Some of the men who had faced the dangers to which they had been exposed with firm nerves and unblanched cheeks, now grew pale, and trembled violently, for they actually believed that the spirits of their lost shipmates had come to haunt them. But these superstitious fears were soon put to flight by the hearty voice of the harpooner, who shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog as he came up, and exclaimed—
“Why, wot on airth has brought ye all here?”
“I think we may say, what has brought you here?” replied the captain, as he grasped them each by the hand and shook them with as much energy as if he had not met them for ten years past.
“It’s aisy to tell that,” said Briant, as he crouched down in the midst of the group; “Tim and me wos blow’d right across the bank, an’ we should no doubt ha’ bin blow’d right into the sea, but Tim went full split agin one o’ the casks o’ salt junk, and I went slap agin him, and we lay for a moment all but dead. Then we crep’ in the lee o’ the cask, an’ lay there till a lull came, when we clapped on all sail, an’ made for the shelter o’ the rocks, an’ shure we got there niver a taste too soon, for it came on to blow the next minit, fit to blow the eyelids off yer face, it did.”
“It’s a fact,” added Rokens. “Moreover, we tried to git round to the hut, but as we wos twice nearly blowed away w’en we tried for to double the point, we ’greed to stay where we wos till the back o’ the gale should be broke. But, now, let’s hear wot’s happened.”
“The hut’s gone,” said Gurney, in reply. “Blowed clean over our heads to—I dun know where.”
“Blowed away?” cried Rokens and Briant, in consternation.
“Not a stick left,” replied the captain.
“An’ the boat?” inquired Briant.
“It’s gone too, I fancy; but we can’t be sure.”