“Land ho!” This is a cheering cry at times to the mariner. More especially if it be the chalky cliffs of Britain bold, and he is just returning from a long and weary voyage.
It is not so cheering if the ship is out of her course, and the shore looks a forbidding and inhospitable one, and if soon after this shout you hear another “Ready about!”
Nor did the looks of these storm-rent and surf-tormented rocks tend to raise the spirits of the wanderers in the Walrus to a very high degree.
But it was land all the same, and curiosity was excited in the heart of every one. Even Nick and Nora must stand with their paws on the bulwarks, and sniff longingly towards it.
As often as not, these islands or islets are enveloped in rain-clouds, snow-clouds, or fog, the wildest of waves wash their rocky shores, and it can hardly be said that there is a green thing upon them. But the birds love them all the same, and find sustenance in the nesting season in various kinds of algæ or seaweeds, and in the shrimps with which the sea abounds.
A boat or two was lowered, and a landing-place found, and, as usual, observations and soundings were taken. The glass remained high, and there was every prospect of fine weather for a day or two at least, so sea-fishing was gone into with some success, eggs were collected, and made a valuable addition to the larder.
Then the voyage was continued, and the Walrus made in the direction of Marion Island, one of the Prince Edward group, lying in the same latitude.
The wind continued fair for a week, but somewhat ahead.
Then one afternoon it blew a little warmer, and veered more to the north.
“I fear we’re in for a blow,” said Captain Mayne Brace’s acting mate. “Weather looks very dirty, sir, all about. Horizon creeping nearer, wind coming in nasty puffs, sea with a swell on it, and a falling glass, and——”