The Black Joke by Farley Mowat

Author:Farley Mowat
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781551992297
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2008-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

Peter began climbing up again, for there was no foreshore which would have enabled him to walk around the island at sea-level. In order to meet Jonathan and help him haul the dory up again, he would have to climb all the way up to the plateau and then descend the other side. Meanwhile Kye had run to the lee side of the plateau and was searching the narrow gap of water between Colombier and St. Pierre. There were no French dories in sight. Evidently the fishermen had read the weather signs too and had run for shelter while they could.

Seen from above, Jonathan’s little boat seemed like a minute chip being tossed in a spring freshet. First one end, then the other, seemed to be pointing straight up at the windswept sky. Jonathan was standing up in order to get more leverage and was leaning into the oars with the fury of desperation as wind and seas did their best to drive him onto the rocks at the foot of the northern cliff. He realized now that he had badly miscalculated the force of the storm, but there was nothing he could do about it except strain every muscle and hope he could get safely around the corner of the island, run down the eastern side, and then pull into shelter on the southern side.

He was very close to exhaustion by the time he was clear of the hungry rocks. Then he was able to let the wind take the dory and she began to drive rapidly past the east coast of Colombier, pushed by both wind and waves. Jonathan rested, slumped over the oars. But in a few minutes the dory had blown to the southeast corner, and once again he had to take up the oars and pull with all his strength in order to gain the promised shelter.

Watching anxiously from above, the boys saw him take a strain on the oars. Then they saw him suddenly lose his balance and fall backwards, full-length into the bottom of the dory.

“An oar broke, an oar broke!” Peter yelled at the top of his voice. “He’ll never make it now, Kye! He’ll blow ashore on St. Pierre! We got to do somethin’ quick!”

“Nothin’ we can do,” Kye yelled back over the whine of the wind. “Why don’t he git up? What’s the matter with him? He ain’t movin’ at all! Must have hit his head on the for’ard thwart. Must have knocked himself clean out!”

“He’ll be drowned,” Peter wailed.

“No he won’t,” cried Kye, though he was far from sure. “Ain’t no sea ever made what could overturn a dory. He’ll drift down the harbor. Somebody’s bound to see the dory down there. They’re bound to see it come ashore. Somebody’ll help him. Most likely he’ll come-to anyway afore she hits the beach. He’ll be all right, Peter, ye hear me? He’ll come through all right!”

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