156 WILD WINGS 



boat, and, as far as we could learn, none had succeeded in 

 the attempt. One, I think, had been unable to land ; another 

 had missed the Rock in the fog ; another had been even 

 worse lost, had tossed about on a cold, angry sea for an 

 indefinite period, with one of the men sick and nearly dying 

 from fright and exposure. It was not an alluring prospect, 

 and, to be honest, we rather shrank from it. Yet we did 

 badly want to get to Bird Rock, especially after coming so far. 



Now there was at Grosse Isle a certain young fisherman of 

 twenty-four I will not say summers, but winters, Magdalen 

 Island winters at that, with their long months of below zero 

 temperatures and silence of frozen death. These winters, in 

 their rough way, had dealt kindly with the youth, and had 

 fashioned him into as hardy, muscular, and daring a type of 

 manhood as it is often one's fortune to see. The turbulent 

 sea had no terrors for him, as he hauled his lobster-traps in 

 the gale of wind and at off times helped to smuggle over 

 valuable cargoes of French wines and liquors from St. Pierre. 

 He was the man who volunteered to sail us over in his 

 seventeen-foot open lobster boat any day when there was 

 any sort of a chance. So we cheered up and lived in hope. 



Our plans gave us but ten precious days. Half of them 

 passed, unfavorable. At first the sea was rough after a pre- 

 vious gale. Then set in a cold, blustering norther, when we 

 had to run and beat our hands to keep warm, in our winter 

 clothes at that. Next followed a southeast blow, rainstorm, 

 and fog. The sixth day was clear, but the sea was rough. 

 Time was now alarmingly short, and we were becoming 

 anxious. We spent the morning in the spruce woods, and 

 noticed that the wind was moderating. At eleven came a boy 

 with a message from our bold mariner. He would sail "for 

 Bryon Island as soon as we could get ready, and thence try 

 for Bird Rock next morning. Hurriedly finishing my camera 



