A windy day on the big lake.
Reprinted from The
Weirs Times
Originally Printed in The Granite Monthly - May, 1910 edition
by Ilga E. Herrick
One October, my uncle and I were staying at The Weirs,
a popular vacation resort on Lake Winnipesaukee. Most of
the summer visitors had gone home, and after its short period
of bright activity, the little place was settling back into
the winter
dullness. So, in order to keep from being bored to death,
we went on frequent excursions by land or water, carrying
with us
enough food for a meal or two. Most of these picnics have
merged into a pleasant but indistinct recollection.
One, however, stands out in my memory with startling vividness.
On a bright, breezy morning, we rowed out of Weirs bay
to a pretty little island, which we explored leisurely.
In a sunny nook
on the further side, we ate a hearty lunch, with appetites
sharpened by the breeze. After resting an hour or two, we
recrossed the island. What was our surprise and dismay on
finding that the breeze had increased to a stiff gale, striking
on our island with full force! To return to The Weirs in
our frail boat was entirely out of the question; but we
hoped that the wind would go down with the sun. So we went
back to our sheltered nook and tried to wait patiently.
For several hours, we “sped the time with stories
old, wrought puzzles out and riddles told”; but still
the wind howled and raged away at our island. Soon darkness
fell, and it became evident that we must spend the night
where we were. Fortunately, we had a little luncheon left,
and with that we satisfied the worst of our hunger. Then
we sought out as protected
a spot as there was on our wind-swept bit of land, and there
made beds of hemlock boughs.
The chill of that late October night by the lake was like
that of a Boston winter. Suddenly my uncle, who was rubbing
his hands briskly, exclaimed: “Well, little girl,
what’s the use of freezing to death? Let’s make
a fire.” The suggestion met with entire approval,
and we quickly gathered a large quantity of dead wood and
pine cones. As I was arranging them, I heard a sharp whistle,
and on looking up, saw my uncle diving into one pocket after
another, with growing dismay on his face. Finally he found
two matches in his very last pocket. He regarded them with
mingled joy and apprehension.
“Well, my dear,” he drawled, “if these
things won’t go, we’ll have the distinction
of freezing to death in October, after all!”
I tried to smile at his melancholy joke, but the chattering
of my teeth prevented. He bent over the pile, with his back
to the
wind so as to shelter the precious flame, and struck one
of the matches. A puff of wind-the light flickered and went
out! I held my breath while he tried the second. Oh joy!
It lit, and soon the pine cones were crackling merrily.
With rising spirits, we huddled close to the cheery blaze
and warmed our blue hands.
Soon I grew drowsy, and my generous companion threw his
coat over me and wished me pleasant dreams. Before long,
I fell into a light slumber, in the intervals of which I
was dimly conscious that the wind was shrieking wildly,
and that Uncle was pacing to and fro, beating his arms and
stamping his feet.
At midnight, according to a promise that I had extorted
from him, he woke me; for I was to watch the fire till three.
The numbing influence of the cold quickly put him to sleep;
and I sat cowering over the fire, comforted in my loneliness
by his loud, cheerful snoring. As I was thinking wistfully
of my cozy bedroom at the hotel, a sudden stray blast from
a new direction caught the embers and in a second snuffed
out our precious flame. My cry of dismay roused Uncle and
he stared sleepily, first at the faintly glowing ashes,
then, in surprise, at me. For, cold and miserable as I was,
I had begun to sob wildly: “It wasn’t my fault
truly, Uncle! The wind - But the blessed man cut me short
by kissing me, and patting my shoulder he said: “‘There,
it’s only three hours or so till light, and then home
for The Weirs and breakfast! The wind’s going down.”
Sure enough, there was a pleasant lull in the gale, and
with it came a little moderation of the cold; so that by
alternating rest with vigorous walking, we managed to pass
the rest of the night.
With the first light we crossed the island toward our boat;
but on reaching the top of the little knoll beneath which
we had found shelter, we were greatly disappointed to find
that the wind, instead of having died down, had merely changed
its direction somewhat, so that it now blew straight down
the lake, with an uninterrupted sweep of fifteen miles.
Uncle looked doubtful, but my downcast face, and the thought
of breakfast at The Weirs, settled the matter.
“I’ll get you there, girlie, if it breaks my
back,” he said with determination. We put off from
land, and immediately the battle began. I crouched in the
bottom of the boat, and watched Uncle straining away with
all his strength, his face set, the big muscles in his arms
swelling with his powerful strokes. Suddenly, he stopped
and gave a quick glance around. “I can’t make
it!” he shouted above the roaring of wind and waves.
“Our only chance is in gaining Welsh Island.”
Our only chance! It seemed a queer expression, and while
he began rowing again, before the wind, I pondered over
the
words. Chance for what’? All at once I understood-he
meant a chance for life! He had found it impossible even
to keep headed for The Weirs, it was equally out of the
question to return to the island; and we were now being
swept surely and with terrifying rapidity- straight toward
the Broads. In that most dreaded section of the lake, where
no island offers shelter, a frail craft like ours could
not live in the tremendous sea.
Welsh Island lay to the right of the course along which
we were being driven; and to turning the boat in that direction
Uncle
now bent all his energy. Soon I could see the high land
in the middle of Welsh Island, still at our right, and coming
to be more nearly in front-but oh! so slowly! I clenched
my hands and prayed despairingly.
Suddenly, a terrific blast struck us, and we shot ahead
with fearful speed. I had just time to see the point of
Welsh Island come alongside a rod away. Then it was left
behind, and with it, our “last chance!” I shut
my eyes with a sickening sense of horror and utter despair.
Instantly, I felt Uncle’s strong arms around me and
the next moment we were in the water! I gasped and tried
to struggle but he held me fast; and before I knew what
had happened, he was wading out on the beach. We were saved!
Standing then on the shore, in safety, we turned, by common
impulse, to see our boat. It was already far out, upside
down and tossing like an eggshell on the huge waves. We
realized then what our fate must have been, had not Uncle
jumped at the right moment. With a shudder of horror at
the thought, I clung to him, and, now that the danger was
all over, began to cry. Indeed, I had good excuse for tears,
not only because of past dangers but also for present wretchedness;
for we were wet, shivering with cold, and without food or
shelter. There is now a good-sized house on the island;
but then there was only an abandoned hut, tightly closed.
We knew that no boats were likely to come by upon pleasure
trips that blustering day. We were virtually marooned on
a desert island.
Uncle rose to the occasion splendidly. At the suggestion
we walked about briskly, letting the sun and wind dry our
clothes; and all the while he kept up a running fire of
cheerful nonsense, making sundry allusions to Robinson Crusoe,
and laughing heartily at his own jokes. In the midst of
a merry ‘ Ha, ha.’ he broke off and pointed
toward the mainland, crying out: “ My dear, we are
rescued! There’s a launch!”
Sure enough, a little boat was coming, heading for the
rocky side of the island, and signaling from time to time.
I laughed and cried, I was so happy at the prospect of rescue.
But when the boat was opposite us, it stopped, and a commotion
began on board. We could see the men gesticulating in a
way that indicated that they were calling to us, but their
voices were
drowned in the thunder of the waves on the rocky shore.
“They can’t make a landing,” groaned
Uncle. “The wind would drive them on the rocks on
this side of the island and sweep them out to the Broads
on the other.”
“But they can’t be going to leave us!”
I cried aghast.
This, however, they were forced to do, and with sinking
hearts we watched them beat slowly across the waves, back
to The Weirs. This time, Uncle had no jest ready. His own
disappointment was too keen to be laughed off. With a very
grave face, he walked slowly along the beach, leaving me
to gaze longingly at the shore of the mainland.
My unhappy meditations were interrupted by a joyful cry,
and I saw Uncle running up with a large zink cask in his
arms. “See,” he called, “they set this
afloat, and it landed at the very lip of the point. There’s
food in it for an army!”
I jumped up, clapping my hands in a very abandon of glee;
for aside from the trifling remnant eaten the night before,
we had tasted no food for over thirty hours. What a feast
we had - somewhat water-soaked, to be sure, but as delicious
to us as if it had been the food of the gods.
For a time, we forgot cold and lack of shelter, but the
quick descent of the darkness brought our plight home to
us all too soon. The wind, it is true, had largely gone
down; but on the other hand we had no fire. On the piazza
of the cottage, I passed another wretched night, relieved
only by the warmth of Uncle’s affection and the genial
glow of his unfailing humor.
In the early morning, however, we were awakened from fitful
sleep by a shouting from the Shore. Our would be rescuers
of
the day before had returned. Before long, we were drinking
steaming hot tea in a cozy room at the hotel, while an interested
group of listeners heard the tale of our “picnic gone
wrong.”