FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 27, 1912. 
lOG 
shouted above the noise of the wind and tumb 
ling water. “Hold on to your paddle and the 
canoe when—” 
The contraction of his lungs caused by the 
complete submersion of his body in the icy water 
prevented his finishing the warning. The huge 
curler was too high and moving too quickly to 
allow the heavy craft to ride it; it was so strong 
and engulfing that, as it struck, Jack was swept 
so cjuickly from the canoe he failed to grasp 
the gunwale. When the wave had passed, only 
the bottom of the canoe showed. Mulligan, head 
above water, was holding the sharp and slip¬ 
pery bow with numbed fingers. A packsack, the 
one that held the tent and blankets, bobbed to 
the surface near him, and he endangered his 
already precarious ho’d on the canoe by grasp¬ 
ing one of the shoulder straps. 
The full and initial force of the curling crest 
had struck Jack and carried him far from the 
canoe. As he came to the surface on the slant 
of the receding wave, he was ten feet from the 
stern of the overturned craft. He was unable 
to swim to it before the canoe rose to the crest 
of the sixth wave and was buried. So high did 
the water pile over the craft Mulligan was torn 
from his hold. In the next hollow both were 
swimming to the boat. The packsack bobbed so 
far away Mulligan did not try to get it. 
When the men reached the canoe, one near the 
bow and the other near the stern, each felt under 
the water for a more secure hold on the over¬ 
lapping gunwales. They shook the water from 
their eyes and looked at each other. IMulligan 
grinned. 
"Getting all the excitement you want?” he 
shouted. “Ought to. Fifty mdes from nowhere, 
no grub, no tent, no blankets, no nothing.” 
The next curler delayed Jack’s reply. 
“There’s a line and trolling hook stuck in the* 
stern,” he said, when they had dropped into the 
trough. “But we got to get to shore first. If 
we can get some of the water out of the canoe 
and work her toward shore, this wind will drift 
us back to the point. It’s not far, but we’ll have 
to dig to make it.” 
The men worked along to the extreme ends 
of the canoe, and when they had dropped into a 
trough, lifted and twisted at the boat. Their 
heads went under, but a gunwale finally showed. 
There was a loud sucking of wind and then, the 
gunwale free of the water, the canoe righted it¬ 
self so quickly that Jack for a moment lost his 
hold. 
The canoe was almost full of w'ater, and the 
next wave filled it until the gunwales in the 
middle were beneath the surface. In the next 
trough they tried to lift one side of the canoe. 
Half a barrel of water flowed out, only to be 
replaced by the next wave. In the next trough 
they tried again with the same result. 
“We’ll have to hang on with one hand and 
swim with the other.” shouted Mulligan. “It’s 
hard work and little gain, but maybe we can 
make it.” 
Each grasped a gunwale, and they started. 
The work was welcomed, for by this time both 
were so chilled they were unable to prevent their 
teeth chattering. They had drifted back further 
than they thought, and a glimpse from the brief 
vantage point of the top of a roller showed them 
that they would hardly be able to work the 
canoe over sufficiently to get to the point be¬ 
fore they had drifted past. They worked only 
as can desperat^ men in a desperate situation. 
Their circulation quickened and their teeth be¬ 
came silent. With quick, long strokes of their 
free arms, they hauled the water-logged canoe. 
“We’ll make her at this rate,” gasped Jack 
from the top of a wave, “but it’ll take all we’ve 
got.” 
However, as they came closer to the long, nar¬ 
row and heavily wooded point, they found a new 
factor to contend with. Until then the wind had 
been blowing straight into the narrows, and they 
had only to work across.it as they drifted with 
it. Now, when 100 feet from the point, and in 
a line where they would have to work the canoe 
over only twenty-five feet to gain the rocks, the 
wind, deflected by the solid wall of spruce and 
balsam on the point, began to carry them away 
from the tip of rocks. Both men saw it, but 
said nothing. Each increased his efforts. Mul¬ 
ligan thought it ni’ght be well to try again to 
ri.gl>t the canoe, but he did not voice his inspira¬ 
tion because, with renewed velocity, the wind 
piled the waves higher. 
\\’ith the point fifty feet away, and thirty feet 
across the wind, they saw that they could not 
make it. Both men stopped working. 
"Better drop the canoe and swim for it,” 
Mulligan panted. 
“And be without a canoe in this country! Our 
on'y chance of getting out is keeping the boat. 
IMaybe' we can work it in after we pass the 
point. If we can get into the^ shelter of the 
point, we have a chance to get it to shore. Let’s 
try it, anyhow.’’ 
They began working as before, not so desper¬ 
ately, but with longer, slower, more powerful 
strokes. They worked determinedly, but both 
glanced longingly at the point not more than 
forty feet away as they drifted past it. 
The wind increased, and, shunting out at an 
angle by the point, carried canoe and men still 
further from shore. The point was long and 
ran quartering with the wind. Consequently, 
when once the canoe" had drifted past it, the 
nearest shore was that of a deep bay behind the 
point. 
“We can’t do anything this way,” said Mul¬ 
ligan. “We’re getting further and further from 
shore. There’s nothing to it, but swim and let 
the canoe go.” 
Jack agreed with a nod. When they aban¬ 
doned the canoe the nearest land was 300 yards 
away, quartering down the wind. 
“It’s goin’ to be a hard scrap,” said Jack as 
they started, “and I’m beginnin’ to feel sort of 
tired.” 
He was more nearly spent than he knew. And 
so was Mulligan. The ice water and their cease¬ 
less struggle of more than half an hour had 
sapped their strength and vitality. Eurther, they 
were dressed as are woodsmen in that time of 
the year—the heaviest possible woolen under¬ 
clothing, woolen shirts and trousers and well 
hob-nailed cruisers’ shoes over heavy woolen 
socks. 
Both men had nerve, that quality possessed by 
all men who survive in the struggle against the 
odds the wilderness continually throws in the 
path of those who would penetrate it. The 
quality which keeps a beaten boxer on his feet, 
which drives the sweep of an exhausted crew¬ 
man in the last quarter mile of a college race, 
is the same that lifts the leaden feet of the 
snowshoed explorer who cannot find his cache, 
that swings the paddle of the starved trapper 
whose cabin and supplies have been burned, and 
he is forcing the last fifty miles of his food ess 
j ourney. 
The boxer aftd the oarsman have the shouts 
of admirers in their ears, but the explorer, the 
trapper. Mulligan and Jack must fight it out 
alone, unseen, uncheered. The first are fighting 
for money, for glory, but the Mulligans and 
Jacks are fighting to survive. 
While both Jack and his partner were abund¬ 
antly supplied with the quality that makes sur¬ 
vival in the wilderness possible. Mulligan also 
possessed an imagination. Both could fight a 
forest fire for fifty hours without rest. Both 
could pack 150 pounds across any portage in 
the North country, could suffer from long hours 
in the canoe or hard, plodding journeys on snow- 
shoes. Day in and day out they could do about 
the same amount of labor. But in addition to 
the nervous energy upon which both could call 
when necessary to drive their seemingly ex¬ 
hausted bodies to further effort. Mulligan also 
possessed an imagination. 
Even when he had made what seemed to be 
his last physical effort. Mulligan's abundant 
nerve force would step in and prod the ex¬ 
hausted muscles to further activity. And, when 
this flow of will power and superior mental con¬ 
trol weakened, they, in turn, were recuperated 
by the man’s imagination. As a boy he had de¬ 
lighted in reading of hardships survived, great 
powers of endurance put to the test, great physi¬ 
cal accomplishments. Often he had placed him¬ 
self mental'y in positions similar to those of his 
fiction heroes and dreamed of his life struggles 
against terrific odds. 
It was this vivid imagination, coupled with a 
romantic, adventurous temperament, that gal¬ 
vanized, through the medium of a rejuvenated 
nerve force, weary muscles to further action. 
And it was this quality that enabled Mulligan 
to crawl steadily away from his companion as 
they started to swim toward shore. He turned 
and saw that Jack was progressing slowly. 
“Hurry up, and I’ll wait,” he called. 
Jack shook his head. A few yards further 
on Mulligan turned and repeated his offer. Again 
Jack shook his head. Then he called: “Go on; 
I’m all right.” 
After swimming fifty yards. Mulligan was fif¬ 
teen yards ahead. He thought to turn again, but 
an overpowering weariness and a steadily in¬ 
creasing drowsiness warned him that every ef¬ 
fort should be expended in sending him shore¬ 
ward. He reasoned this out vaguely. He wanted 
to turn and .help Jack, but he believed that 
neither could reach shore. Then he thought that 
Jack might be in a worse condition and needed 
help. He was about to turn, but the drowsiness 
and weariness increased. His hands were blue 
and numb. There was little feeling in his legs 
below the knees. His heavy woolen clothing 
seemed leaden, his lungs were so contracted by 
the cold he breathed with difficulty. He swam 
jerkily, in spurts, each increase in exertion being 
followed by a greater ebbing of his mental 
stimulus. Once he roused himself to faster, 
stronger swimming, only to relapse into semi-, 
unconsciousness. Then his imagination brushed 
away the mental blur, and another spurt resulted. 
His head cleared sufficiently for him to think 
of Jack, but he did not turn nor call. The spurt 
ended this time in total unconsciousness, his 
