When
glancing toward the south I saw a dark streak stretching from shore to
shore across the bay; the ice had parted and the wind was carrying it
out toward the open lake. In an instant I had wound up my hook-line,
picked up my hatchet and snow-shoes, which I put on my feet, and
hurried--the others following my example--toward the nearest point of
land, yonder where the light-house stands. The wind was increasing and
we traveled as fast as we could. There we arrived at the very edge of
the ice, a streak of water about one hundred yards in width extending
northward along the shore as far as we could see. What to begin
with, nothing but a single hatchet? We were in a bad situation. Well,
something had to be done. I measured off a square piece on the ice and
began cutting it off with the hatchet, a hard and tedious labor. The
ice was only eight inches thick, but slush and water covered it to the
depth of a foot. I soon had my mittens and trowsers wringing wet and
began to feel cold and tired. The old Gabiwabikoke was in a worse
state than I. His son next took the hatchet and we all worked by
turns. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when we finished
our work. With the help of our snow-shoes (stemming their tail-ends
against the edge of the solid ice), we succeeded in pushing off our
raft. Turning our snow-shoes the other way (using their tails as
handles), we commenced paddling with them toward the shore. It was a
very slow progress, as the wind drifted us outward continually. John
Baptist managed to twist our three hook-lines into a strong cord, and
tying the hooks together in the shape of an anchor, he threw it out
toward the shore. Hauling in the line the hooks dragged over the
smooth rock bottom and would not catch. Repeated trials were of
no avail. We all resumed our former attempt and paddled away with
increased energy. The day was drawing near its close, and we began to
feel the cold more bitterly. Gabiwabikoke was suffering badly from its
effects and was entirely played out. We had already drifted more than
a mile beyond the light-house point. John Baptist and I continued
paddling steadily and vigorously, and felt relieved and encouraged
when we saw the shore draw near and nearer. The ice-field, by this
time, was miles away to the northeast, and a sea was getting up. At
last, just when the sun was setting, only a few yards separated us
from the shore; three more paddle-strokes and our raft ran up against
the