The Record Union

His Boat Drifts Off and Leaves Him Without Food or Shelter—Rescued on Friday Night.

Three days and nights on an island, without food or shelter, and with death from starvation staring him in the face, would be an ordeal that few men could pass through and retain their reason. There is a young man in this city, however, who safely went through such an experience last week, but he admits that he doesn't want to try it again.

His name is Barnard Keller, and in the wild fowl season he follows the occupation of hunting ducks and geese for the market. Last Tuesday he concluded to go on a wild-goose hunt to what is known as Lone Tree Island, a piece of ground a few acres in extent that rises above the inland sea lying between the Marysville road and the Sacramento River, north of the city.

The locality is some three miles from the mainland, and is a favorite hunting-ground in the early fall, when the great basin about it is dry and hunters can drive there in vehicles. After the river rises, however, in the winter or early spring, and the water flows through the numerous breaks in the levee upon the great stretch of low land about Fishermen's Lake, that whole country, from the Rancho del Paso to the river, becomes an inland sea for many miles in extent. It is commonly known as the "Overflow."

Keller went to the Flint ranch on Tuesday, on the Yolo side of the river, to get a young man there to accompany him on his proposed day's excursion. Young Flint could not get away, however, and Keller concluded to go alone.

The wind was blowing quite strong from the north, and as the water sometimes becomes very rough on the overflow he wisely decided to leave his duck-boat at the Flint ranch and make the trip in a larger skiff capable of riding out any sea that might be encountered.

Arriving at the island, he pulled his skiff partly upon the land, got out his ammunition and laid it on the ground a few feet from the water's edge, put enough in his pockets for a few hours' use, and set out for the other side of the island.

The geese were not flying well that day, and after an unsuccessful hunt he decided on returning early to the city. In the mean time a heavy wind had come up, lashing the sea into white-caps and driving down the water from the north, until, aided by the waves, it had encroached several feet upon that side of the island where the boat had been left unmoored.

To the young hunter's dismay, he arrived at the spot only to find that the waves had floated his boat off the shore, and looking out over the wide stretch of water he saw it bobbing on the waves half a mile off and drifting rapidly before the wind!

Keller did not sit down and wonder what he should do. There was but one thing to be done. He knew he could not reach the mainland without a boat, and it might be days and weeks, even months, before anyone would happen that way, and there he was without food or shelter.

So he undertook to swim out to the boat, hoping that he might be able to overtake it. He says he swam nearly a mile, but finding that the craft was drifting before the wind nearly as fast as he could swim, he gave up the pursuit and returned to the island nearly dead from exhaustion.

He had only a light pocket-lunch with him, but he determined to make that go as far as possible. His ammunition was mostly ruined by the water, and he was therefore unable to kill game enough to last him any length of time.

The situation was appalling, and would have unnerved most men, but the young hunter was stout of heart, and resolved not to give up while a ray of hope remained. It was a dismal night he passed, with no more cheerful sound to comfort him through the long and dreary hours than the monotonous hooting of a few owls, and the steady swash of the turbulent waters beating against the shores of the bleak and wind-swept little island on which he was imprisoned.

Nor was his personal danger all that disturbed him, for he knew that back in the little family home on the bank of the river a mother, sister and brothers were also passing a sleepless night through fear that evil had overtaken him.

On the following morning—cold, hungry and weary—he looked about the island, in the hope that during the night the gale that had deprived him of his boat might have made partial recompense therefor by bringing some vagrant logs or timbers to the island with which he might construct some sort of raft that would bear him to the shore.

But the search was in vain. Nothing but a few small branches or rotten sticks could be found, and Keller realized that his only hope was that some other venturesome hunter might come along, or that his absence might cause friends at home to send out a relief party in search of him.

All day long he scanned the sea that surrounded him, but no friendly craft came in sight. He could see the mainland three miles off, and knew that people were traveling to and fro along the highway, but there was no way by which he could attract the attention of anyone.

Wednesday night came and passed, but Thursday morning brought no succor, while he felt himself growing weak and faint from hunger. His little stock of eatables was exhausted on Wednesday, and it looked as if starvation would come upon him before he could get relief.

The family at home did not know in what direction Keller had gone, nor did they know that he had visited the Flint ranch in Yolo on the morning he set out. For this reason they were at a loss what to do, but continued to hope that the wanderer had fallen in with friends somewhere and that he would show up all right.

When Friday came Mrs. Keller could endure the suspense no longer, so her other son and daughter got a boat of R. B. White of Washington and went out in search of the missing hunter. They did not think of going to the island, however, and therefore found no trace of him.

Then the family sent word to the Flints that Barnard was missing, and that afternoon young Flint set out to search for his friend. He knew that Keller had intended going to Lone Tree Island, so he made direct for that point.

And there he found the young hunter, more dead than alive, after exposure to the hot sun and cold night winds for three full days, two of which had been passed without food.

When Flint arrived at the island Keller, weak as he was, was trying to make a raft of stray sticks and limbs he had gathered about the water's edge, on which he intended making a desperate effort to cross the choppy sea that rolled between him and the mainland. It was necessarily a flimsy affair, and had Keller set out upon it in his weak condition he would surely have been drowned.

He has now almost recovered from the effects of his adventure, but the memory of those three days of suffering and anxiety will remain with him while he lives.