“Hurrah?” cried Ralph. “Now, men, to the rescue. Let us go and meet them, and help them over this sea of boulders.”
In three hours more McBain and party were back in camp, safe and sound, terribly tired, but able to tell all their story.
“We’ve planted the dear old flag as far north as we could get,” said McBain, “and left it there.”
“Ay,” said Rory, “and kissed and blessed it a hundred times over.”
“And but for the accident to the balloon, which we were obliged to abandon, we would have been back long ere now.”
“But we have not seen de open sea around de Pole,” said De Vere.
“No,” said McBain; “there is no such sea; that is all a myth; only the sea of ancient ice, and land, with tall, cone-shaped mountains on it, evidently the remains of extinct volcanoes. Oh! it was a dreary, dreary scene. No signs of life, never a bird or bear, and a silence like the silence of death.”
“It was on one of those hills,” added Rory, “we planted the flag—‘the flag that braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.’ It was a glorious moment, dear Ralph, when we saw that bit of bunting unfurled. How Allan and myself wished you’d been with us. It was so funny, too, because, you see, there was no north, no east, and no west; everything was south of us. The whole world lay down beneath us, as it were, all to the south’ard, and we could walk round the world, so to speak, a dozen times in a minute.”
“Yes, it is curious,” replied Ralph, musing in silence for a moment. Then he stretched out his hand and grasped Rory’s. He did not speak. There was no need, Rory knew well what he meant.
“Now, boys and men,” cried the captain, “we have to return thanks to Him who has safely guided us through all perils into these distant regions, and pray that He may permit us to return in safety to our native land. Let us pray.”