition, sank exhausted into their seats, to thank God for a place of safety.

"But they had reckoned without their host, for the next moment the dead man strode through the arched door, and deliberately glided towards his accustomed seat. In speechless horror the people, with one accord, arose and rushed to the altar for protection, while many rushed out through the rear entrances, to carry the terrible news far and wide.

"Pale, but resolute, attended by two trembling altar boys with bell and censer, Father Mulcahy advanced in front of the astonished cause of this unwonted disturbance.

"'In the name of the Blessed Thrinity, I command you to retire from this blissid an' sacred church to the place from whence you came.'

"'An' why wud I go back, your riverince? Shure, the body's buried, an' I've no call there now.'

"'Why, then, can you find no rest in the grave?'

"This last question 'broke the camel's back.'

"'H---- to my--There, the Lord forgive me for cursin', and in this blessed an' howly place. But are all the people mad--prastes and clarks, payrents and childher? Or am I losin' my sinses, or enchanted by the fairies?'

"'Matthew,' said the priest, solemnly, 'are you alive an' well?'

"'Yis, your riverence, if I know meself I am.'

"'Will you go to the font an' thrink a taste of the holy wather?'

"'Yes, your riverince, an it's plasin' to ye.'

"It was with much doubt that Father Mulcahy awaited the result of his test; but Matthew drank about a pint of the consecrated water, and a short conversation made all plain to the priest, and to poor Matthew, to whom the various events were far from being a matter of mirth.

"Accompanied by the priest, he went home, to the unutterable horror of the newly-married pair, which was little lessened when they found that their unwelcome visitor was not from another world.

"'I am dead to you, Katty,' said he, with a gentle sadness, so different from the burst of passion which the priest had feared, that he knew that his heart was broken. 'All the happiness I had was in your love, and that was false. Go with your new love where I may see you no more.'

"Matthew died years after, a soured and misanthropic man; but few legends are better known in his native district than the story of Matthew Collins's ghost."

* * * * *

As the story ended, Risk thanked the narrator in behalf of the auditory, adding, "The storm will probably change to a thaw before morning, and if it does we must be on hand bright and early, for it will bring the main body of 'the first flight.'"

As the company rose to retire, Ben approached La Salle. "Will you tell me why you made us leave decoys at every hundred yards?"

"To help us find the way back, should we fail to reach the shore. We could have lived out a night like this in my ice-boat, but we should long since have been sleeping our last sleep beneath the snow-wreaths, had we lost our way upon the floes."

At daybreak La Salle awoke, but turned again to his pillow, as he noted the snow-flakes form in tiny drifts against the lower window panes; and it was nine o'clock before the tired sportsmen completed their hasty toilet, and seated themselves around the breakfast table.

Chapter III.

The Silver Thaw.--A Fox Hunt.--Anthony Worrell'S Dog.

The snow at nine o'clock had ceased to fall, but had given place to a thick hail, which rattled merrily on roof and window pane, but soon became softer, and mingled with rain as the wind veered more to the east and south.

"We are in for a heavy thaw," said the elder Davies, "and to-morrow we shall have good sport. It is hardly worth while to get wet to the skin, however, for what few birds we shall get to-day."

"Charley," said the younger Davies, "let us go down to the bar and look up our decoys, for if we have a heavy thaw they may all be washed away and lost."

Putting on their water-proof coats, boots, and sou'westers, the young men took their guns and started for the eastern end of the island. The drifts were very heavy along the fences and under the steep banks which overhung the eastern and northern shores of the island, and huge hummocks, white, smooth, and unbroken, showed where the snow had entombed huge bergs and fantastic pinnacles. Facing the storm with some difficulty, they got out as far as the ice-boat of La Salle, which they found completely covered to the depth of two or three feet.

"We should have been smothered if we had taken refuge there last night," said Ben, as he proceeded to search for the buried decoys.

"I think not; for men can breathe below a great depth of snow, and I have heard of sheep being taken alive from a heavy drift after an entombment of twenty or thirty days."

The decoys were soon gathered, and they proceeded to the farther stand, where they took the same precaution against the expected flooding of the floes, piling the decoys into the box until a pyramid of clumsy wooden birds rose several feet above the level of the ice, which was fast becoming soft, and covered with dirty pools of snow water and nasty "sludge."

A Fox Hunt.

"Here is the track of a fox," cried Davies, "and here is where he has killed a goose this morning;" and La Salle, on hastening to the spot, found a fresh trail leading from the main land, and beside the last decoy a slight depression around which loose feathers and clots of blood told in unmistakable terms that a single bird, and not improbably a wounded one, had alighted amid the decoys, and trusting to the vigilance of his supposed companions, had fallen an easy prey to his soft-footed assailant.

"Here comes one-armed Peter on his track," said La Salle; and in a few moments a tall, finely-built, middle-aged Micmac came noiselessly up, bearing in his only remaining hand, not a gun, but an axe.

"Where's your gun, Peter?" said Ben, carelessly; "you don't expect to kill a fox with an axe--do you?"

The Indian's brow contracted a little, and instantly relaxed, as he answered, "That not fox track at all; that Indian dog, I guess. Martin Mitchell have dog; lun alound like that. No good dog that. Sposum mine, kill um."

"Yes, Peter, I've no doubt you'd like to kill that dog very well. See, he finds his own living for himself. He killed a goose here last night, I see. I s'pose your Indian dogs will eat geese raw, but mine never would. He sat down here a moment after he had killed his bird, and left the marks of a very bushy tail. Here's some of the hair, too. By thunder! 'tis the hair of a black fox."

The Indian laughed silently, with no little admiration of the close observation of the other visible in his countenance. "Yes, that black fox. I see his track last night; trail him two tree mile dis morning. No use try to fool you; fool other white man over back there; you know trail well as Indian. No use carry gun, I think; fox in wet weather get in hollow tlee, or under big loot. I cut down tlee and knock on head with axe. But if fox on island, I lose him; no tlee there at all big enough."

"Well, Peter, his trail is straight for the end of the point, and he must be in the swamp at the other end of the island. We'll go with you and surround the swamp while you enter it. If you fail to tree him, we'll shoot him when he breaks cover, and we'll divide equally whether one or two help to kill him." And La Salle, resting the butt of his heavy gun on his boot, drew his load of loose shot, and substituted an Eley's cartridge, containing two ounces of large "swan-drops."

A cloud settled upon the smiling face of the Indian, and he broke forth vehemently, "I no want you to help me. I need _all_ that money; you got plenty. I been sick, had sick boy, sick old woman,--bery sick. I see that fox two time. No got gun; borrow money on him to pay doctor, and get blead. I borrow gun one day; sit all day, no get nothing; go home, nothing to eat. Next day, man use his own gun, kill plenty. I know fox in wet day find hollow tlee; no like to wet his tail. I say to-day I kill him, get good gun, get cloes, get plenty blead and tee. I _know_ I kill that fox."

"Well, Peter, we won't trouble you. We'll go to see you kill him, and watch out to see that he don't get clear," said Davies; and the Indian, rather hesitatingly, assented.

There was little woodcraft in following the "sign," for the tracks were deeply impressed in the soft snow, and the heavy body and long neck of his prey had left numerous impressions where the fox had rested for a moment. In the course of half an hour the party had gained the shore, and, passing through several fields, found themselves in a heavy growth of beech and maple.

The fox, however, had not halted here, but emerging into a small meadow, had crossed into a close copse of young firs and elders, in whose midst a huge stump, whitened and splintered, rose some twenty-five feet into the air.

Peter groaned audibly. "That old fox mean as debbil. Know that place no good. No hollow tlee, only brush and thick branch. Fox get under loot, and eat, watch twenty way at once: well, I try, any way."

Ben and La Salle hastily passed around the woods surrounding the glade, until they reached the opposite side of the motte to that which Peter was now entering. Noticing that only a narrow space of open ground intervened at one point, Davies crept noiselessly down to the very edge of the underbrush, about sixty yards from La Salle.

He had scarcely drawn himself up from his crouching position, when a magnificent black fox crossed the opening almost at his very feet, followed by the light axe of the Indian, which, thrown with astonishing force and precision, passed just above the animal, and was buried almost to the helve in a small tree not a yard from Davies's head.

Flurried out of his usual good judgment, Ben drew both triggers, with uncertain aim, and the fox, swerving a little, passed him like a shot. La Salle, springing forward through the narrow belt of woods, saw the frightened animal a score of rods off, making across the fields for the Western Bar. A fence bounded the field some six score yards away, under which the fox must pass, and whose top rail, scarce three feet above the level, marked the necessary elevation to allow for the "drop" of the tiny missiles used. La Salle felt that all depended on his aim, and that his nerves were at the utmost tension of excited interest; but he forced himself to act with deliberate promptitude at a moment when the most feverish haste would have seemed interminable dallying. Steadily the ponderous tube was levelled in line of the fleeing beast, until the beaded sight rested on the top rail above him. An instant the heavy weapon seemed absolutely without motion; then the report crashed through the forest, and the snow-crust was dashed into impalpable powder by a hundred riddling pellets.

The shot was fired just as the fox sprang up the slight embankment on which, as is usual, the line of fence was placed. For an instant he seemed to falter, then leaped the top rail, and disappeared beyond the enclosure.

Peter and Davies had seen the shot, and with La Salle rushed forward to note its effect, although neither hoped for more than a wound whose bleeding would ultimately disable him, when patient tracking would secure his much-prized fur. As they ran to the fence they noted the deeply-cut scores in the icy crust which marked the first dropping shot, and Peter became loud in his praises of the weapon.

"I never see gun like that; at hundred yards you kill him, sure; but no gun ever kill so far as you fire. See there, shot strike dis stump. Hah! there spot of blood on bank. Damn! here fox dead, sure enough."

"Hurrah! the Baby forever for a long shot. Charley, old boy, shake hands on it. Peter, don't you wish you hadn't been so sure of killing him without our help?"

The thoughtless triumph of the young Englishman recalled the memory of his obstinate refusal to accept the proffered aid of the sportsmen to the mind of the poor Indian. Such a look of utter disappointment took the place of his joy at the successful shot, that La Salle could scarcely contain his sympathy.

"So it is always. White man win, Indian lose; white man get food, Indian starve; white man live, Indian die. Once, all this Indian land. No white people were here, and many Indians hunt and find enough. Now, the Indian must buy the wood which he makes into baskets. He cannot spear a salmon in the rivers. The woods are cut down, and the many ships and guns frighten off the game."

He looked a moment at the dead fox, smoothed its glossy fur with a hand that trembled with suppressed emotion, and then, with a curt "good evening," turned to go.

"I wish, Peter, you would come down to the house and skin this beast for me," said La Salle. "If you will do so carefully, and stretch it for drying in good style, I'll give you a pair of boots."

Without a word the Indian seized the dead animal and strode ahead of them, like one who seeks in bodily fatigue a refuge from anguish of spirit.

"What will you give for such a skin, Davies?" asked La Salle.

"I will give you one hundred and fifty dollars for that one. It is the largest, finest, and blackest that I ever saw."

"You have another gun like your own in your store at C.--have you not?"

"Yes, exactly like my own. I can only tell them apart by this curl in the wood of the stock."

"What is she worth?"

"I will sell her to you for fifteen pounds."

"That would be fifty dollars. Well, Ben, I'll tell you what, we must give Peter one half of the fox. I should never forgive myself if we didn't. I know he has been sick all summer, and his disappointment must be very hard to bear. Are you willing to give him half?"

"Do just as you please, Charley," said the warmhearted hunter. "I don't claim any share, for we are all on our own hook, unless by special agreement; but I shall be very glad if you are kind enough to share with him, poor fellow!"

"Well, Ben, you are to take the fox at your own price, giving Peter an order on your partner for the gun, and credit to the amount of twenty-five dollars more. The other seventy-five we divide. You have only to give me credit for my moiety, as I owe you nearly that amount."

"I'm satisfied if you are; so let us hurry up, and see Peter prepare the skin, and send him home happy."

"The finest skin I ever saw," said Risk. "It's worth three hundred dollars in St. Petersburg, if it's worth a cent."

"Who killed him?" said the elder Davies. "If you did, Ben, I'd like to buy the skin."

"I bought it myself of La Salle for one hundred and fifty. He killed it, and sold it to me. I guess I can sell to good advantage."

In the mean time Peter had drawn his _waghon_, or curved Indian knife, from his belt, and, carefully commencing at the rear of the body, skinned the animal without forming another aperture, removing the mask, and ears attached, with great nicety. With equal dexterity he whittled a piece of pine board to the proper shape, and, turning the skin inside out, drew it tightly over the batten, fastening it in place with a few tacks. His task completed, he handed it to La Salle, and rose to go. The latter restrained him, saying,--

"Hold, Peter; you must have your pay first. Here is a pair of rubber boots and some dry stockings. Put them on, and throw away those old moccasons, and take these few things to your wife."

"You very kind, brother," said Peter, simply, taking the small bundle of tea, sugar, bread, cake, and jellies which could be spared from their limited stock of "small stores."

"And, Peter," continued La Salle, "Ben and I have concluded to share with you in the matter of the fox. We have no wives yet, and therefore think about one half the price ought to go to you. This paper will get you that double-barrel of Ben's father to-morrow, if you feel like going over for it; and you will also be allowed to purchase twenty-five dollars' worth more of ammunition, food, and clothing."

The tears came into the poor fellow's eyes.

"Damn! I know you hite men. I know you heretic. I say I no hunt with you. I try cheat you on the trail, and you make Peter cly like squaw. I wish--I wish--you two, tlee, six fathom deep in river. I jump in for you if I die."

And, seizing the bundle and the precious order, he dashed the moisture from his eyes, and took the road homeward.

"He will never repay your kindness," said Lund. "Them Indians is never grateful for anything."

"I think he will repay it, if it is ever in his power," said Risk. "Peter is one of the most honest and industrious of his tribe, and it is not his fault when his children want food."

"Well, boys," said the elder Davies, "I suppose you have done right, and that you will receive as much gratitude as we give to our heavenly Father; but, as men look at things, you have, indeed, 'cast your bread upon the waters.'"

"If it is so, Mr. Davies," said La Salle, with a solemnity unusual with him, "our reward is sure; for the promise is, 'Thou _shalt_ find it after many days.'"

"But," said Lund, with a quiet twinkle in his sharp gray eye, "I'd like to bet five shillin' that, when you are repaid, it won't be in Indian bread."

"Pretty good!" laughed Kennedy, who had taken the day to finish up a large pile of "back numbers" of his favorite daily, "but I think hardly just to the Indians. Horace Greeley has given a great deal of thought to this Indian question, and although he would disapprove of supplying them with arms and ammunition, yet in all other matters would indorse your policy."

"You don't mean to say that Greeley would disapprove of letting poor Peter have a gun to shoot game to help support his family--do you?" asked Ben, in astonishment.

"Certainly I do. With that fifty dollars, he could have procured tools and seed, and started a farm on Indian Island. Instead of that, you give him the means of continuing a savage, instead of encouraging him to become a farmer and a civilized being. Horace Greeley would have tried--"

"To attempt an impossibility," said La Salle, excitedly. "As well may you expect to raise a draught horse from a pair of racers, or keep a flock of eagles as you would a coop of hens. The French have been the only people on this continent with an Indian policy founded in reason, and a just estimate of the character and capabilities of the aborigines."

"And yet they were completely driven from this continent," said Kennedy.

"True, sir; but their Indian policy made their scanty population of two hundred thousand Europeans a dreaded foe to the nearly three million colonists of English descent. They made of their savage allies an arm that struck secretly, swiftly, and with terrible effect, and a defence that kept actual hostilities a long distance from their main settlements. I believe, sir, that the philosophers of the future will condemn alike our policy of extermination, and the impossible attempt to mould hunters, warriors, and absolutely free men, into peaceful, plodding citizens of a republic."

"What else can be done with them?" asked Kennedy, sharply.

"It seems to me that in generations to come, it will be said of us, 'They did not try in those days to yoke the racer to the plough, nor to chain the hound to the kennel, while they urged the mastiff on the track of the deer; yet they failed to see that the Creator, and peculiar conditions unchanged for centuries, had moulded the races of men to different forms of government, modes of life, and varieties of avocation. The Roman conqueror of the world knew better than to put in his heavily-armed legions the flying Parthian, the light-armed horseman of Numidia, or the slinger of the Balearic Isles. The American of the past had at his disposal a race capable of being the skirmish line of his march of civilization to wrest a continent from the wilderness. As trappers, hunters, and guides; as fishermen and slayers of whale and seal; as the light horseman, quick, brave, self-sustaining, and self-reliant, the Indian was capable of valuable services to a people who offered him but two alternatives--extinction, or a dull, plodding, vegetative, unnatural existence.'"

"Well, La Salle, if you two Yankees can let your argument rest a little, we'll go down to the shore, to take a look at the ice, and see what to-morrow has in store for us," said Risk; and, as it was nearly sundown, the party hastened down to a part of the bank clear of trees, from whence they could discern the bay and the surrounding shores.

The rain was falling in gentle and melting showers; the south wind, laden with penetrating warmth, borne from lands hundreds of leagues distant, cut down drift and ice-hill with its fatal kisses; from the rocky cliff a thousand tiny cascades wept and plashed; and over the icy bonds of every brook and river another stream ran swiftly to the sea. Over the icy levels of harbor and bay rippled another sheet of fresh water, which each moment grew deeper and wider as the warm rain fell more heavily, and the withering south wind came in increasing strength.

"If this lasts all night, boys," said Lund, oracularly, "it will open the spring-holes and oyster-beds, and give the geese, which are sure to come with this wind, a certain amount of feeding-grounds which are not likely to be frozen up this winter. Come," continued he, turning away; "the geese will be getting cold, and we want to have time to hear a good yarn before we go to bed."

"It's your turn to-night, Mr. Risk," said Ben; "and we must have a story as different as possible from the last. You know all about the old notables of the country, who used to own thousands of acres, and keep horses and servants as they do on large manors in the old country. Tell us a story about some of that set, as you used to tell father and uncle Dan, down at Morell."

"I won't try to back out, gentlemen," said Risk, laying aside his meerschaum; "for the sooner I tell my story the better, as you will 'have it over with,' and hear a great many good stories before it becomes my turn to bore you again. My story is about

"Old Anthony Worrell And His Newfoundland Dog.

"In my young days, a number of the immediate heirs of the original proprietors were resident here; and among them this Major Worrell, whose estate has since been purchased by the government. He was a little, nervous, black-haired bachelor, who shared his chamber with a favorite black Newfoundland retriever, named Carlo.

"One or two domestics did the housework, and helped the farm-hands in haying, harvest, and potato-digging; and over all presided Mrs. Sims, a tall, stout, and resolute widow, with a heavy hand and a shrewish temper. With a huge bunch of keys at her side, and an eye quick to detect the smallest waste and the slightest irregularity, she kept the household in terror, and her master (poor little man!) in almost abject vassalage. A specimen of one of their daily breakfast dialogues may be worthy of reproduction.

"_She._ 'Good mornin,' sir. 'Ope you're well this morning.'

"_He._ 'Yes--quite well. Breakfast ready, eh?'

"_She._ 'Almost. Heggs just boiling when I came in. That Gillbear (Gilbert, a little, French orphan) sucks heggs, hi'm sure. Hi wonder you keep 'im hon the place.'

"_He._ 'Well, you know, Mrs. Sims, he's an orphan, and--'

"_She._ 'Well, hi like that. Han horphan! hand 'is father lives hup hin has good a farm has there his hin Tracadie.'

"_He._ 'Well, his father Gilbert died, and Lisette, his mother, married Francois: and then Lisette, his mother, died, and Francois married his cousin Christine; and then Francois died, and Christine married Jacques the blacksmith; and so he hasn't any father or mother, and no home, and I let him stay here.'

"_She._ 'Yes, hand you'd 'ave the place heaten hup with lazy, dirty, thieving beggars hif hit wasn't for me. Hi told your brother when 'e sent me hover. Says 'e, 'My brother his too heasy, han' needs some un to see that 'e hisn't himposed hupon.' Says hi, 'Wen hi'm hunable to do my duty, hi've honly to return 'ome to Hingland. Wich hi've just 'ad a letter from my sister; han' hif hi must slave for sich, hi'd rather give warnin' for to-morrow come four weeks.'

"_He_ (nervously). 'Why, my dear Mrs. Sims--'

"_She._ 'Yes, sir; hand that dratted dog Carlo, hevery mornin', when hi goes to hair your sheets, gives me ha start with growlin' hat me from hunder the bed-clothes, wich 'e wraps 'isself hup hin hevery mornin', sir, like has hif 'e were a Christian. Now, sir, hi'm ready to slave hand wear myself hout for you, but has for slavin' for a dirty cur and a French brat, hi've no need to, han' hi won't.'

_He._ 'Well, well, Mrs. Sims, we'll see what can be done--what can be done. I'll get a chain for Gilbert, and send the dog away. No, I mean I'll--No, I'll--Confound it, madam, let's have breakfast.'

"On the same afternoon Mr. Grahame, the nearest magistrate, called on business, and to him Worrell related his domestic troubles.

"'I can't do without her, for she is a splendid cook, and keeps my clothes in first-rate order. I can't bear the thought of the cookery I should have to eat, and the dirt and disorder I should see around me, if she does go away. But she's a regular Tartar, and I've no authority at all in my house.'

"'Well, Worrell, it's a hard case; but I would chain up that dog. As to poor little Gilbert, do what you think is right in spite of her. If she leaves--Ah, I have it. Go into town, and propose to one of the F. sisters. They are all good cooks and amiable women, and you'll be rid of your Tartar.'

"'Wich I'm much hobleeged to you for the name, an' the good advice you give the master, stirrin' hov 'im hup against a lone, friendless widow, wat's slaved an' worked this six years come St. Michaelmas.'

"Mr. Grahame, of course, with the _mauvais honte_ which men too generally display towards angry and unreasonable women, took an awkward leave of the angry widow, and poor Worrell, whom she treated to a lecture of half an hour, ending with a lively fit of tears and hysterics. As the poor little man turned away, leaving her in the hands of a servant, he caught her last broken objurgations.

"'An hungrateful fool, marry an' turn me hoff; ugh, ugh! fix 'im, hany 'ow.'

"The following morning Worrell rose early, and passing through the breakfast-room, received a sulky greeting from his housekeeper, and went out to over-look the labors of his men. Feeling a little unwell, he returned to his room, and finding his dog in his bed, flung him into a spare room, and getting into bed, went to sleep. Now, both dog and master had a very unhealthy habit--that of keeping the head covered with bed-clothes; and so it happened that when Mrs. Sims entered the room, she saw, as she supposed, the black ears and head of the hated Carlo.

"Revenge urged her to undue and overhasty punishment; her overcharged feelings sought relief on some object, and a stout-handled broom was in her grasp. At last vengeance was within her reach; should she relinquish it? No, a thousand times no!

"'You dirty brute!' she yelled, in fury. 'You hold rascal, I'll pay you out! I'll murder you! I'll kill you!'

"Such was the preface of a shower of blows, which suddenly broke the rest of the defenceless Worrell. Half stunned, astounded, almost paralyzed, he heard, as if in a terrible dream, the threats which accompanied the merciless blows of the assailant.

"'I've got you! Sleep again, will you? I'll kill you, you hold fool! I'll murder--Good Lord! hit's my master;' and as a bruised and bloody face, surmounting a meager figure, in remarkably scanty drapery, vanished out of the room, Mrs. Sims drew a long breath, and fainted in real earnest in one corner.

"Worrell never stopped until he reached Grahame's, who rather hastily caught up a shawl, and wrapping him in it, got him to his chamber, and into a suit of his own clothes, only about twice too large, for Grahame was one of the tallest men in the county.

"When he had composed himself sufficiently, a complaint was duly entered against Mrs. Sims for 'assault with intent to kill;' and Mrs. Sims, despite her piteous entreaties, was arrested and brought before the magistrate. Her appeals for mercy were heart-rending.

"'Ho, mercy, your washup; mercy, Mr. Worrell. Wich I thinks hit were that dratted dorg. Don't 'ang me. I never hintended--' But Worrell was inexorable.

"'But you said you would kill me, you would murder me, and you nearly did murder me.'

"'Wich I told your brother--ugh, ugh! an' I've slaved, an', ugh, ugh! an' wich it were all a mistake--ugh, ugh! 'ave mercy, gentlemen.'

"'But you said you would murder me, and you nearly did murder me, and--'

"'Peace, Mr. Worrell,' said Grahame, impressively; 'the hour of your redemption draweth nigh. Prisoner at the bar,' continued he, 'the crime which you have committed has always been held in just aversion and horror by the English nation. Repaying the trust and confidence of your master with unkind persecution and a shrewish tongue, you have finished the measure of your misdeeds by what might have proved a most brutal murder. Your unsupported statement, that you mistook Mr. Worrell for his dog, would have little or no weight on any unprejudiced jury. We, however, incline to mercy; and I therefore bind you over, in the sum of one thousand pounds, to keep the peace for six months.'

"'Wherever can I find so much money?' asked the despairing prisoner.

"'On condition that you will leave for England, I will find bail for you. Understand, however, that they will give you up, should you fail to depart at the earliest opportunity.'

"Poor Mrs. Sims went in the next ship 'bound home;' but the story got abroad at once, and Worrell never married. Great amusement, of course, was created by the recital, and it became a favorite of the members of the bar on circuit, who, however, generally expressed one regret, viz., 'that Worrell escaped alive, as the world thereby lost a most remarkable criminal case.'

"Well, that's all there is of it; and as it's nine o'clock, and we want to be up early, I think I'll conclude by bidding you all 'good night, and pleasant dreams.'"

Chapter IV.

The Grand Flight.--A Good Stratagem.--The Packet Light.

At sunrise the next morning, the sportsmen hurried through their frugal meal, and hastened to their various "ice-houses;" for a great change had taken place in the weather, which, although the rain had ceased and the sky had cleared somewhat, was still mild and spring-like. Even as they lit their cigars at the door, they heard far up the cove the calls of the wild geese, and a scattering volley which told that the Indians had been early at their posts. Above the others arose two heavy reports, which Davies declared could come from no other gun than Peter's newly-acquired double-barrel.

With hastened steps the East Bar party took the ice, La Salle drawing behind him a long "taboggin," or Indian sled, consisting merely of a long, wide, half-inch board, turned up at one end, and forming, in fact, a single broad runner, which cannot upset, and will bear a heavy load over the lightest snow without sinking too deeply. On it were placed, besides his own gun and that of Kennedy, a heavy target rifle, a large lunch-box, and an ample bucket containing ammunition.

"You mean to 'lay them out' to-day, I guess, Charley," said Creamer, good-humoredly. "You ain't apt to want ammunition, any way."

"What will you take for to-day's bag, cash down?" asked Ben, laughing.

"Here are our decoys," said La Salle, pointing to several dark objects partially imbedded in the ice, but marking an almost perfect straight line from the boat to the inner shore of the island.

"We had a rather narrow escape," remarked Kennedy, picking up one of the decoys; "and it was well thought of to secure a retreat to our boat, in case we had failed to reach the shore."

Little time, however, was lost in conversation. The "boat" and "box" were to be cleared of the snow which had drifted inside, and concealed by fragments of ice, in place of those which the rain had melted away. The decoys were to be rearranged, heading to windward, and at least half an hour was consumed in making these necessary arrangements. At last all was ready, the guns, ammunition, &c., were placed in the boat, and La Salle had gone to hide the sledge behind a neighboring hummock, when, turning his head, he saw Davies and Creamer running hastily to their box, and Kennedy frantically gesticulating and calling on him to do the same.

With the best speed he could make on such slippery footing, La Salle crossed the intervening space, and threw himself down into the boat, panting and breathless with exertion. After a moment's breathing space, he slowly raised his head so that his eyes could just see over the edge of the shooting-boat. To the east he heard the decoy-calls of Creamer and Davies, and, somewhere between himself and them, the low, questioning calls of the wished-for geese.

"They are near us somewhere, Kennedy," he whispered, "and, I guess, coming in to our decoys. Don't fire until I tell you. Here they come. No, they sheer off. Yes, there's one scaling down; there's another. They're all coming. We've got them now."

The goose is far from being the silly fowl which popular belief supposes him to be, even when tamed and subdued, and, in a state of nature, is one of the most wary of birds. The flock in question, flying in from the narrow, open channels of the Gulf, had seen the decoys, and heard the calls of Ben and Creamer, who had not yet completed their preparations. Swooping around the box at a safe distance, the wary leader decided that all was not right there, and swung over the leading decoys of La Salle, and doubtless wondering at the apathy of the strange geese which refused to answer his calls, gave a signal which caused his flock to describe a circle around the boat, full forty rods away. Still nothing could be seen which could warrant a well-founded suspicion; and one or two of the younger birds, impatient of restraint, and anxious for rest and food, set their broad pinions, and, with outstretched wings, scaled down to the decoys, alighting on the ice not twenty feet from the muzzles of the concealed guns. Their apparent safety decided the rest, and in twenty seconds as many geese, with clamorous cries, were hovering over the heads of La Salle and his companions.

It takes a quick eye, steady hand, and good judgment, to kill a partridge in November, when, with a rush of wings like an embryo whirlwind, he gets up under your feet, and brushes the dew from the underbrush with his whizzing wings. It is not every amateur that can kill woodcock in close cover, or well-grown snipe on a windy day; but there are few, who can do these things, who can kill with both barrels in their first goose-shooting. The size and number of the birds, the wary and cautious manner of their approach, the nice modulations necessary to "call" them successfully, and the reckless sweep with which they seem to throw aside all fear, and rush into the very jaws of death,--all these combine to unsettle the nerves and aim of the novice.

All this Kennedy experienced, as he saw above him twenty outstretched necks, with jetty heads, whose eyes he felt _must_ discern the ambush; twenty snowy bellies, against which as many pairs of black, broad, webbed feet showed with beautiful effect, and forty broad pinions, which seemed to shut out the sky from view, and present a mark which no one could fail to hit. At the word he pointed his heavy gun at the centre of the thickest part of the flock and fired. At the first barrel a dead bird fell almost into the boat; but the second seemed without effect. La Salle "lined" four as they flapped their huge wings hurriedly, striving to flee from the hidden danger, killing three and breaking the wing of a fourth, who fluttered down to the ice, and began to run, or, rather, to waddle rapidly away.

Kennedy seemed about to go after the wounded bird, but La Salle laid his hand on his arm.

"Don't move, Kennedy, and he will get us another bird," said he, reloading his heavy gun with a long-range shot cartridge. "We can get that bird any time; and there is his mate flying round and round in a circle."

"You won't get a shot at her," said Kennedy, as she warily kept out of ordinary range, and finally alighted near the gander, which, weak with pain and loss of blood, had lain down on the ice about one hundred and fifty yards distant.

"I should not despair of killing her with 'the Baby,' charged as she now is, even at a far greater distance; but I have a surer weapon for such a mark in this target-rifle."

As he spoke, he drew from under the half-deck of the boat a heavy sporting-rifle, carrying about sixty balls to the pound, and sighted with "globe" or "peep" sights. Taking a polished gauge which hung at his watch-chain, he set the rear sight, and, cocking the piece, set the hair-trigger. Noiselessly raising the muzzle above the gunwale, he ran his eye along the sights. A whip-like crack echoed across the ice, and the goose, pierced through the lower part of the neck, fell dead by the side of her wounded mate, which, frightened by the report, hastened to increase the distance between him and such a dangerous neighborhood.

"I'll save you a half-mile run, Kennedy," said La Salle, raising "the Baby" to his face.

The wounded bird suddenly paused, drew himself up to his full height, and spread his wings, or rather his uninjured pinion. The huge gun roared. The closely-packed _mitraille_ tore the icy crust into powder, fifty yards beyond the doomed bird, which settled, throbbing with a mortal tremor, upon the ice, shot through the head.

"That was a splendid shot of yours, La Salle," said Kennedy, in amazement.

"You are wrong in that statement, Kennedy," replied he. "The shot any one could have made, but the reach of that gun, with Eley's cartridge, is something tremendous. When I first had her I fired at a flock at about four hundred yards distance. Of course I killed none, but I paced three hundred and twenty-five yards, and found clean-cut scores, four and five inches long, in the crust, at that distance; and I have more than once killed brant geese out of a flock at forty rods."

"Look, Charley! What a sight!" interrupted Kennedy. The sky had cleared, the sun shone brightly, the wind had gone down, and the strange stillness of a calm winter's day was unbroken. From the west high above the reach of the heaviest gun, and almost beyond the carry of the rifle, came the long-expected vanguard of the migrating hosts of heaven. Flock upon flock, each in the wedge-shaped phalanx of two converging lines, which ever characterize the flight of these birds, each headed by a wary, powerful leader, whose clarion call came shrill and clear down through the still ether, came in one common line of flight, hundreds and thousands of geese. All that afternoon their passage was incessant, but no open pool offered rest and food to that weary host, and in that fine, still atmosphere it was useless to attempt to deceive by crude imitations of the calls of these birds. And so, as the leaders of the migratory host saw from their lofty altitude the earth below, for many a league, spread out like a map, from which to choose a halting-place, the marksmen of the icy levels had little but the interest of the unusual spectacle for their afternoon's watching. Now and then, in answer to their repeated calls, a single goose would detach itself from the flock and scale down through the air, as if to alight, but nearly always would repent in time, and with quickened pinions return to its companions. Still, occasionally, one would determine to alight, and setting its wings, circle around one of the stands, and finally be seen, by the occupants of other ice-houses, to sweep close in to the concealed ambush. Then would follow a puff or two of smoke, a few distant reports, and the dead bird, held up in triumph, would convey to his distant friends the sportsman's fortune.

Several birds fell in this way to the lot of our friends of the East Bar, and La Salle and Kennedy got one each; but the sport was too tedious, and La Salle, taking a bullet-bag and powder-flask from his box, proceeded to count out ten bullets, which he laid carefully before him.

"I am going to try to bring down at least one goose from those flocks which pass over us nearly every moment. They are certainly four hundred yards high, and I shall aim at the leader of the flock in every case, giving him about ten feet allowance for headway."

The first ball was without effect, although the leader swerved like a frightened steed as the deadly missile sung past him. The second cut a feather from the tail of the bird aimed at; and the third failed likewise. At the fourth shot the leader swerved as before, and then kept on his way.

"You might as well try to kill them a mile off, as at that distance," said Kennedy, disparagingly.

"I hit a bird in that flock, and I think the leader, at that; for I heard the rap of the ball as it struck. It may have been only through his quill-feathers. No; there's the bird I hit. See, he can't keep up with the flock."

The huge gander last fired at had hardly gone a hundred yards, ere, despite his endeavors, he had lowered several feet below the flock. In the next decade, the distance was increased to sixty feet, and in the third to as many yards. In the last hundred yards of his flight he sank rapidly, although struggling nobly to regain the flock; and when about fifty yards above the ice, he towered up a few feet into the air, and fell over backward, stone dead, with a rifle-shot transfixing his body, in the region of the heart. On weighing him he turned the scale at fifteen pounds.

Of the remaining six shots but one was effective--breaking the wing-tip of a young female, which was secured for a live decoy.

Kennedy now proposed a plan for approaching a large flock, which had alighted about a half mile distant on the sea-ice. Taking the taboggin, which was painted white, from its concealment, he tied to its curved front a thin slab of snowy ice, and laying his gun behind it, approached the flock as near as possible, under cover of the hummocks. About three hundred yards of level ice still intervened, and lying down behind his snow-screen, he slowly moved his ingenious stalking-horse towards the flock. Had he understood the nature of the birds thoroughly, it is probable that his device would have succeeded splendidly; but when he was still about a hundred yards distant, the wary leader became suspicious, and gave a note of alarm. In an instant the whole flock, with outstretched necks, stood prepared for flight. Had he lain still, it is probable that the birds would have relaxed their suspicious watchfulness, and allowed him to get nearer; but thinking that he should lose all if he tried a nearer approach, he fired, killing one and wounding another, both of which were secured.

Just before dark a slight wind sprang up, and a few flocks, flying low about the harbor, came in among the decoys, and for a time the fire was quite heavy, and the sport most exciting. Taken all round, this day was the best of the season. Ben and Creamer received fifteen, La Salle and Kennedy twelve, and Davies and Risk eighteen birds--in all, forty-five geese. On arriving home they found a hearty supper awaiting their attention, after a due observance had been paid to the rites of the toilet. This observance seemed to demand much more time than ever before, to the great amusement of Lund, who had anticipated as much all day.

"Are all you folks going sparkin', that you are so careful of your complexions? Goodness! why, you've more pomatums, oils, and soaps than any court beauty!"

There was some truth in this latter charge, for Ben and Creamer, after washing and a very gingerly use of the towel, anointed their flaming visages with almond oil. Kennedy, in his turn, approached the only mirror the house afforded, and applied to his blistered nose and excoriated cheeks the major part of a box of Holloway's Ointment; and even La Salle's dark face seemed to have acquired its share of burning from the ice-reflected rays of the sun. Davies and Risk, when called to supper, smelled strongly of rose-scented cold-cream; and Lund was unsparing in sarcastic remarks on the extreme floridness of complexion of the entire party.

"Ben, don't have any powder lying round loose to-morrow, with such a face as that. As for Creamer, he can't have any cotton sheets to-night, for fear of a conflagration. I don't think I ever saw anybody burn as bad as Kennedy has; and this is only the first day, too. A few days more like this would peel him down to an 'atomy. As to La Salle, he's too black to take any more color, but Risk and Davies won't dare to go home for a good two weeks at least."

In truth, the whole party had received a notable tanning, for the winter's sun, weak as it is compared with its summer fervor, has never such an effect upon the exposed skin, as when its rays are reflected from the millions of tiny specula of the glistening ice-field. The free use of soothing and cooling ointments will prevent the blistering and tan, to a great extent; but many on their "first hunt" lose the cuticle from the entire face; and many a seal has been lost on the floes, owing to the rapid decomposition produced by the sun's feeble rays thus intensified.

Notwithstanding their "tanning", however, the party were in splendid spirits, and ate their roast goose, potatoes, and hot bread with a gusto which far more delicate viands at home would fail to provoke. As the meal proceeded, and the merry jest went round, all feelings of fatigue, pain, and discomfort were lost in the revulsion of comfort which a full meal produces in a man of thoroughly healthy physique. How few of us in the crowded cities know, or indeed can appreciate, the pleasures of the hardy sportsman. To bear wet, cold, and discomfort; to exercise patience, skill, and endurance; and to undergo the extreme point of fatigue, was the sum of nearly every day's experience of the members of the party; but when their heavy guns and cumbrous clothing were laid aside, the rough chair and cushionless settle afforded luxurious rest, the craving appetite made their coarse fare a delightsome feast, and when, warm, full-fed, and refreshed, they invoked the dreamy solace of the deity Nicotiana, the sense of animal pleasure and satisfaction was complete.

"Is your pipe filled, Creamer?" asked Lund, carelessly.

"Yes; but you'll not get it until you give us the story you're to tell us this night. Faith, there's not one of us can beat you at the same trade, and it's little of fact that you'll give us, any how."

"For shame, Hughie, to malign the credibility of an old friend in that way, and me the father of a family. I'm almost ready to swear that you shan't have a yarn from me for the whole spring. To accuse me of yarning--me that--"

"That humbugged the whole Associated Press of the United States no longer ago than the war with the southerns. I mind myself how you told them at Shediac, that the Alabama was down among the fishermen in the bay, like a hawk among a flock of pigeons. Faith, you had twenty of them taken and burned before you stopped that time, and the telegraph operator at Point de Chene was hopping all the evening between the boat and the office, like a pea in a hot skillet," retorted La Salle, laughing. "Ah, Lund! you mustn't plead innocent with us, who have been humbugged by you too many times already. But come, captain, draw on your imagination, and give us a regular stunner--one without a word of truth in it."

"Well, gentlemen," answered Lund, deliberately, "I ain't got anything to say to that young jackanapes, for nobody _that_ ever heard _him_ tell stories will ever believe anything he says again. But I mean to have my revenge somehow, and so I'll tell you a story that is as true as gospel, and yet you'll hardly believe a word of it. We who live here on this little island call it the story of

"The Packet Light.

"About thirty years ago, my wife's father, old Mr. Bridges, lived in a snug little log house down in the next field, towards the Point. He was a young man then, and my wife here was a little girl, unable to do more than to drive home the cows, or help mind the younger children. The island is uncivilized enough now, sir, but in those days, besides the old French military road to St. Peter's, and a government mail route to St. Eleanor's, there was nothing but bridle-paths and rough trails through the woods. Men came to market with horses in straw harnesses, dragging carts with block-wheels sawn from the butt of a big pine; and often when twenty or thirty of them were drinking into old Katty Frazer's, the beasts would get hungry, and eat each other loose.

"It was next to an impossibility to get any money in exchange for produce or labor, and everything was paid for in orders on the different dealers for so many shillings' or pounds' worth of goods. In winter a whale-boat on runners carried the mail between the Wood Islands and Pictou, and in summer a small schooner, called the Packet, sailed with the mail, and what few passengers presented themselves, between the capital and the same port.

"It was in the last of November that year that the Packet made her last cruise. The weather was freezing cold, with a thick sky, and heavy squalls from the south of west, when she struck on the East Bar, near the main channel. They put down the helm, thinking to slide off; but she only swung broadside to the waves, and as the tide was at ebb, she was soon hard and fast, with the sea making a clean breach over her.

"Captain Coffin, with the four other men, got into the rigging with a flag of some kind, which they fastened at half mast, as a signal of distress. It was about midday when they ran on the bar, and Bridges saw them, and realized their danger at once; and their cries for help at times rose above the roar of the ravenous seas. With the help of his wife he launched a light boat, but long before he got into the sweep of the heavier breakers, he saw that she could never live on the bar, and it was with great difficulty that he regained the shore. At nightfall, although the hull was badly shattered, no one had perished, and the tide had so far abated that the party could easily have waded ashore; and Captain Coffin and another man, after vainly attempting to induce the other three to accompany them, started themselves.

"The others charged them with cowardice in leaving the vessel, said that the wind would go down, and they could get the craft off at flood-tide, and so prevailed over the better judgment of the captain and his companion that they returned to the fated vessel, and prepared, as well as possible, for the returning tide.

"As the tide rose, the sea came with little, if any, diminution of fury; and until nearly midnight Bridges watched the signal lantern, which called in vain for the aid which it was not in the power of man to bestow. Intense cold was added to the other horrors of their situation, and the heavy seas came each hour in lessened fury, as the water thickened into 'sludge.' At eleven o'clock the tide was at its height; the seas had ceased to sweep across the hogged and sunken hull, and a sheet of thin ice reached from the shore to the vessel's side. Captain Coffin tried the ice, and, finding that it would bear his weight, decided to try to reach the Blockhouse Light, which shone brightly three miles away.

"He summoned the others; but two of the others, who had persuaded him to remain on board, were already frozen to death; the third decided to make the attempt, but walked feebly and with uncertain steps, and about a mile from the vessel succumbed to the piercing cold, falling into that fatal sleep from which few ever waken, in this life at least. Coffin's companion, a strong, hardy sailor, reached the light-house alive, but swooned away, and could not be resuscitated; and Coffin barely escaped with his life. He was terribly frost-bitten, but was thawed out in a puncheon of cold water, the right foot, however, dropping off at the ankle; but he escaped with life, after terrible suffering.

"The schooner sank, in the spring, at the edge of the channel, when the moving ice forced her into deeper water; and at very low tides her battered hull may still be seen by the passing boatman. But ever since that fatal night, whenever a storm from that quarter is threatened, a ball of fire is seen to emerge from the depths where lies the fated packet, and to sway and swing above the water, as the signal lantern did on the swaying mast of that doomed vessel. Then, if you but watch patiently, the ball is seen to expand into a sheet of crimson light, terribly and weirdly beautiful, until the eye can discern the shadowy outline of a ship, or rather schooner, of fire, with hull and masts, stays and sails; and then the apparition again assumes the shape of a ball, which is lost in the sea.

"At times it appears twice or thrice in the same night, and often the herring-fisher, after setting his nets along the bar, sees behind his boat, as he nears the shore, the apparition of the 'packet light.' Since that night of wreck and death, no dweller on this island has passed a year without seeing it, and it is so common that its appearance awakens no fear; and among the fishers of Point Prime, and the farmers of the opposite shores, there are few who will not bear witness to the truth of my story."

* * * * *

"It is a little singular," said Risk, "that a ship is the only inanimate object ever seen as an individual apparition. There are not many of these ghostly ships on the seas, however. I do not remember to have heard of more than one--that of the celebrated 'Flying Dutchman,' off the Cape of Good Hope."

"It's no wonder, sir," said Lund, warmly, "that sailors suppose ships to be haunted, and also to be capable of becoming ghosts themselves, when you sit down and think how differently every one views a vessel, as compared with a house, or store, or engine. Why, there are no two ships alike, and two were never built just alike. There are lucky and unlucky ships, and ships that almost steer themselves, while others need a whole watch at the tiller in a dead calm. But I think that you are mistaken as to the 'Flying Dutchman' being the only other 'flyer,' as the sailors call them, for they are often seen in the Pacific, in the 'Trades.'"

"I can't swear to the truth of Mr. Lund's story, but I can affirm that the 'fire ship' is a myth, universally recognized among the sea-going population of our coast, from the Florida Keys to the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Off the coral reefs, the crime-accursed slaver or pirate haunts the scene of her terrible deeds. Amid the breakers of Block Island, the ship wrecked, a generation ago, by the cruel avarice of men long since dead, still revisits the fatal spot when the storm is again on the eve of breaking forth in resistless fury. The waters of Boston harbor, two centuries ago, presented to the wondering eyes of 'divers sober and godly' persons, apparitions similar to those narrated by our veracious friend, the captain. The lumberers of the St. John tell, with bated breath, of an antique French caravel, which sails up the Carleton Falls, where no mortal vessel or steamer can follow. And the farmers and fishermen of Chester Bay still see the weird, unearthly beacon which marks the spot where the privateer Teaser, chased by an overwhelming English fleet, was hurled heavenward by the desperate act of one of her officers, who had broken his parole. As for the Gulf, the myth exists in a half dozen diverse forms, and all equally well authenticated by hundreds of eye-witnesses, if you can believe the narrators."

"Well, La Salle, I see you don't put much more faith in my story than in the thing I saw the night you came here. Now, I hope it won't be so, for it is borne in my mind, and I can't get over it, that I shall see some of you vanish into mist, as I saw those men. So, gentlemen, be very careful, for I fear that some of us are very near their fate."

* * * * *

There is a cord of fear in every man's heart which throbs more or less responsively to the relation of the wonders of that "debatable land," which, by some, is believed to lie "on the boundaries of another world." La Salle felt impressed in spite of himself, and the whole party seemed grave and unwilling to pursue the subject. The silence was, however, broken by Kennedy.

"I am going home to-morrow," said he, "and therefore am not likely to be one of the unfortunates over whom a mysterious but melancholy fate impends. I have never found in the Tribune anything calculated to encourage a belief in ghosts of men, or vessels either; and what Horace Greeley can't swallow I can't. But I shall make minutes of this little matter, and if anything does happen, will forward a full account, in detail, to that truly great man. Come, La Salle; it's time we were abed. Good night, gentlemen."

[Illustration]

Chapter V.

A Mad Sportsman.--Snow-Blind.--A Night Of Peril.

The next morning shone bright and clear, and the gunners were at their posts in expectation of a good day's sport. They looked in vain, however, for any indications of open water, and a hole, sunk with the axe to the depth of eighteen inches, failed to reach salt water, although several layers of sweet, fresh water were struck; and the little hollow furnished them many draughts of an element nowhere more welcome than upon the spring ice. The sun shone brightly, their faces, still sore and feverish with yesterday's exposure, became sorer than ever, and the neck became chafed wherever it rubbed against the coat collar.

Still, these were minor evils amid the excitement of their occupation, for many flocks of wild geese were seen; and the appearance of a flock, however remote, is always the signal for every gunner to get under cover at once. A small flock of seven were completely destroyed that morning, in a manner that deserves recording here.

They were first seen striking in from the Gulf, and swinging well to leeward,--for the wind was westerly,--scaled in to the stand occupied by Davies and Creamer, who were lying down taking their noon lunch, and received no warning of their approach until they saw the flock scaling over their heads. Seizing their guns, both fired as quickly as possible, Ben a little the first. His first barrel missed, but the second, aimed at the same bird, brought it down. Creamer's first barrel went off in the act of cocking, in the hurry and agitation of the surprise; and letting the muzzle of his gun drop, he stood stupidly gazing at the departing flock, until roused by Davies's "Give them t'other barrel, any way." Raising his gun, he fired instantly, and killed a fine gander, which fell dead a hundred and twelve yards from the stand.

As if blinded by the unexpected danger, the remaining five swung just inside of the ice-boat, where La Salle and his companion, who had seen them from the first, picked out a brace at long but practicable range, while the retreating birds flew up the channel towards Nine Mile Creek, where two more fell to Risk and the elder Davies. For over an hour the remaining bird flew with clamorous cries about the scene of his bereavement, until a stranger, who had erected an ice-house, and placed a few rude decoys a few hundred yards from the bar, called him down, and fired a shot which dropped him on the ice.

[Illustration: "GIE ME MY GUSE, MON, AND DINNA DELAY ME." Page 97.]

He seemed to be little hurt, however; for, getting to his feet, he walked rapidly away in the direction of the sea ice, followed by the stranger, who did not attempt to use the long gun which he carried with him even when the bird took wing and flew heavily between the ice-houses on the East Bar, where a long shot from La Salle's gun brought him down dead. La Salle brought in the bird, and while reloading his gun, the stranger came up and claimed it as his.

He was a tall, lean, sharp-featured man, with long, lank hair, a dark complexion, and large lack-luster eyes, imbedded in cavernous hollows. His gun was not loaded, nor did he wear either shot-bag or powder-horn; and his weapon, an ancient Highland Scotch "fusee" changed to percussion, seemed as worn out and dilapidated as the owner.

"Gie me my guse, mon, and dinna delay me, for I hae much to do the day, and I munna be hindered in my mission," was the strange salutation of the original, as he leaned upon his gun at the side of the boat.

"You are welcome to your goose, friend, although I fear that you would have had a long chase, if the Baby there had not put in her word in the matter. Here is your bird, sir;" and La Salle handed the body to the unknown, who, after examining it closely, sighed heavily, and replied,--

"It's a braw bird, but it's nae the king o' the geese."

"The king of the geese, friend? What do you mean?" said Kennedy, sharply.

"O, naething; that is, naething to ye, sirs; but to me, O yes, to me everything. Ah," said he, plaintively, "how mony days hae I sat through storm, and frost, and sleet! how mony nights hae I watched in the still moonlight, amang the reedy creeks! how mony times I hae weized a slug through a bird a'maist amang the clouds! but I hae had a' my labor in vain, in vain."

"But how do you know that you have not already shot the king of the geese?" said La Salle, anxious to investigate the peculiar monomania of this poor lunatic; for such, indeed, he evidently was.

"Why, mon," said he, evidently surprised at the absurdity of the question, "by his croun, of course. The king has ae braw croun o' white an black fedders, an' I'se reckon ye's never seen a guse like that ava'--hae ye now?" he asked, anxiously.

"I have never seen any such bird," said La Salle; "but why do you care so much about shooting this rare bird?"

"Weel, I'll tell ye, sin ye were kin' till me, an' did na keep the guse fra' me. Ye must promise me that ye will na try to kill it wi' your ain hands, for I must kill it mysel'."

"We promise," said La Salle, encouragingly, while Kennedy gave a half-pitying nod of the head.

"Weel, when I was young I cared for naething but the gun, an' mony a beating I got for wark negleckit, an' schule-days wasted in the woods, or on the ice. As I grew older I cared more an' more for huntin', an' although I killed mair than ony three in the settlement, I was never satisfied. Ance I sat here on a could day in April; the ice had gane off the bar, but the flats were yet covered, and I knew that until the win' changed the ice would not be carried off.

"Sae, as I sat an' saw the breakers roolin' in an' breakin' an' heavin' the outer ice, I saw mony flecks pass under the lee of the Governor's Island, an' then I grew mad like, an' swore an' cursed at my ill luck.

"'Ay, my lad, but you're right;' an' turnin', I saw an ould man wi' dark eyes an' a coat of black furs stannin' beside me.

"'I've seen i' the Bible,' said I, 'that man was gi'en "dominion ower the beasts o' the earth an' the fowls o' the air," but I canna do as I'd wush wi' thae cursed geese ower there.'

"'Verra richt; ye're verra richt, young man,' said he. 'What wud ye gie to be able to kill as mony fowl as ye list, an' never miss ava?'

"It seemed as I were mad at th' thocht. 'I'd gie my saul,' said I.

"'Well, hae your wish, laddie,' said he; 'it's a sma' penny fee for so dear a bargain;' and, turnin', I fand mysel' alone, an' not a saul upon the ice, far or near. Weel, that day I killed birds until I had nae mair pouther an' grit-shot; an' ilka day I went I had the like luck; but my min' was ill at ease, an' I grew sad, an' dared na gae to prayers, or the kirk; for then hell seemed to yawn under me. At last they said I was mad, an' I went awee tae th' 'sylum yonder i' th' town, an' then I gat some sleep; an' ane nicht I saw in a dream a woman a' in white, an' she laid her cool, moist han' on my hot forehead, an' tauld me she would save me yet. 'It was th' auld enemy that ye forgathered wi' on th' ice, an' ye are his until ye can kill th' king o' th' geese; an' then ye ken whaever carries his croun o' black an' white feathers can unnerstand th' language o' all fowl, an', wha' is more, call them to himsel', sae that he canna' fail to hae his wull o' them. Then, laddie, ye wull hae earned yoursel' th' penny-fee for whilk ye hae perilled your saul.

"'But,' said she, 'my ain bairn, when ye hae won the croun, use it na' at all, though a' the fiends fra' hell tempted ye, but carry it to the kirkyard at mirk midnight; an' when ye hae cannily lichted a bit bleeze, burn the king's croun, an' say wha' I shall tell ye. "I gie back more than I hae taken, an' I rest on Christ's smercy;" an' then shall ye be safe an' happy if ye fail na' to be constant in gude warks.'

"Then, sirs, the vision faded, an' I woke calmer an' happier than for many a lang day; an' a few days after, they aye sent me hame, but the folk say I've a bit bee in my bannet yet. But sin' that time, I hae hunted a' I can. I get mony birds, an'," lowering his voice, "yesterday I killed thretty-seven."

A long whistle from the astonished Kennedy broke up the conference, and the offended lunatic walked angrily away.

"He hasn't had a gun until to-day, to my certain knowledge," said Kennedy; "and I saw him yesterday afternoon taking aim at a goose that had lighted among his decoys, along the helve of his axe."

"Well, well! No one believed him, of course; but, for Heaven's sake, when you express incredulity again, wait until the lie is finished, if I am in the party!" grumbled La Salle.

"Well, never mind; he got through with the best part of it; and the great wonder is, how a distempered brain could imagine all that impossible but well-connected delusion."

"Kennedy," said La Salle, with unusual gravity, "how can we decide that it is all a delusion? Few men, indeed, have claimed to see the devil, to whom they sell themselves daily for trifles lighter than the hunter's meed of unrivaled success; and who can say that the story of yonder madman is more or less than the fruit of the idle habits and unbridled temper which burned up happiness, and consumed his reason? There are few who go mad who would have done so had they at the first governed and denied themselves, and been content to enjoy in reason the benefits of the great Giver."

"There is much that is true in what you say, and I've got a piece in this very Tribune which bears on that point. I'll read it to you. Hang me if ever I saw the like! Where's Davies' ice-house? Is there a fog coming up, or am I dizzy?"

"O, that's nothing," said La Salle, laughing. "You're only going blind--snow-blind, I mean. You know that Kane tells about his people using goggles to prevent snow-blindness; and you left yours off yesterday and to-day."

"Well, it's a curious thing. I can barely see you now; and I know I could not find my way home to save my life. But what shall I do? Will it last long?"

"If I had but a handkerchief full of clay, I could cure it in half an hour; but lie down in the straw, and get your head under the half-deck, where you can see neither sun nor snow, and I think you will rest yourself enough to see pretty well by the time we want to go home."

But Kennedy was fated to lie in impatient helplessness during the remainder of the afternoon. Several fine flocks came in to the decoys; and La Salle, using the double-barrel first, and firing the huge duck-gun at long range, killed three, and sometimes four, out of each flock, while Kennedy groaned in anguish of spirit. At last he could bear it no longer.

"Keep close, Kennedy; there's another flock coming, and the finest I've seen this year. There's twenty at the least, and they're coming right in."

"Give me my gun, Charley. I can't see much, but I can a little, and I can fire where I hear them call. This is my last day; for Patrick is coming out to-night with the boys, and I go in with them. Where are the birds now?"

"Right dead to leeward. Ah-h-huk! ah-h-huk! Here they come, low down, and ready to light. Ah-h-huk! ah-h-huk! Now, Kennedy, can you see them?"

"Yes; that is, I see something like flies in a black gauze net. Are those geese?"

"Yes, and close to us; so up and fire."

Bang! bang! crashed the heavy double-barrel, with both reports nearly blended in one, and Kennedy was driven back by the recoil against the rear top board of the boat. Nearly bursting with laughter, La Salle "lined" the flock as they swung off, killing and wounding three.

"Are you hurt, Kennedy?" he inquired, jumping out of the boat to catch the wounded birds.

"Dot buch, but by dose bleeds a little, a'd I've cut by lip. How baddy have I killed, Charley? for I cad see dothing," inquired the victim, anxiously.

"One, two, three, four, FIVE, by jingo! Faith, you've beat the crowd, so far, this spring, and when you were stone-blind, almost, at that. Well, it's pretty dark, and we'd better be getting home now, I think."

The geese were picked up, and, with the others,--about twenty in all,--were loaded upon the "taboggin," which the two hunters with some difficulty drew through the drifts to the house where, on their arrival, they found that Pat had arrived from the city with some small stores, papers, letters, &c., but the boys had not accompanied him.

"They'll be out on skates wid Carlo and his slid on Monday," he said. "Now, Misther Kennedy, whiniver you're ready, ye'll find me to the fore in the kitchen."

"Mr. Kennedy mustn't go until he gives us a story in his turn. Now the moon rises to-night, at about nine o'clock, and it will be much pleasanter and safer on the ice by moonlight. What say you, Pat?"

"Faith, I'm agreeable, and I'd a little rather, to tell the truth; for there's an ugly bit of road across the Pint there."

"Well, Kennedy will have time to eat supper, and then we'll have his story, when it will be time for us to go to bed, and just right for him to start for town."

"Or, in other words," said La Salle, "it will be 'time for honest folk to be abed, and rogues on the road.'"

All sat down to supper, including Pat, to whom a plate of roast goose and two or three cups of strong, hot, black tea were very refreshing after his ten-mile drive; and then, after the little preparations for the next day's shooting, and Kennedy's little arrangements for his departure, the little group gathered round the blazing hearth, and Kennedy, with some little hesitation, began the story of

"A Night Of Peril.

"I am but a short man, and, as my time is short, you must not complain if my story is short, too.

"I am not so imaginative as the captain; I haven't pestered all the old men and women of the island to death for legends and stories, like my friend Charley here, who will surely bore you to death when his turn comes; I am sure I cannot make you laugh as Hughie and Mr. Risk have done with their very interesting narratives, and I can only detail a little adventure which I unexpectedly got into on this coast last summer, and which I as unexpectedly got out of alive."

"You mean your crossing the straits in a sixteen-foot boat?" said Captain Lund. "I want to hear about that myself."

"Well, in the early part of last August, my wife and I decided to visit some friends, who reside a few miles up the River Jean, on the opposite side of the straits, I suppose about twenty miles from here. We could reach no port by steamer that was nearer our destination than Pictou, and there remained a long, tedious stage ride when we got there. I concluded to take a boat, and procured of Frank Stanley a little row-boat, with a spritsail for running before the wind; for I intended to choose my own time for crossing. We set out from C. early one morning, and arrived in the afternoon after a very pleasant passage, and we enjoyed our visit to that section very much.

"After waiting a day or two for a fair wind down the river, we set sail, but, owing to the lightness of the breeze, were nearly all the afternoon in getting down. Still, on reaching the harbor, I determined to proceed, as the lights on both shores could be plainly seen, and I did not like to lose a favorable wind.

"Accordingly I put boldly out, heading for Point Prime Light, although my mind misgave me a little as I got clear of the lee of the land; for the sea rose rapidly, and a tremendous breeze, each moment growing stronger, carried us on with frightful rapidity. When we were about half way across, the wind was blowing a gale, and it was only for a moment, while on the crest of the waves, that I could see the light for which I was steering.

"The spray was breaking over us so that my wife had to bale continually to keep our craft free, and I dared not leave the helm to lessen sail, although I expected that each slat of the canvas, as we took the wind on the crest of a wave, would run us under, or carry away the mast, and leave us at the mercy of the waves.

"On we went before the breeze, darting down into the hollow between two seas, toiling heavily up the next wave, with death apparently close behind on the crests of two or three pursuing breakers, and then, with a puff which made every timber and plank quiver, the gale would almost lift us through a breaking wall of white foam, and, with more or less of the sea aboard, away we would go down the incline, a plaything of a boat, with a frightened little man at the tiller, and a little woman baling incessantly, with nerves that never gave way for a moment in our long struggle for life.

"I felt that if I could get that sprit down we were safe; but my wife dared not attempt it, and she would not trust herself at the tiller. Fortunately the boat steered 'very small,' and seizing my opportunity, I set the tiller amidships, darted forward, cleared the end of the sprit from its becket, and got back just in time to meet her as she began to broach to, on the crest of a wave, which nearly half filled us with water.

"I felt now as if we were safe; for no longer cumbered with a press of sail, we shipped less water, and had a better chance to lay out our course. Keeping Point Prime Light, as I supposed, well to starboard, I headed up the bay, seeking to make the Blockhouse Light, when suddenly I saw the coast dead ahead, and a bar, which must have been the West Bar, which I dared not attempt to cross.

"I therefore bore away until I made a harbor, and running in, got aboard a vessel, from whose captain I learned that we had mistaken the Blockhouse Light for that on Point Prime, and had at last made Crapaud River."

"Leaving the boat to be brought around by the next steamer, we drove up to town the next day, and found, to our surprise, that we had crossed close on the heels of that hurricane, which unroofed so many buildings, and uprooted so many trees. I consider that passage as the most stirring incident in my short life, gentlemen, and in the language of an old story, 'my wife thinks so, too.'"

* * * * *

"And you may well think so, Mr. Kennedy," said Lund. "For all the money in the banks of C. wouldn't tempt me to run the risk, the almost certainty, of death, I mean, that you two did. Your wife is a brave woman, sir, and there are very few men who would have borne themselves as she did."

"Well, gentlemen, I see Pat is ready, and I must bid you good night. Charley, I'll give the boys the list of things you want them to bring out Monday. I suppose you'll get through in a couple of weeks, and come back to civilized life. Good night."

Followed by a dozen expressions of adieu and goodwill, the travellers entered the sleigh, and drove merrily off on the ice. Charley stood still a moment alone in the moonlight, listening to the last tinkle of the bells as they died away in the distance.

"What nonsense to stand here bareheaded, and getting cold! and yet it seems as if something urged me to go back to the city. Yet, why should I dread anything here? or rather, why should I fear anything with such a prospect as I have before me?"

He turned, and entered the house; a dainty letter from his betrothed, brought that night from the city, lay upon his breast; but honey and gall mingled strangely in its offerings, and many a bitter word bore heavy on his heart. No one of all that merry party was readier for song, or jest, or manly sport, than he; and yet he, too, had his share of that bitter cup which mortals call sorrow.

[Illustration]

Chapter VI.

Additions To The Party.--An Indian Outfit.--A Contested Election.

The following day was Sunday, and was spent as most Sabbaths are spent by similar parties in such out-of-the-way places. A few members of the household drove off across the ice of the Western Bar to a little country church; but the goose-shooters cared not to display their half savage dress, and tanned and blistered faces, to the over-close inspection of the church-going farmers and their curious "_women folks_."

Accordingly, Risk passed most of the day luxuriously stretched out on the sofa, reading the Church Magazine, while Davies, on the opposite side of the fire, in the recesses of an arm-chair covered with a buffalo robe, devoted the larger portion of his time to the Weekly Wesleyan. Creamer, after a cursory glance at a diminutive prayer-book, spent most of the day in a comparison of sea-going experiences and apocryphal adventures with Captain Lund, in much the same manner as two redoubtable masters of fence employ their leisure in launching at each other's impregnable defence, such blows as would prove mortal against less skilled antagonists.

By the middle of the afternoon Lund had related his sixth story, being the veracious history of how one Louis McGraw, a famous fishing-skipper of Mingan, rode out a tremendous gale on the Orphan Bank, with both cables out, the storm-sail set, her helm lashed amidships, and the crew fastened below as tightly as possible. It is hardly worth while to detail how the crew were bruised and battered by the terrible rolling of the schooner; it may be left to the imagination of the intelligent reader when he learns that, when the storm abated, the skipper found, besides innumerable "kinks" in the cables, and sea-weed in the rigging, _both topmasts broken short off_, indubitable proof, to the nautical mind, that the Rechabite had been rolled over and over again, like an empty barrel, in that terrible sea.

Creamer had just begun, by way of retaliation, his favorite "yarn" of the ingenious diplomacy of one Jem Jarvis, his father's uncle, who, being wrecked "amongst the cannibals of Rarertonger," with a baker's dozen of his shipmates, escaped the fate of his less accomplished comrades by his skill on the jewsharp, and an especial talent for dancing the double-shuffle, so that they gave him a hut to himself, two wives, and all he could eat, until he broke his jewsharp, and got fat and lazy, and then there was nothing to do but to run for it.

How Creamer's paternal relative extricated himself from his precarious position will never be known, as, at this juncture, Ben and La Salle, respectively, weary of playing a limited _repertoire_ of psalm-tunes on the concertina, and reading the musty records of a long-forgotten "_Sederunt_ of the quarterly Synod," as detailed in an old number of the Presbyterian Witness, interrupted the prolonged passage at arms by an invitation, to all so disposed, "to take a walk around the island."

Lund, who had misgivings as to his ability to give Creamer "a Roland for his Oliver," rose at once, and Creamer acceding more reluctantly, the four set off, through a narrow wood-path, to a cleared field near the western extremity of the island.

At the verge of this field, a cliff of red sandstone, ribbed and seamed by centuries of weather-wear and beat of sea, overlooked the ample bay which opens into the Straits of Northumberland at their widest point. Before them it lay covered with huge level ice-fields, broken only where tide and storm had caused an upheaval of their edges, or a berg, degraded and lessened of its once lordly majesty, it is true, but still grand even in its decay, rose like a Gothic ruin amid a snow-covered and desolate plain.

The sun was declining in the west, but his crimson rays gave warmth to the picture, and the still air had, as it were, a foretaste of the balmy revivifying warmth of spring. In the woods, close at hand, were heard the harsh cawing of the crow, the shrill scream of the blue-jay, and the garrulous chatter of many a little family of warm-furred, pine-cone-eating little red squirrels.

Neither was animal life wanting elsewhere to complete the picture. On the ice could be counted, in different directions, no less than seventeen flocks of Canada geese, some of them apparently on the watch, but the major part lying down, and evidently sleeping after their long and wearisome migration. In a single diminutive water-hole below the cliff, which probably marked the issue of one of the many subterranean springs of the islet, a half-dozen tiny ouac-a-wees, or Moniac ducks, swam and dove in conscious security.

"I can't see any open water yet," said Creamer, "although it looks to me a little like a water-belt, alongshore, inside Point Prime."

"There's no more water-belt there," said Lund, "than there was music in your great-uncle's jewsharp; but there's a spot off to the sou'-west that looks to me a little like blue water."

"Blue water, indeed!" retorted Creamer; "who ever saw blue water on soundings! I'll lay a plug of navy tobacco there isn't open water enough there away to float La Salle's gunning-float comfortably."

"Well, Hughie," slowly replied the practiced pilot, who was really little disposed to vaunt his knowledge of coast and weather, "the tide will soon decide whether you or I, or both of us, are right. It is just full flood now, and the ice is pressed in so against the land, that I know there can be no openings along the Point, and but very small ones where I think it looks like one. It seems to me that a water-vapor is rising out there, by yonder high pinnacle just in range of the pool below the ice-foot; but the tide will soon let us know if there are any large leads open within a dozen miles."

"There's a sign in your favor," cried La Salle, pointing in the direction of the supposed 'lead.' "There's a flock of Brent geese, and they can't live away from open water. See, Ben, they are heading right in for the East Bar, and if we were only there we might depend upon a shot."

La Salle was right; the flock of birds, identified plainly by their smaller size, their tumultuous order of flying, and especially by their harsh, rolling call, like a pack of hounds in cry, swept in from sea, wheeled around one of the resting flocks of Canada geese, alighted near them, took flight again, and, sweeping in an irregular course over and among the higher points of the icy labyrinth, disappeared behind the eastern promontory, as if in search of the open water, which winter had so securely locked up in icy bonds.

As the sun sank behind the neighboring firs, his reddening light fell on a bright blue streak, which seemed to glow like a stream of quicksilver between two heavy bodies of "piled ice." With the ebb, the narrow, glittering canal began to widen, piercing nearer to the islet, until, heading towards the westward, it lay little more than four miles from the interested spectators. The shadowy pinions of many flocks of water-fowl were seen exploring its course, and the neighboring geese, one by one, took flight, and, with clamorous calls, winged their way to its borders.

"I give it up," said Creamer.

"Never mind, Hughie," said Ben, "I'll pay the wager; for, with open water so close to us, the first good storm will soon sweep the bay clear to the bar."

"Yes, a sharp north-easter would soon do that for you; but all the heavy winds may be northerly and westerly for three weeks to come yet," said Lund; "I've known the ice to hold here until the first week of May."

"Well," returned La Salle, "I'm sure I hope it won't be so late this year, for the stock of flour on the island is very small, and many of the poor folks can't afford to buy any, and are living on potatoes almost altogether. They say, too, that there is much suffering among the farmers at the North Point."

"Yes," said Ben; "I saw a man from Lot Ten last week, and he said that the French were eating their seed-grain, and feeding their cattle, or such as