which engulfed everything and required frantic bailing. The
Afton
pitched and rolled through a nasty six minutes with everyone grabbing for whatever he could reach, but Luton refused to panic, and soon had the little craft righted.
But they had been so beat about that all agreed they should find some projection of land behind which to shelter, and as night approached they spotted a cove protected by spindly trees, and when they neared the shore they saw that another craft, less fortunate than theirs, had been swamped by the storm and thrown upon the rocks, a shattered wreck.
“No one can be alive,” Luton said as he surveyed the mournful scene, but when they drew closer they saw one lone figure standing beside the wreckage, signaling frantically, and as the prow of the
Afton
beached itself, Philip uttered a joyous cry: “It’s the girl from Dakota!” and he leaped ashore to rush toward her as she stood shivering in her drenched uniform. Distraught, she did not recognize him, but realizing that he had come to save her, she threw herself into his arms.
When Lord Luton gently took her away, she told in sobs and whimpers of the disaster that had overtaken their craft: “Two long days ago…fearful storm…worse than today…Steno guided well but we didn’t know…When the boat started to break up their first shout was ‘Save Irina’ and they threw me ashore…none of them made it…” Her voice trailed off, and despite the fact that Luton was trying to hold her, she slipped through his arms and onto the beach, all fortitude gone.
Harry took charge, washing her stained face with lake water while she was still unconscious, then drying her forehead with his sleeve. He directed the others to search the beach to see if any bodies or gear had washed ashore, but there were none. Even before she revived he had the others considering what garments of their own they could lend this castaway, and by the time he had gently slapped her back into consciousness he had arranged for her rejuvenation. When she saw the gifts and realized that she was indeed saved, she broke into tears and asked: “How can I dress?” and she indicated the five men clustered about her, and Harry said in a fatherly voice: “I’m married. I have a daughter. I’ll ask the others to go over there,” and he helped her slip into dry clothing.
When she moved to the beach fire that Fogarty had started, she clasped with two pale hands the mug of tea Trevor Blythe prepared and told her pitiful story: “Little money, great hopes. Farming in Dakota poor, poor.
A ton of gold…
We saw it in the paper and went crazy…”
“And you ended up,” Luton asked, interrupting, “on the beach alone for two nights?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing…nothing washed ashore?”
“Terrible storm. Everything lost, you can see that.”
“How did you get to Edmonton in the first place?” Harry asked, but she avoided the question: “At Athabasca those four nice Germans. We hadn’t much money, but they let us have a boat. Not a big one. None of us had ever sailed a boat before, they gave us lessons, and they sold it to us for almost nothing.” She hesitated. “One of the Germans begged me not to go. Said it would be too rough. Told me to go back home, and as we sailed away he crossed himself.”
“What did you do when you first realized your plight?” Luton asked, always concerned with human response to disaster, and she said: “I cried, I prayed for Steno. I became aware that I had no dry clothes, no food…was completely alone.”
“I mean, what did you do then?” and she replied with that solidity of character Philip had noticed that first night when he saw her steelset eyes: “I told myself ‘Don’t panic. Either they’ll find you or they won’t.’ And I jumped up and down trying to keep warm.”
“Did you panic?”
“About dawn today. Night didn’t scare me, but when I saw daylightand realized that no one knew where I was, I thought maybe I’d
Afton
pitched and rolled through a nasty six minutes with everyone grabbing for whatever he could reach, but Luton refused to panic, and soon had the little craft righted.
But they had been so beat about that all agreed they should find some projection of land behind which to shelter, and as night approached they spotted a cove protected by spindly trees, and when they neared the shore they saw that another craft, less fortunate than theirs, had been swamped by the storm and thrown upon the rocks, a shattered wreck.
“No one can be alive,” Luton said as he surveyed the mournful scene, but when they drew closer they saw one lone figure standing beside the wreckage, signaling frantically, and as the prow of the
Afton
beached itself, Philip uttered a joyous cry: “It’s the girl from Dakota!” and he leaped ashore to rush toward her as she stood shivering in her drenched uniform. Distraught, she did not recognize him, but realizing that he had come to save her, she threw herself into his arms.
When Lord Luton gently took her away, she told in sobs and whimpers of the disaster that had overtaken their craft: “Two long days ago…fearful storm…worse than today…Steno guided well but we didn’t know…When the boat started to break up their first shout was ‘Save Irina’ and they threw me ashore…none of them made it…” Her voice trailed off, and despite the fact that Luton was trying to hold her, she slipped through his arms and onto the beach, all fortitude gone.
Harry took charge, washing her stained face with lake water while she was still unconscious, then drying her forehead with his sleeve. He directed the others to search the beach to see if any bodies or gear had washed ashore, but there were none. Even before she revived he had the others considering what garments of their own they could lend this castaway, and by the time he had gently slapped her back into consciousness he had arranged for her rejuvenation. When she saw the gifts and realized that she was indeed saved, she broke into tears and asked: “How can I dress?” and she indicated the five men clustered about her, and Harry said in a fatherly voice: “I’m married. I have a daughter. I’ll ask the others to go over there,” and he helped her slip into dry clothing.
When she moved to the beach fire that Fogarty had started, she clasped with two pale hands the mug of tea Trevor Blythe prepared and told her pitiful story: “Little money, great hopes. Farming in Dakota poor, poor.
A ton of gold…
We saw it in the paper and went crazy…”
“And you ended up,” Luton asked, interrupting, “on the beach alone for two nights?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing…nothing washed ashore?”
“Terrible storm. Everything lost, you can see that.”
“How did you get to Edmonton in the first place?” Harry asked, but she avoided the question: “At Athabasca those four nice Germans. We hadn’t much money, but they let us have a boat. Not a big one. None of us had ever sailed a boat before, they gave us lessons, and they sold it to us for almost nothing.” She hesitated. “One of the Germans begged me not to go. Said it would be too rough. Told me to go back home, and as we sailed away he crossed himself.”
“What did you do when you first realized your plight?” Luton asked, always concerned with human response to disaster, and she said: “I cried, I prayed for Steno. I became aware that I had no dry clothes, no food…was completely alone.”
“I mean, what did you do then?” and she replied with that solidity of character Philip had noticed that first night when he saw her steelset eyes: “I told myself ‘Don’t panic. Either they’ll find you or they won’t.’ And I jumped up and down trying to keep warm.”
“Did you panic?”
“About dawn today. Night didn’t scare me, but when I saw daylightand realized that no one knew where I was, I thought maybe I’d
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