In a few minutes there was a cry heard, and as the party hastened towards the spot whence it came, they found Davie Summers pointing eagerly to a little snow-hut in the midst of a group of bergs.
With hasty steps they advanced towards it and the captain, with a terrible misgiving at heart, crept in.
“Ah, then, is it yerself, darlint?” were the first words that greeted him.
A loud cheer from those without told that they heard and recognised the words. Immediately two of them crept in, and, striking a light, kindled a lamp, which revealed the careworn forms of their lost comrades stretched on the ground in their sleeping-bags. They were almost exhausted for want of food, but otherwise they were uninjured.
The first congratulations over, the rescue party immediately proceeded to make arrangements for passing the night. They were themselves little better than those whom they had come to save, having performed an uninterrupted march of eighteen hours without food or drink.
It was touching to see the tears of joy and gratitude that filled the eyes of the poor fellows, who had given themselves up for lost as they watched the movements of their comrades while they prepared food for them; and the broken, fitful conversation was mingled strangely with alternate touches of fun and deep feeling, indicating the conflicting emotions that struggled in their breasts.
“I knowed ye would come, Captain; bless you, sir,” said Amos Parr in an unsteady voice.
“Come! Av coorse ye knowed it,” cried O’Riley energetically. “Och, but don’t be long wid the mate, darlints, me stummik’s shut up intirely.”
“There won’t be room for us all here, I’m afraid,” remarked Bolton.
This was true. The hut was constructed to hold six, and it was impossible that ten could sleep in it, although they managed to squeeze in.