FullReads

“It’s best that nothing be said,” he told him with simple dignity. He was so calm that Mr. Murray thought he did not care greatly, and was glad of it. The older man regretted the turn of affairs. Braithwaite would take his daughter far away from him, as his sister had been taken, and he loved Benjamin as his own son.

One afternoon Benjamin stood by his boat and looked anxiously at sea and sky. The French Canadians were eager to go out, for the other boats were catching.

“I don’t know about it,” said Benjamin doubtfully. “I don’t half like the look of things. I believe we’re in for a squall before long. It was just such a day three years ago when that terrible squall came up that Joe Otway got drowned in.”

The sky was dun and smoky, the glassy water was copper-hued, the air was heavy and breathless. The sea purred upon the shore, lapping it caressingly like some huge feline creature biding its time to seize and crunch its victim.

“I reckon I’ll try it,” said Benjamin after a final scrutiny. “If a squall does come up, we’ll have to run for the shore mighty quick, that’s all.”

They launched the boat speedily; as there was no wind, they had to row. As they pulled out, Braithwaite and Leon came down the road and began to launch the Murray boat.

“If dem two gits caught in a squall dey’ll hav a tam,” grinned Mosey Louis. “Dat Leon, he don’t know de fust ting ’bout a boat, no more dan a cat!”

Benjamin came to anchor close in, but Braithwaite and Leon kept on until they were further out than any other boat.

“Reckon dey’s after cod,” suggested Xavier.

The mackerel bit well, but Benjamin kept a close watch on the sky. Suddenly he saw a dark streak advancing over the water from the northwest. He wheeled around.

“Boys, the squall’s coming! Up with the anchor–quick!”

“Dere’s plenty tam,” grumbled Mosey Louis, who hated to leave the fish. “None of de oder boats is goin’ in yit.”

The squall struck the boat as he spoke. She lurched and staggered. The water was tossing choppily. There was a sudden commotion all through the fleet and sails went rapidly up. Mosey Louis turned pale and scrambled about without delay. Benjamin was halfway to the shore before the sail went up in the Murray boat.

“Don’ know what dey’re tinkin’ of,” growled Mosey Louis. “Dey’ll be drown fust ting!”

Benjamin looked back anxiously. Every boat was making for the shore. The gale was steadily increasing. He had his doubts about making a landing himself, and Braithwaite would be twenty minutes later.

“But it isn’t my lookout,” he muttered.

Benjamin had landed and was hauling up his boat when Mr. Murray came running down the road.

“Frank?” he gasped. “Him and Leon went out, the foolish boys! They neither of them know anything about a time like this.”

“I guess they’ll be all right,” said Benjamin reassuringly. “They were late starting. They may find it rather hard to land.”

The other boats had all got in with more or less difficulty. The Murray boat alone was out. Men came scurrying along the shore in frightened groups of two and three.

The boat came swiftly in before the wind. Mr. Murray was half beside himself.

“It’ll be all right, sir,” said one of the men. “If they can’t land here, they can beach her on the sandshore.”

“If they only knew enough to do that,” wailed the old man. “But they don’t–they’ll come right on to the rocks.”

“Why don’t they lower their sail?” said another. “They will upset if they don’t.”

“They’re lowering it now,” said Benjamin.

The boat was now about 300 yards from the shore. The sail did not go all the way down–it seemed to be stuck.

“Good God, what’s wrong?” exclaimed Mr. Murray.

As he spoke, the boat capsized. A yell of horror rose I from the beach. Mr. Murray sprang toward Benjamin’s boat, but one of the men held him back.