It was an immense relief to stand in the boat with the boat-hook, whose use demanded all the skill and nerve which Caius had at command. For the most part they could only propel the boat by pushing or pulling the bits of ice that surrounded it with their poles. It was a very different sort of travel from that which they had experienced together when they had carried their boat over islands of ice and launched it in the great gaps between them. The ice which they had to do with now would not have borne their weight; nor was there much clear space for rowing between the fragments. O’Shea pushed the boat boldly on, and they made their journey with comparative ease until, when they came near the channel made by the steamship, they found the ice lying more closely, and the difficulty of their progress increased.

Work as they would, they were getting on but slowly. The light wind blew past their faces, and the Gaspe schooner was seen to sail up the path which the steamer had made across the bay.

“The wind’s in the very chink that makes her able to take the channel. I’m thinking she’ll be getting in before us.”

O’Shea spoke with the gay indifference of one who had staked nothing on the hope of getting to the harbour first; but Caius wondered if this short cut would have been undertaken without strong reason.

A short period of hard exertion, of pushing and pulling the bits of ice, followed, and then:

“I’m thinking we’ll make the channel, any way, before she comes by, and then we’ll just hail her, and the happy bridegroom can come off if he’s so moinded, being in the hurry that he is. ’Tain’t many bridegrooms that makes all the haste he has to jine the lady.”

Caius said nothing; the subject was too horrible.

“Ye and yer bags could jist go on board the ship before the loving husband came off; ye’d make the harbour that way as easy, and I’m thinking the ice on the other side of the bay is that thick ye’d be scared and want me to sit back in my boat and yelp for help, like a froightened puppy dog, instead of making the way through.”

Cains thought that O’Shea might be trying to dare him to remain in the boat. He inclined to believe that O’Shea could not alone enter into conflict with a strong unscrupulous man in such a boat, in such a sea, with hope of success. At any rate, when O’Shea, presuming on his friendship with the skipper, had accomplished no less a thing than bringing the sailing vessel to a standstill, Caius was prepared to board her at once.

The little boat was still among the ice, but upon the verge of clear water. The schooner, already near, was drifting nearer. O’Shea was shouting to the men on her deck. The skipper stood there looking over her side; he was a short stout man, of cheery aspect. Several sailors, and one or two other men who might be passengers, had come to the side also. Beside the skipper stood a big man with a brown beard; his very way of standing still seemed to suggest habitual sluggishness of mind or manner; yet his appearance at this distance was fine. Caius discovered that this was Le Maitre; he was surprised, he had supposed that he would be thin and dark.

“It’s Captain Le Maitre I’ve come for; it’s his wife that’s wanting to see him,” O’Shea shouted.

“He’s here!”

The skipper gave the information cheerfully, and Le Maitre made a slight sign showing that it was correct.

“I’ll just take him back, then, in the boat with me now, for it’s easy enough getting this way, but there’s holes in the sand that makes drivin’ unpleasant. Howsomever, I can’t say which is the best passage. This city gentleman I’ve got with me now thinks he’s lost his life siveral times already since he got into this boat.”

He pointed to Caius as he ended his invitation to Le Maitre. The men on the schooner all grinned. It was O’Shea’s manner, as well as his words, that produced their derision.

Caius was wondering what would happen if Le Maitre refused to come in the boat. Suspicion said that O’Shea would cause the boat to be towed ashore, and would then take the Captain home by the quicksands. Would O’Shea make him drunk, and then cast him headfirst into the swallowing sand? It seemed preposterous to be harbouring such thought against the cheerful and most respectable farmer at his side. What foundation had he for it? None but the hearing of an idle boast that the man had made one day to his wife, and that she in simplicity had taken for earnest.

Le Maitre signified that he would go with O’Shea. Indeed, looked at from a short distance, the passage through the ice did not look so difficult as it had proved.

O’Shea and Caius parted without word or glance of farewell. Caius clambered over the side of the schooner; the one thought in his mind was to get a nearer view of Le Maitre.

This man was still standing sleepily. He did not bear closer inspection well. His clothes were dirty, especially about the front of vest and coat; there was everything to suggest an entire lack of neatness in personal habits; more than that, the face at the time bore unmistakable signs that enough alcohol had been drunk to benumb, although not to stupefy, his faculties: the eye was bloodshot; the face, weather-beaten as it was, was flabby. In spite of all this, Caius had expected a more villainous-looking person, and so great was his loathing that he would rather have seen him in a more obnoxious light. The man had a certain dignity of bearing; his face had that unfurrowed look that means a low moral sense, for there is no evidence of conflict. His eyes were too near each other; this last was, perhaps, the only sign by which Nature from the outset had marred a really excellent piece of manly proportion.

Caius made these observations involuntarily. As Le Maitre stepped here and there in a dull way while a chest that belonged to him was being lowered into the boat, Caius could not help realizing that his preconceived notions of the man as a monster had been exaggerated; he was a common man, fallen into low habits, and fixed in them by middle age.

Le Maitre got into the boat in seaman-like fashion. He was perfectly at home there, and dull as his eye looked, he tacitly assumed command. He took O’Shea’s pole from him, stepped to the prow, and began to turn the boat, without regarding the fact that O’Shea was still holding hasty conversation with the men on the schooner concerning the public events of the winter months the news they had brought from the mainland.

Everything had been done in the greatest haste; it was not twelve minutes after the schooner had been brought to a stand when her sails were again turned to catch the breeze. The reason for this haste was to prevent more sideways drifting, for the schooner was drifting with the wind against the floating ice amongst which O’Shea’s boat was lying. The wind blew very softly; her speed when sailing had not been great, and the drifting motion was the most gentle possible.

Caius had not taken his eyes from the boat. He was watching the strength with which Le Maitre was turning her and starting her for Cloud Island. He was watching O’Shea, who, still giving back chaff and sarcasm to the men on the schooner, was forced to turn and pick up the smaller pole which Caius had relinquished; he seemed to be interested only in his talk, and to begin to help in the management of the boat mechanically. The skipper was swearing at his men and shouting to O’Shea with alternate breath. The sails of the schooner had hardly yet swelled with the breeze when O’Shea, bearing with all his might against a bit of ice, because of a slip of his pole, fell heavily on the side of his own boat, tipping her suddenly over on a bit of ice that sunk with her weight. Le Maitre, at the prow, in the violent upsetting, was seen to fall headlong between two bits of ice into the sea.

“By ! Did you ever see anything like that?” The skipper of the schooner had run to the nearest point, which was beside Caius.

Then followed instantly a volley of commands, some of which related to throwing ropes to the small boat, some concerning the movement of the schooner, for at this moment her whole side pressed against all the bits of ice, pushing them closer and closer together.

The boat had not sunk; she had partially filled with water that had flowed over the ice on which she had upset; but when the weight of Le Maitre was removed and O’Shea had regained his balance, the ice rose again, righting the boat and almost instantly tipping her toward the other side, for the schooner had by this time caused a jam. It was not such a jam as must of necessity injure the boat, which was heavily built; but the fact that she was now half full of water and that there was only one man to manage her, made his situation precarious. The danger of O’Shea, however, was hardly noticed by the men on the schooner, because of the horrible fact that the closing of the bits of ice together made it improbable that Le Maitre could rise again.

For a moment there was an eager looking at every space of blue water that was left. If the drowning man could swim, he would surely make for such an aperture.

“Put your pole down to him where he went in!” The men on the schooner shouted this to O’Shea.

“Put the rope round your waist!” This last was yelled by the skipper, perceiving that O’Shea himself was by no means safe.

A rope that had been thrown had a noose, through which O’Shea dashed his arms; then, seizing the pole, he struck the butt-end between the blocks of ice where Le Maitre had fallen.

It seemed to Caius that the pole swayed in his hands, as if he were wrenching it from a hand that had gripped it strongly below; but it might have been only the grinding of the ice.

O’Shea thrust the pole with sudden vehemence further down, as if in a frantic effort to bring it better within reach of Le Maitre if he were there; or, as Caius thought, it might have been that, feeling where the man was, he stunned him with the blow.

Standing in a boat that was tipping and grinding among the ice, O’Shea appeared to be exercising marvellous force and dexterity in thus using the pole at all.

The wind was now propelling the schooner forward, and her pressure on the ice ceased. O’Shea threw off the noose of the rope wildly, and looked to the men on the vessel, as if quite uncertain what to do next.

It was a difficult matter for anyone to decide. To leave him there was manifestly impossible; but if the schooner again veered round, the jamming of the ice over the head of La Maitre would again occur. The men on the schooner, not under good discipline, were all shouting and talking.

“He’s dead by now, wherever he is.” The skipper made this quiet parenthesis either to himself or to Caius. Then he shouted aloud: “Work your boat through to us!”

O’Shea began poling vigorously. The ice was again floating loosely, and it was but the work of a few minutes to push his heavy boat into the open water that was in the wake of the schooner. There was a pause, like a pause in a funeral service, when O’Shea, standing ankle-deep in the water which his boat held, and the men huddled together upon the schooner’s deck, turned to look at all the places in which it seemed possible that the body of Le Maitre might again be seen. They looked and looked until they were tired with looking. The body had, no doubt, floated up under some cake of ice, and from thence would speedily sink to a bier of sand at the bottom of the bay.

“By ! I never saw anything like that.” It was the remark which began and ended the episode with the skipper. Then he raised his voice, and shouted to O’Shea: “It’s no sort of use your staying here! Make the rope fast to your boat, and come up on deck!”

But this O’Shea would not do. He replied that he would remain, and look about among the ice a bit longer, and that, any way, it would be twice as far to take his boat home from Harbour Island as from the place where he now was. The schooner towed his boat until he had baled the water out and got hold of his oars. The ice had floated so far apart that it seemed easy for the boat to go back through it.

During this time excited pithy gossip had been going on concerning the accident.

“You did all a man could do,” shouted the captain to O’Shea consolingly, and remarked to those about him: “There wasn’t no love lost between them, but O’Shea did all he could. O’Shea might as easy as not have gone over himself, holding the pole under water that time.”

The fussy little captain, as far as Caius could judge, was not acting a part. The sailors were French; they could talk some English; and they spoke in both languages a great deal.

“His lady won’t be much troubled, I dare say, from all I hear.” The captain was becoming easy and good-natured again. He said to Caius: “You are acquainted with her?”

“She will be shocked,” said Caius.

He felt as he spoke that he himself was suffering from shock so much so that he was hardly able to think consecutively about what had occurred.

“They won’t have an inquest without the body,” shouted the captain to O’Shea. Then to those about him he remarked: “He was as decent and good-natured a fellow as I’d want to see.”

The pronoun referred to Le Maitre. The remark was perhaps prompted by natural pity, but it was so instantly agreed to by all on the vessel that the chorus had the air of propitiating the spirit of the dead.