rince, whose black
eye was ever roving about observantly, told Massan that a storm was
brewing, and that the sooner he put ashore in a convenient spot the
better. But Stanley was anxious to get on, having a long journey before
him, at the termination of which there would be little enough time to
erect a sufficient protection against the winter of the north; so he
continued to advance along shore until they came to a point beyond which
there was a very deep bay that would take them many hours to coast. By
making a traverse, however, in a direct line to the next point, they
might cross it in a much shorter time.

"How say you, Prince? shall we cross?" asked Stanley, as they rested on
their paddles and cast furtive glances up at the dark clouds and across
the still quiet bay.

Prince shook his head. "I fear we won't have time to cross. The clouds
are driving too fast and growin' black."

"Well, then, we had better encamp," said Stanley.--"Is there a proper
place, Massan, hereabouts?"

"No, sir," replied the guide. "The stones on the beach are the only
pillows within six mile o' us."

"Ho! then, forward, boys, make a bold push for it," cried Stanley; "if
it does begin to blow before we're over, we can run back again at all
events."

In another moment the canoes swept out to sea, and made for the point
far ahead like race-horses. Although the clouds continued to gather,
the wind did not rise, and it seemed as though they would get over
easily, when a sudden gust came off the shore--a direction whence, from
the appearance of the clouds, it had not been expected. Ruffling the
surface of the water for a few seconds, it passed away.

"Give way, boys, give way," cried Massan, using his large steering
paddle with a degree of energy that sent the canoe plunging forward.
"We can't go back, an' if the storm bursts off the shore--"

A loud peal of thunder drowned the remainder of the sentence, and in a
few seconds the wind that had been dreaded came whistling violently off
the shore and covered the sea with foam. The waves soon began to rise,
and ere long the frail barks, which were ill calculated to weather a
storm, were careering over them and shipping water at every plunge.

It now became a matter of life and death with them that they should gain
the point, for, deeply loaded as they were, it was impossible that they
could float long in such a sea. It is true that a wind off the shore
does not usually raise what