That evening Browne realized his long-felt wish. He and Katherine promenaded the deck together, as the yacht sped on its way, across the seas, towards their goal, and talked for hours together of their hopes and aspirations. When at last she and Madame Bernstein bade the gentlemen good-night, the latter adjourned to the smoking-room to discuss their plan of action. Maas had been evidently thinking the matter over, for he was prepared with one or two new suggestions, which struck the company as being eminently satisfactory. So sincere was he, and so anxious to be of service, that when at last they bade each other good-night, and he had retired below, Jimmy turned to Browne, who was standing beside the bulwark, and said:—
"Jack, old boy, I believe, after all, that I've done that man an injustice. I do think now that he is really anxious to do what he can."
"I'm glad indeed to hear you say so," Browne rejoined; "for I'm sure he is most anxious to be of use. Forgive me if I was a bit sharp to you this afternoon. I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you for all your kindness."
"Fiddlesticks!" muttered Jimmy. "There's no talk of kindness between us."
Fourteen days after leaving Yokohama, and a little before sunset, those on board the yacht caught their first glimpse of the Russian island, of which they had come in search. At first it was scarcely discernible; then, little by little, it grew larger, until its steep and abrupt rocks could be distinctly seen, with a far-away line of distant mountain-peaks, stretching to the northward.
Katharine, Madame Bernstein, and the three young men were upon the bridge at the time. Browne, who held his sweetheart's hand, could feel her trembling. Madame Bernstein appeared by far the most excited of the group. Advanced though the time of year was, the air was bitterly cold. But, for once in a way, the Yezo Strait, usually so foggy, was now devoid even of a vestige of vapour. The season was a late one, and for some hours they had been passing packs of drift ice; but as they closed up on the land it could be seen lying in thick stacks along the shore.
"That is Cape Siretoko," said Browne. "It is the most southerly point of Saghalien."
CHAPTER XXV
Three weeks had elapsed since that memorable afternoon, when the party on board the yacht, had obtained their first glimpse of the island of Saghalien. In pursuance of the plan MacAndrew had revealed to him in Hong-kong, Browne had left his companions upon the vessel, and for upwards of forty-eight hours had domiciled himself in a small log-hut on the northern side of the Bay of Kroptskoi, awaiting news of the man whom they had come so far, and undertaken so much, to rescue. It was the night of full moon, and the scene which Browne had before him, as he stood, wrapped up in his furs, outside the door of the hut, was as miserable as a man could well desire to become acquainted with. The settlement, as I have said, was located at the northern end of a small bay, and had once consisted of upwards of six huts, built upon a slight eminence, having at its foot a river still ice-bound. At the back rose a still more precipitous hill, densely clothed with taiga, or forest. So impenetrable, indeed, was it, that even the wolf and bear found a difficulty in making their way through it. To the right, and almost unobservable from the huts, was a track that once connected with the coal-mines of Dui, but was now overgrown and scarcely to be distinguished from the virgin forest on either side.