So they went home and prepared to set out at dawn of the next day. In the night, the wind swept the whole pack in, to the last lagging pan. The ice was all jammed against the coast––a firm, 86 vast expanse, stretching to the horizon, and held in place by the wind, which continued strong and steady. The men of Fortune Harbour went confidently out to the hunt. At noon, when they were ten miles off the shore, they perceived the approach of a small, black figure.
The meeting came soon afterwards, for the folk of Fortune Harbour, being both curious and quick to respond to need, made haste.
“I say, mister,” said Bagg, briskly, addressing old John Forsyth, “yer ’aven’t got no ’am, ’ave yer?”
The men of Fortune Harbour laughed.
“Or nothink else, ’ave yer?” Bagg continued, hopefully. “I’m a bit ’ungry.”
“Sure, b’y,” said Forsyth. “I’ve a biscuit an’ a bit o’ pork.”
“’Ave yer, now?” said Bagg. “Would yer mind giv–––”
But his hands were already full. A moment later his mouth was in the same condition.
“How’d you come out here?” said Forsyth.
“Swep’ out,” said Bagg. “I say, mister,” he added, between munches, “which way would yer say my ’ome was from ’ere?”