“Yes.”
“Then he’s sure to wait. What’s his hurry, anyhow?”
“I believe he has word of some sealer poaching in the sea, and is going to hunt her.”
“My! won’t it be fun to be on the other side of such an affair? I tell you, we struck big luck when we met the Phoca—in fact, I think this whole cruise, as I look back on it, has been made up of a series of lucky events, even though we haven’t had the fur-seal’s tooth to help us.”
So they talked, in disjointed sentences, as well as their rapid breathing and relative positions would allow, and all the while wielded their dripping paddles with the energy of young athletes striving for a prize.
Finally, Phil stopped paddling, and, half turning, said: “Let us listen a minute, old man. It seems to me we ought to hear the roar of seals on St. Paul by this time. I’m sure we’ve been an hour on the way.” So the lads listened intently, but all they heard was the ceaseless roar and dash of the wind-swept waves.
Under circumstances such as those in which the occupants of the little bidarkie found themselves, there is no sound more depressing and awe-inspiring than this, nor one that conveys more clearly an idea of the immensity and terror of oceans. When it is accompanied by darkness and fog, the effect is so heightened as to be wellnigh unbearable.
As our lads listened to it and felt the chill breath of the wind-driven mist on their cheeks, they shivered, and a great fear began to creep into their hearts.
“This won’t do!” cried Phil. “We must keep at work or we’ll never get there. It is strange, though, that we don’t hear anything. We ought to be almost on the beach by this time. Do you notice how big the waves are? It’s lucky that our course is with them, for they’d be tough fellows to work against, and make an ugly sea to cross.”
For an hour longer they paddled steadily and in dogged silence. Then both paused in their labor as though moved by a single impulse.