"Where's your land?" asked Wade.

"Off there," replied young Hobbs, pointing to the north-west.

Ah, yes! there it was,--a line of dark gray cliffs, low in the water.

Between us and them a dozen white icebergs glittered in the sun.

"Is that the cape, captain?" queried Kit.

"Must be," was the reply. "Same lat.i.tude. Can't be any thing else.

Answers to the chart exactly."

"Oh! that's Cape Resolution fast enough," said Raed. "Those cliffs correspond with the descriptions, I should say."

"How far off?" asked Wade.

"Well, seven or eight leagues," replied the captain.

"The b.u.t.ton Islands, on the south side of the entrance, ought to be in sight, to the south-west," remarked Raed, looking off in that direction; "but I don't see them," he added.

The captain got his gla.s.s, and climbed up to the gaff of the foresail.

"Yes, there 'tis!" he shouted. "Low down; low land. No cliffs."

"Why are they called 'b.u.t.ton Isles' on the chart?" he asked, sliding down the shrouds. "Is it because they resemble b.u.t.tons?"

"No," said Raed. "They were named for Capt. b.u.t.ton, who sailed through here more than a century ago. He was one of those navigators who tried so hard to find the 'north-west pa.s.sage' by sailing through Hudson's Straits. During the first half of the eighteenth century, the London merchants sent out expeditions nearly every year in the hope of finding a pa.s.sage through here to China and India. This b.u.t.ton was one of their captains."

"Then this low land to the south-west of us is Cape Chidleigh, is it not?" said Wade.

"No," said Raed. "Cape Chidleigh is the main land of Labrador down to the south-east of the b.u.t.ton Isles. You couldn't see that, could you, captain?"

"Saw some high peaks to the south, far down on the horizon. Those are on Labrador, I presume. Couldn't say whether they are the cape proper or not. They are in about the direction of the cape as indicated on the chart."

As the sun rose higher a breeze sprang up, and the sails filled. The schooner was headed W.N.W. to run under the cape; Bonney being set to watch sharp for the floating ice.

"Coffee, sar!" cried Palmleaf from the companion-way.

We went down to breakfast and talk over matters with the captain. It was decided to work up under the cape, and so, hugging the land on the north side as closely as possible, get into the strait as far as we could that day. We all felt anxious; for though the sea was now smooth, sky clear, and the wind fair, yet we knew that it was rather the exception than the average. The idea of being caught here among these cliffs and icebergs in a three-days' fog or a north-east gale, with the whole fury of the Atlantic at our backs, was anything but encouraging. The advice of the elder navigators, "to seize a favorable day and get as far up the straits as possible," kept recurring to our minds. The words had an ominous sound. They were the utterances of many a sad experience.

"There never could be a better day nor a fairer wind," remarked the captain.

"Now's our chance; I'm convinced of it," said Kit.

The mainsail, which had been taken in the previous evening, and the topsail, were both set; and, the breeze freshening, "The Curlew"

rapidly gathered way. Considerable care had to be used, however, to avoid the broad cakes of ice which were floating out all around us.

Small bits, and pieces as large as a hogshead, we paid no attention to; let the cut-water knock them aside. But there were plenty of large, angular, ugly-looking ma.s.ses, which, if struck would have endangered the schooner's side. These were sheered off from: so that our course was made up of a series of curves and windings in and out.

It seemed odd to see so much ice, and feel the deadly chill of the water, with so hot a sun on deck that the pitch started on the deal planks. In our companion-way the thermometer rose to eighty-seven degrees, with icebergs glittering at every point of the compa.s.s.

By eight o'clock, A.M., we were abreast the cliffs of Resolution Island, at a distance of a couple of miles. With our gla.s.ses we examined them attentively. h.o.a.ry, gray, and bare, they were, as when first split out of the earth's flinty crust, and thrust above the waves. The sun poured a flood of warm light over them; but no green thing could be discerned. Either there was no soil, or else the bleak frost-winds effectually checked the outcrop of life. To the south the b.u.t.ton Islands showed like brown patches on the shimmering waves. The width of the straits at this point is given on the chart at twelve leagues,--thirty-six miles. We could see the land on either side.

By eleven, A.M., we were twenty miles inside the outer cape. The cliffs continued on the north side, and the schooner was headed up within a mile of them. There were no signs of reefs or sunken ledges, however; and, on heaving the lead, a hundred fathoms of line were run out without touching bottom. The cliffs seem thus to form the side of an immense chasm partially filled by the ocean. Raed estimated their height above the sea to be near four hundred feet. At the distance of a mile they appeared to tower and almost impend over us.

Toward noon the wind flawed for half an hour, then dropped altogether.

The current, which was setting out to sea, began to drag us back with it slowly. There wasn't a breath of air stirring. Blazes! how the sun poured down! Guard got round in the thin shadow of the mainsail, and actually lolled among icebergs. There we were stuck. That is one of the disadvantages of a sailing-vessel: you have to depend on the wind,--the most capricious thing in the universe. I suppose the air-current had veered about from north-east to north, so that the lofty cliffs intercepted them completely.

Dinner was eaten. One o'clock,--two o'clock. We were glad to take refuge with Guard in the shade of the sails. All around us was a stillness which pa.s.ses words, broken loudly by our steps on the hot deck, and the occasional graze of ice-cakes against the sides. We felt uneasy enough. This calm was ominous.

"There's mischief brewing!" muttered Kit; "and here we are in the very jaws of the straits!"

Since the wind dropped, the ice had seemed to thicken ahead. To the southward, farther out from the sh.o.r.e, where the outward current was stronger, we could see it driving along in a glittering procession of white bergs. The wisdom of keeping on the north side of the strait was apparent from this; though it seemed likely to cost us dear in the consequent loss of the wind. On many of the larger cakes we could see dark objects, which the gla.s.s disclosed to be seals, sunning.

Presently a dense ma.s.s of blue-black clouds loomed suddenly over the brow of the cliffs.

"A shower!" cried Raed.

"A squall!" exclaimed old Trull.

"All hands take in sail!" shouted the captain.

Our Gloucester lads needed no further awakening. We all bore a hand, and had the mainsail down on the boom, short order; and, while Wade and I tried our hand at lashing it with the gaskets, the rest got down the foresail and the topsail. The jib was not furled, but got ready to "let go" in case of fierce gusts. Low, heavy peals of thunder began to rumble behind the cliffs. The dark cloud-ma.s.s heaved up, till a misty line of foamy, driving rain and hail showed over the flinty crags.

Bright flashes gleamed out, followed shortly by heavy, hollow peals.

The naked ledges added vastly, no doubt, to the tone of the reverberations. The rain-drift broke over the cliffs; but the shower pa.s.sed mainly to the north-west. Only some scattered drops, with a few big straggling pellets of hail, hit on the deck. An eddy of cool air followed the gust. The jib puffed out on a sudden.

"Up with the foresail!" was the order.

It was at once set; and "The Curlew" started on in the wake of the shower. The cloud pa.s.sed across the straits diagonally to the south-west. We could see it raining heavily on the ice-flecked water a few miles farther up; and immediately the whole surface began to steam. We watched it with considerable anxiety.

"It will be a fog, I'm afraid," groaned Raed.

"It's sure to be," said young Hobbs. "I never seed a scud on the 'Banks' but 'ut it was allus follered by a fog."

White-gray, cold-looking clouds began to drift along the sun from the seaward. A sudden change in the air was felt. Cool, damp gusts swept down from the crags. The thermometer was falling rapidly. It had stood at ninety-four degrees just previous to the shower. Kit now reported it at seventy-three degrees; and, in less than an hour, it had fallen twenty degrees more. This sudden change was probably due to the veering of the wind from east round to north. The cold blasts from "Greenland's icy mountains" speedily dissipated our miniature summer.

There was a general rush for great-coats and thick jackets. Thin lines of vapor streamed up from the water as the cold gusts swept across it.

The hot sunbeams falling on the sea had doubtless raised the temperature considerably, despite the ice; and this sudden change in the air could but raise a great mist. Yet I doubt whether Nature's wonderful and legitimate processes were ever regarded with greater disfavor and apprehension.

"The barometer's falling a good deal too," remarked the captain, coming hastily up the companion-stairs. "Either a rain-storm, or a smart gale from the north'ard: both, perhaps. We're in a tight place."

"What's to be done?" Raed asked.

"Hadn't we better try to beat out of the straits into the open sea again, clear of the land and ice?" said Kit.

"Can't do it. It would take all night to do that, if there were no ice to hinder. The gale will come before morning, if it comes at all; and the entrance of the straits would be the worst possible place to weather it."

"But, captain, what can we do?" Wade demanded, looking a little pale.

"Well, not much. We must keep on,--get as far up the straits as we can; and then trust to good luck to escape being smashed or jammed.

The farther we get up the channel, the less we shall feel the violence of a gale from the seaward."