"
CHAPTER XVI.
MOSQUITOES OF THE FAR NORTH.
While Cabot gazed eagerly at the lofty but still distant coast towards
which all their hopes were now directed, his companion was casting
anxious glances to the eastward, where a low hanging bank of cloud
betokened an advancing fog. He had good reason to be apprehensive, for
this northern entrance to the gulf of St. Lawrence forms the shortest
route for steamers plying between Canadian and European ports.
Consequently many of them use it during the brief summer season when it
is free from ice. At the same time it is a stormy stretch of water,
tormented by powerful currents, and generally shrouded in fog.
Early in the season countless icebergs, borne southward by the Arctic
current that hugs the Labrador coast, drift aimlessly over its troubled
surface, and even at midsummer it is a passage to be dreaded. White,
being familiar with its many dangers, had good cause for anxiety, as he
saw one of them about to enfold his little craft. He consulted the
compass, took his bearings with the utmost care, and then as Cabot,
finding his view obscured, turned to him with a look of inquiry,
remarked:
"Yes, we are in for it, and you'd better keep a sharp lookout for
steamers. It wouldn't be very pleasant to run one down and sink it,
you know."
"I should say not," responded Cabot as he started for the bow of the
schooner, where, steadying himself by a stay, he peered into the
thickening mist curtain.
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