“Humph!” growled Captain Duff, “we’ll see what your promises amount to. There is neither food nor water in your boat, and I’ll see that neither you nor those with you get a mouthful of either till ye bring back a load of seals or their skins. You may choose to make your companions suffer for your fool notions, but I rather guess they’ll find a way to make you change your mind. Shove off!”
When the schooner was lost to sight in the fog, Serge rested on his oars, and turning to his friend, asked, “Do you mean to stick it out, Phil?”
“I certainly do not intend to shoot a seal this day,” was the quiet reply.
“Well, then, though I can’t exactly understand your feelings in this matter, I’ll see you through with it, and stand by you to the end, and here’s my hand on it.”
“Thank you, old fellow!” and with the warm handclasp that passed between the two lads the young hunter felt that his cause was won.
“Is it a clear case of conscience with ye, lad?” inquired the mate.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Then ye can count me on your side too; for, as old Kite Roberson uster say, ‘any man as’ll go back on his conscience ain’t no right to call hisself a man,’ and them’s likewise my sentiments.”
In the meantime seals were gambolling about the boat on all sides, and gazing fearlessly at them from the wave crests raised by a rapidly freshening breeze, while the distant sounds of rapid firing told of the work being performed by the other hunters. The occupants of the mate’s boat talked in low tones of their situation and its possible results, while their craft drifted with the wind for nearly an hour.
Suddenly Jalap Coombs lifted his hand for silence, and listened intently for a moment. Then he said, “There’s a screw-steamer bearing down on us, and she’s not far away.”