“Not if we can catch the seals,” said Steve, with his eyes glued to the glass. “There, I think I can make out one of the fiords now. I say, isn’t it rather funny that west coasts should be so much alike?”
“I don’t understand you, sir.”
“Why, all broken-up into fiords, as you call them. Ireland is, and Scotland, and Norway; then Spitzbergen was, and now this place seems to be the same.”
“Yes, sir; I suppose it’s the beating and washing of the sea.”
“But places like Spitzbergen and this can’t be much beaten by the sea, because they are so much frozen-in. Yes, I can see the inlet now, and the other one, too. North of it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir; those are the two, and there is plenty of open water.”
“Plenty. Shall we tell the captain now?”
“He’s forward talking to the men,” replied Johannes.
“Then we’ll wait. But, I say, about these seals? We shall have to shoot them, I suppose?”
“No, sir, harpoon them; but they are not seals.”