Before noon on the day after, however, Frank and Conal, who seemed now to be inseparable, climbed to the top of the tobogganing berg, and soon after caught a glimpse of the glorious sun.
Neither could speak for a time, and indeed tears were trickling down Frank's face, which he took no trouble to hide. For, as we have seen before, he was a very impressionable lad.
"Oh, the sun! the sun!" That was all he said, but next minute both were waving their hats to those on board and shouting:
"The sun! the sun!"
And such a cheer uprose from that long-imprisoned ship, as never before probably was heard in these southern regions of perpetual snow and ice.
High above all, the boys could hear the barking of noble Vike.
Yes, but a moment after, and high above even that, across the intervening ice came the wild skirl of Duncan's Highland bagpipe.
Duncan was playing the March of the Cameron Men as he walked boldly up and down in the waist of the ship, while Frank and Conal on the ice-block could not help chiming in with just one verse of that brave old song, which has thrilled so many a heart on bank or brae or battlefield:
"Ah! proudly they march, though each Cameron knows
He may tread on the heather no more,
Yet boldly he follows his chief to the field
Where his laurels were gathered before".
"Yes, Frank, but we shall tread the heather again, sha'n't we, friend?"