“We’ll go there and see,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder, roused into a new activity by the ray of hope thus skilfully brought to bear on the situation by Jalap Coombs.
“Besides,” continued the mate, “the lads has a chance of being picked up by every one of the vessels cruising in these waters, of which there is a plenty—men-o’-war, whalers, revenoo-cutters, company ships, and the like, to say nothing of seal-poachers and walrus-hunters.”
Thus it was decided that the Philomel should continue her search to the northward, and Mr. Ryder was in a feverish state of anxiety until they were again off. Before starting, he promised the inspector that, however their search might result, they would return to the Pribyloffs and report.
Two weeks later they did so. They had been to St. Matthew, where countless numbers of polar bears may be seen at all seasons, and where an outlying cone of basalt rises sheer a thousand feet from the sea, and like a huge chimney pours forth an unbroken column of black smoke. They had visited the savage walrus-hunters of Nunivack, and they had returned to the place from which they started without having discovered a trace of or heard a word from the missing lads.
Now, with hope wellnigh extinguished in his bosom, though still lingering as a faint spark, John Ryder came ashore to make his last inquiry. If he heard nothing here, hope would indeed be dead. He wondered slightly at the unusual throng gathered on the beach to welcome them. Suddenly his despair, wonder, and all other feelings were merged in an overwhelming joy; for, while they were still some distance off, a clear, ringing voice shouted out:
“We have heard from them, and they are safe!”
“Didn’t I tell ye it would turn out same as old Kite Roberson allers said?” remarked Jalap Coombs, in a tone of quiet exultation.