Fritz determined to try to capture this bird. He was clever with the lasso, and he thought he might succeed if he made a running noose with one of the boat’s halyards.
A long line was prepared by the boatswain, and Fritz climbed up the promontory as softly as possible.
Everybody watched him.
The bird did not move and Fritz, getting within a few fathoms of it, cast his lasso round its body.
The bird made hardly any attempt to get free when Fritz, who had picked it up in his arms, brought it down to the beach.
Jenny could not restrain a cry of astonishment.
“It is! It is!” she exclaimed, caressing the bird. “I am sure I recognise him!”
“What?” Fritz exclaimed; “you mean——”
“Yes, Fritz, yes! It really is my albatross; my companion on Burning Rock; the one to which I tied the note that fell into your hands.”
Could it be? Was not Jenny mistaken? After three whole years, could that same albatross, which had never returned to the island, have flown to this coast?