All The Cape Is Forested Save A Narrow Strip About A Mile Long,
Composed Of Large Boulders Against Which The Waves Beat With Loud
Roaring.
A bar of foam a mile or so farther out showed where the
waves were breaking on a submerged
Part of the moraine, and I
supposed that we would be compelled to pass around it in deep water,
but Toyatte, usually so cautious, determined to cross it, and after
giving particular directions, with an encouraging shout every oar and
paddle was strained to shoot through a narrow gap. Just at the most
critical point a big wave heaved us aloft and dropped us between two
huge rounded boulders, where, had the canoe been a foot or two closer
to either of them, it must have been smashed. Though I had offered no
objection to our experienced pilot's plan, it looked dangerous, and I
took the precaution to untie my shoes so they could be quickly shaken
off for swimming. But after crossing the bar we were not yet out of
danger, for we had to struggle hard to keep from being driven ashore
while the waves were beating us broadside on. At length we
discovered a little inlet, into which we gladly escaped. A pure-white
iceberg, weathered to the form of a cross, stood amid drifts of kelp
and the black rocks of the wave-beaten shore in sign of safety and
welcome. A good fire soon warmed and dried us into common comfort.
Our narrow escape was the burden of conversation as we sat around the
fire.
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