CHAPTER VI
_In Which the Sudden Death of Cracker is Contemplated as a Thing to Be Desired, Billy Topsail's Whip Disappears, a Mutiny is Declared and the Dogs Howl in the Darkness_
Past twelve o'clock and the night as black as a wolf's throat, with thewind blowing a forty-mile gale, thick and stifling with snow, and theice broken up in ragged pans of varying, secret area--it was no time forany man to stir abroad from the safe place he occupied. There werepatches of open water forming near by, and lanes of open water wideningand shifting with the drift and spreading of the ice; and somewherebetween the cliffs and the moving pack, which had broken away from them,there was a long pitfall of water in the dark. The error of putting thedogs in the traces and attempting to win the shore in a forlorn dash didnot even present itself to Billy Topsail's experienced wisdom. BillyTopsail would wait for dawn, to be sure of his path and direction; andmeantime--there being no occasion for action--he got back into hiswolfskin bag and settled himself for sleep.
It was not hard to go to sleep. Peril of this sort was familiar to BillyTopsail--precarious situations, with life at stake, created by wind,ice, reefs, fog and the sea. There on the ice the situation wascompletely disclosed and beyond control. Nothing was to be manipulated.Nothing threatened, at any rate, for the moment. Consequently BillyTopsail was not afraid. Had he discovered himself all at once alone in acity; had he been required to confront a garter snake--he had neverclapped eyes on a snake----
* * * * *
Placidly reflecting on the factors of danger to be dealt withsubsequently, Billy Topsail caught ear, he thought, of a sob and whimperfrom the midst of Teddy Brisk's dogskin robes. This was the littlefellow's first full-fledged adventure. He had been in scrapesbefore--the little dangers of the harbour and the adjacent rocks andwaters and wilderness; gusts of wind; the lap of the sea; the confusionof the near-by back country, and the like of that; but he had never beencast away like the grown men of Tight Cove. And these passages, heroicas they are, and stimulating as they may be to the ambition of thelittle fellows who listen o' winter nights, are drear and terrifyingwhen first encountered.
Teddy Brisk was doubtless wanting his mother. Perhaps he sobbed. Yet hehad concealed his fear and homesickness from Billy Topsail; and that wasstoicism enough for any lad of his years--even a lad of the Labrador.Billy Topsail offered him no comfort. It would have shamed the boy tocomfort him openly. Once ashore again Teddy Brisk would want to boast,like his elders, and to spin his yarn:
"Well now, lads, there we was, ecod! 'way out there on the ice, me 'n'Billy Topsail; an' the wind was blowin' a gale from the sou'west, an'the snow was flyin' as thick as ever you seed the snow fly, an' the icewas goin' out t' sea on the jump. An' I says t' Billy: 'I'm goin' t'sleep, Billy--an' be blowed t' what comes of it!' An' so I falled asleepas snug an' warm; an' then----"
Billy Topsail ignored the sob and whimper from the depths of the dogskinrobes.
"The lad haves t' be hardened," he reflected.
* * * * *
Dawn was windy. It was still snowing--a frosty mist of snow. BillyTopsail put the dogs in the traces and stowed Teddy Brisk away in thekomatik. The dogs were uneasy. Something out of the way? What themischief was the matter? They came unwillingly. It seemed they must besensing a predicament. Billy Topsail whipped them to their work andpresently they bent well enough to the task.
Snow fell all that day. There were glimpses of Ginger Head. In a rift ofthe gale Teddy Brisk caught sight of the knob of the Scotchman'sBreakfast.
Always, however, the way ashore was barred by open water. When BillyTopsail caught sight of the Scotchman's Breakfast for the last time itwas in the southwest. This implied that the floe had got beyond theheads of the bay and was moving into the waste reaches of the open sea.At dusk Billy had circled the pan twice--hoping for chance contact withanother pan, to the east, and another, and still another; and thus apath to shore. It was a big pan--a square mile or more as yet. When thepinch came, if the pinch should come, Billy thought, the dogs would notbe hampered for room.
Why not kill the dogs? No; not yet. They were another man's dogs. Inthe morning, if the wind held offshore----
Wind and snow would fail. There would be no harsher weather. BillyTopsail made a little fire with his last billets of birchwood. He boiledthe kettle and spread a thick slice of bread with a meager discolorationof molasses for Teddy Brisk. What chiefly interested Teddy Brisk was theattitude of the dogs. It was not obedient. There was swagger in it. Acrack of the whip sent them leaping away, to be sure; but they intrudedagain at once--and mutinously persisted in the intrusion.
Teddy Brisk put out a diffident hand towards Smoke. Smoke was anobsequious brute. Ashore he would have been disgustingly grateful forthe caress. Now he would not accept it at all. He snarled and sprangaway. It was a defiant breach of discipline. What was the matter withthe dogs? They had gone saucy all at once. The devil was in the dogs.Nor would they lie down; they withdrew, at last, in a pack, their hungerdiscouraged, and wandered restlessly in the failing light near by.
Teddy Brisk could not account for this singular behaviour.
It alarmed him.
"Ah, well," said Billy Topsail, "they're all savage with hunger."
"Could you manage with nine, Billy?"
Billy Topsail laughed.
"With ease, my son," said he, "an' glad of it!"
"Is you strong enough t' kill a dog?"
"I'll find that out, Teddy, when the time comes."
"I was 'lowin' that one dog would feed the others an' keep un mild tillwe gets ashore."
"I've that selfsame thing in mind."
Teddy said eagerly:
"Kill Cracker, Billy!"
"Cracker! Already? 'Twould be sheer murder."
"Aye, kill un now, Billy--ah, kill un right away now, won't you, b'y?That dog haves a grudge on me. He've been watchin' me all day long."
"Ah, no! Hush now, Teddy!"
"I knows that dog, Billy!"
"Ah, now! The wind'll change afore long. We'll drift ashore--maybe inthe mornin'. An then----"
"He've his eye on me, Billy!"
Billy Topsail rose.
"You see my whip anywhere?"
"She's lyin' for'ard o' the komatik."
"She's not."
"She was."
"She've gone, b'y!"
"Ecod! Billy, Cracker haves her!"
It was not yet dark. Cracker was sitting close. It was an attitude ofjovial expectation. He was on his haunches--head on one side and tailflapping the snow; and he had the walrus whip in his mouth. Apparentlyhe was in the mood to pursue a playful exploit. When Billy Topsailapproached he retreated--a little; and when Billy Topsail rushed hedodged, with ease and increasing delight. When Billy Topsail whistledhim up and patted to him, and called "Hyuh! Hyuh!" and flattered himwith "Good ol' dog!" he yielded nothing more than a deepened attentionto the mischievous pleasure in hand.
Always he was beyond reach--just beyond reach. It was tantalizing.
Billy Topsail lost his temper. This was a blunder. It encouraged thedog. To recover the whip was an imperative precaution; but Billy couldnot accomplish it in a temper. Cracker was willful and agile anddetermined; and when he had tired--it seemed--of his taunting game, hewhisked away, with the pack in chase, and was lost to sight in the gale.It fell dark then; and presently, far away a dog howled, and there wasan answering howl, and a chorus of howls. They were gone for good. Itwas a mutiny. Billy knew that his authority had departed with the symbolof it.
He did not see the whip again.