The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne

The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne

Author:R. M. Ballantyne [Ballantyne, R. M. (Robert Michael)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-16T19:09:49+00:00


* * *

Chapter Fourteen.

Tells of a Tremendous Storm and a Strange Shelter, etcetera.

Proverbial philosophy teaches us that misfortunes seldom come singly. Newfoundland, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, does not seem to have been a place of refuge from the operation of that law.

On the morning of the day in which the explorers meant to commence the return journey, a storm of unwonted rigour burst upon them, and swept over the land with devastating violence—overturning trees, snapping off mighty limbs, uplifting the new-fallen snow in great masses, and hurling it in wild confusion into space, so that earth and sky seemed to commingle in a horrid chaos.

The first intimation the travellers had of the impending storm was the rending of a limb of the tree under which they reposed. The way in which Oliver Trench received the rude awakening might, in other circumstances, have raised a laugh, for he leaped up like a harlequin, with a glare of sudden amazement, and, plunging headlong away from the threatened danger, buried himself in the snow. From this he instantly emerged with an aspect similar to that of “Father Christmas,” minus the good-natured serenity of that liberal-hearted personage.

“Daddy!” he gasped, “are you there?”

The question was not uncalled for, the captain having made a plunge like that of his son, but unlike his son, having found it difficult to extricate himself quickly.

Paul and Hendrick had also sprung up, but the latter, remaining close to the stem of the tree, kept his eye watchfully on the branches.

“Come here—quick!” he cried—“the stem is our safeguard. Look out!”

As he spoke his voice was drowned in a crash which mingled with the shrieking blast, and a great branch fell to the ground. Fortunately the wind blew it sufficiently to one side to clear the camp. The air was so charged with snow particles that the captain and his son seemed to stagger out of a white mist as they returned to their comrades who were clinging to the weather-side of the tree.

“D’ye think it will go by the board?” asked the captain, as he observed Hendrick’s anxious gaze fixed on the swaying tree.

“It is a good stout stick,” replied his friend, “but the blast is powerful.”

The captain looked up at the thick stem with a doubtful expression, and then turned to Hendrick with a nautical shake of the head.

“I never saw a stick,” he said, “that would stand the like o’ that without fore an’ back stays, but it may be that shoregoin’ sticks are—”

He stopped abruptly, for a terrific crash almost stunned him, as the tree by which they stood went down, tearing its way through the adjacent branches in its fall, and causing the whole party to stagger.

“Keep still!” shouted Hendrick in a voice of stern command, as he glanced critically at the fallen tree.

“Yes,” he added, “it will do. Come here.”

He scrambled quickly among the crushed branches until he stood directly under the prostrate stem, which was supported by its roots and stouter branches. “Here,” said he, “we are safe.



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