I Hesitated To Enter This Passage, Fearing That The
Slightest Change In The Tide-Current Might Close It, But Ventured
Nevertheless, Judging That The Dangers Ahead Might Not Be Greater
Than Those I Had Already Passed.
When I had got about a third of the
way in, I suddenly discovered that the smooth-walled ice-lane was
growing narrower, and with desperate haste backed out.
Just as the
bow of the canoe cleared the sheer walls they came together with a
growling crunch. Terror-stricken, I turned back, and in an anxious
hour or two gladly reached the rock-bound shore that had at first
repelled me, determined to stay on guard all night in the canoe or
find some place where with the strength that comes in a fight for
life I could drag it up the boulder wall beyond ice danger. This at
last was happily done about midnight, and with no thought of sleep
I went to bed rejoicing.
My bed was two boulders, and as I lay wedged and bent on their
up-bulging sides, beguiling the hard, cold time in gazing into the
starry sky and across the sparkling bay, magnificent upright bars of
light in bright prismatic colors suddenly appeared, marching swiftly
in close succession along the northern horizon from west to east as
if in diligent haste, an auroral display very different from any I
had ever before beheld. Once long ago in Wisconsin I saw the heavens
draped in rich purple auroral clouds fringed and folded in most
magnificent forms; but in this glory of light, so pure, so bright, so
enthusiastic in motion, there was nothing in the least cloud-like.
The short color-bars, apparently about two degrees in height, though
blending, seemed to be as well defined as those of the solar spectrum.
How long these glad, eager soldiers of light held on their way I
cannot tell; for sense of time was charmed out of mind and the
blessed night circled away in measureless rejoicing enthusiasm.
In the early morning after so inspiring a night I launched my canoe
feeling able for anything, crossed the mouth of the Hugh Miller
fiord, and forced a way three or four miles along the shore of the
bay, hoping to reach the Grand Pacific Glacier in front of Mt.
Fairweather. But the farther I went, the ice-pack, instead of showing
inviting little open streaks here and there, became so much harder
jammed that on some parts of the shore the bergs, drifting south with
the tide, were shoving one another out of the water beyond high-tide
line. Farther progress to northward was thus rigidly stopped, and
now I had to fight for a way back to my cabin, hoping that by good
tide luck I might reach it before dark. But at sundown I was less
than half-way home, and though very hungry was glad to land on a
little rock island with a smooth beach for the canoe and a thicket of
alder bushes for fire and bed and a little sleep.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 161 of 163
Words from 84038 to 84552
of 85542
