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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
21
“Oh
no,
Captain
Littlepage,
I
hope
not,”
said
I,
trying
to
soothe
his
feelings.
There
was
a
silence
in
the
schoolhouse,
but
we
could
hear
the
noise
of
the
water
on
a
beach
below.
It
sounded
like
the
strange
warning
wave
that
gives
notice
of
the
turn
of
the
tide.
A
late
golden
robin,
with
the
most
joyful
and
eager
of
voices,
was
singing
close
by
in
a
thicket
of
wild
roses.
VI.
The
Waiting
Place
“HOW
DID
YOU
manage
with
the
rest
of
that
rough
voyage
on
the
Minerva?”
I
asked.
“I
shall
be
glad
to
explain
to
you,”
said
Captain
Littlepage,
forgetting
his
grievances
for
the
moment.
“If
I
had
a
map
at
hand
I
could
explain
better.
We
were
driven
to
and
fro
'way
up
toward
what
we
used
to
call
Parry's
Discoveries,
and
lost
our
bearings.
It
was
thick
and
foggy,
and
at
last
I
lost
my
ship;
she
drove
on
a
rock,
and
we
managed
to
get
ashore
on
what
I
took
to
be
a
barren
island,
the
few
of
us
that
were
left
alive.
When
she
first
struck,
the
sea
was
somewhat
calmer
than
it
had
been,
and
most
of
the
crew,
against
orders,
manned
the
long-boat
and
put
off
in
a
hurry,
and
were
never
heard
of
more.
Our
own
boat
upset,
but
the
carpenter
kept
himself
and
me
above
water,
and
we
drifted
in.
I
had
no
strength
to
call
upon
after
my
recent
fever,
and
laid
down
to
die;
but
he
found
the
tracks
of
a
man
and
dog
the
second
day,
and
got
along
the
shore
to
one
of
those
far
missionary
stations
that
the
Moravians
support.
They
were
very
poor
themselves,
and
in
distress;
'twas
a
useless
place.
There
were
but
few
Esquimaux
left
in
that
region.
There
we
remained
for
some
time,
and
I
became
acquainted
with
strange
events.”
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