Cabot had learned from Dr. Aspland of White's arrival at Battle Harbour two months before, with a leg so badly wrenched by slipping into an ice crevice that he had gone to the hospital for treatment, but had expected that he would long ere this have taken his departure. At the same time White had, of course, given up all hope of ever again seeing the friend to whom he had become so deeply attached. He had been terribly cut up over Cabot's disappearance on the night of the blizzard, and, with the faithful Yim, had spent days in searching for him. They had gone back to the timber, only to find the Indian camp deserted, and that its recent occupants had made a hasty departure. Finally they had given over the hopeless search and had sadly continued their southward journey.
Now to again behold Cabot alive and well filled poor White with such joyful amazement that for some minutes he could not frame an intelligent sentence. He flew down to where the new arrival still struggled with his hauling gear, and flung himself so impulsively upon him that both rolled over in the snow. There, with gasping exclamations of delight, they wrestled themselves into a mood of comparative calmness that enabled them to regain their feet and begin to ask questions.
For some time White had been sufficiently recovered to resume his journey, had an opportunity offered for so doing, but, as none had come to him, he had earned his board by acting as nurse in the hospital. If he had been anxious to depart before, he was doubly so now that he had regained his comrade, and Cabot fully shared his impatience of further delay. But how they were to reach the coast of Newfoundland they could not imagine. It would still be many weeks before vessels of any kind could be expected at Battle Harbour, and they had no money with which to undertake the expensive journey by way of Quebec.
"If only the ocean would freeze over, we could walk home!" exclaimed Cabot one day, as the two friends sat gloomily discussing their prospects. And then that very thing came to pass.
A dog sledge arrived from Forteau, that same evening, bringing a wounded man to the hospital for treatment, and its driver reported the Strait of Belle Isle as being so solidly packed with ice that several persons had traversed it from shore to shore.
"If others have made the trip, why can't we?" cried Cabot.
"I am willing to try it, if you are," replied White, and by daylight of the following morning the impatient lads were on their way up the coast in search of the ice bridge to Newfoundland. Cabot had traded his electric flashlight for a supply of provisions sufficient to load his sled, which they took turns at hauling, and four days after leaving Battle Harbour they reached L'Anse au Loup. At that point the strait is only a dozen miles wide, and there, if anywhere, they could cross it. It was midday when they came to the winter huts of L'Anse au Loup, and they had intended remaining in one of them over night, but a short conversation with its owner caused them to change their plans.
"Yas, there be solid pack clear to ither side all right," he said, "but happen it 'll go out any time. Fust change o' wind 'll loose it, and one's to be looked for. Ah wouldn't resk it on no account mahself, but if Ah had it to do, Ah'd go in a hurry 'ithout wasting no time."
"It is a case of necessity with us," said Cabot.
"Yes," agreed White, "we simply must go, and the quicker we set about it the better. If we make haste I believe we can get across by dark."
Thus determined, and disregarding a further expostulation from the fisherman, our lads set their faces resolutely towards the confusion of hummocks, "pans," floes tilted on edge, and up-reared masses of blue ice forming the "strait's pack" of that season. Five minutes later they were lost to sight amid the frozen chaos.
"Wal," soliloquized the man left standing on shore, "Ah 'opes they'll make it, but it's a fearsome resk, an' Gawd 'elp 'em if come a shift o' wind afore they're over."
Nothing, in all their previous experience of Labrador travel, had equalled the tumultuous ruggedness of the way by which Cabot and White were now attempting to bridge that boisterous arm of the stormy northern ocean, and to advance at all taxed their strength to the utmost. To transport their laden sled was next to impossible, but they dared not leave it behind, and with their progress thus impeded they were barely half way to the Newfoundland coast when night overtook them. Even though the gathering darkness had not compelled a halt, their utter exhaustion would have demanded a rest. For an hour White had been obliged to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out with the pain of his weakened, and now overstrained, ankle, and when Cabot announced that it was no use trying to get further before morning, he sank to the ice with a groan.
Full of sympathy for his comrade's suffering, the Yankee lad at once set to work to make him as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and soon had him lying on a sleeping bag, in a niche formed by two uptilted slabs of ice. Profiting by past experience, they had procured and brought with them an Eskimo lamp with its moss wick, a small quantity of seal oil, and a supply of matches, so that, after a while, Cabot procured enough boiling water to furnish a small pot of tea. When they had eaten their simple meal of tea, hard bread, and pemmican, White's ankle was bathed with water as hot as he could bear it, and then the weary lads turned in for such sleep as their cheerless quarters might yield. About midnight the wind that had for many days blown steadily from the eastward changed to northwest, and, with the coming of daylight, it was blowing half a gale from that direction.
To Cabot this change meant little or nothing, and he was suggesting that they remain where they were until White's leg should be thoroughly rested, when the other interrupted him with:
"But we can't stay here. Don't you feel the change of wind?"
"What of it?" asked Cabot.
"Oh, nothing at all, only that it will drive the ice out to sea, and, if we haven't reached land before it begins to move, we'll go with it."
"You don't mean it!" cried Cabot, now thoroughly alarmed. "In that case we'd best get a move on in a hurry. Do you think your leg will stand the trip?"
"It will have to," rejoined White, grimly; and a few minutes later they had resumed the toilsome progress that was now a race for life. But it was a snail's race, for the task of moving the sled had devolved entirely upon Cabot, White having all he could do to drag himself along. Each step gave him such exquisite pain that, by the time they had accomplished a couple of miles, he was crawling on hands and knees.
Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was in plain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spoken when there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a sound of crashing and grinding not to be mistaken.
"The ice is moving!" gasped White.
"Then," said Cabot bravely, "we'll move too. Come on, old man. We'll leave the sled, and I'll get you ashore even if I have to carry you. It isn't so very far now."
With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned to assist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice pale and motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, White had fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the shore, remain beside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and save himself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the first plan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden, and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second into execution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements as his slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The third plan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed as unworthy of consideration.
In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, and splitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length, Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion. By the time White recovered consciousness, a broad lane of black water had opened between that place and the Newfoundland coast, while others could be seen in various directions.
"What are you doing?" asked White, feebly, after he had struggled back to a knowledge of passing events, and had, for some minutes, been watching his friend's movements.
"Building an igloo," answered Cabot, cheerily. "We might as well be comfortable while we can, and though my hut won't have the architectural beauty that Yim could give it, I believe it will keep us warm."
It would have been more than easy, and perfectly natural, under the circumstances, to give way to utter despair; for of the several hopeless situations in which our lads had been placed during the past few months, the present was, by far, the worst. At any moment the ice beneath them might open and drop them into fathomless waters. Even if it held fast, they were certainly being carried out to sea, where they would be exposed to furious gales that must ultimately work their destruction. In spite of all this, Cabot Grant insisted on remaining hopefully cheerful. He said he had squeezed out of just as tight places before, and believed he would get out of this one somehow. At any rate, as crying wouldn't help it, he wasn't going to cry. Besides all sorts of things might happen. They might drift ashore somewhere or into the track of passing steamers. Wouldn't it be fine to be picked up and carried straight to New York? If steamers failed them, they were almost certain to sight fishing boats sooner or later.
"Yes," added White, catching some of his companion's hopefulness, "or we may meet with the sealers who leave St. Johns about this time every year and hunt seals on the ice pack off shore."
"Of course," agreed the other. "So what's the use of worrying?"
In spite of the brave front and cheerful aspect that Cabot maintained before his helpless comrade, he often broke down when off by himself, vainly straining his eyes from the summit of some ice hummock for any hopeful sign, and acknowledged that their situation was indeed desperate.
That first night, spent sleeplessly and in momentary expectation that the ice beneath them would break, was the worst. After that they dreaded more than anything the fate that would overtake them with the disappearance of their slender stock of provisions. While this diminished with alarming rapidity, despite their efforts at economy, their ice island drifted out from the strait, and soon afterwards became incorporated with the great Arctic pack that always in the spring forces its resistless way steadily south-ward towards the melting waters of the Gulf Stream.
Land had disappeared with the second day of the ice movement, and after that, for a week, nothing occurred to break the terrible monotony of life on the pack, as experienced by our young castaways. Then came the dreaded announcement that one portion of their supplies was exhausted. There was no longer a drop of oil for their lamp.
White, who was still confined to the hut with his strained ankle, announced that they no longer had any oil upon Cabot's return at dusk from a day of fruitless hunting and outlook duty on the ice.
"That's bad," replied the latter, in a tone whose cheerfulness strove to conceal his anxiety. "Now we'll have to burn the sled. Lucky thing for us that it's of wood instead of being one of those bone affairs such as we saw at Locked Harbour."
"Our provisions are nearly gone too," added White. "In fact we've only enough for one more day."
"Oh, well! A lot of things can happen in a day, and some of them may happen to us."
But the only thing worthy of note that happened on the following day was a storm of such violence as to compel even stout-hearted Cabot to remain behind the sheltering walls of the hut, and, while it raged, our shivering lads, crouched above a tiny blaze of sled wood, ate their last morsel of food. They still had a small quantity of tea, but that was all. As soon, therefore, as the storm abated Cabot sallied forth with his gun, still hopeful, in spite of many disappointments, of finding some bird or beast that, by a lucky shot, might be brought to the table.
The ice pack was of such vast extent that it seemed as though it must support animal life of some kind, but Cabot traversed it that day for many miles without finding so much as a track or a feather. That night's supper was a pot of tea, and a similar one formed the sole nourishment upon which Cabot again set forth the next morning for another of those weary hunts.
This time he went further from the hut than he had dared go on previous expeditions; but on them he had been hopeful and knew that even though he failed in his hunting he would still find food awaiting him on his return. Now he was desperate with hunger, and the knowledge that failing in his present effort he would not have strength for another. In his mind, too, he carried a vivid picture of poor White, crouching in that wretched hut over an expiring blaze fed by the very last of their wood.
"I simply can't go back empty-handed!" he cried aloud. "It would be better not to go back at all, and let him hope for my coming to the last."
So the young hunter pushed wearily and hopelessly on, until he found himself at the foot of a line of icebergs that had been frozen into the pack, where they resembled a range of fantastically shaped hills. Cabot had seen them from a distance on a previous expedition, and had wondered what lay beyond. Now he determined to find out, though he knew if he once crossed them there would be little chance of regaining the hut before dark. It was a laborious climb, and several times he slid back to the place of starting, but each mishap of this kind only made him the more determined to gain the top. At length, breathless and bruised, crawling on hands and knees, he reached a point from which he could look beyond the barrier. As he did so, he turned sick and uttered a choking cry.
He reached a point from which he could look beyond the barrier.[Illustration: He reached a point from whichhe could look beyond the barrier.]
He reached a point from which he could look beyond the barrier.[Illustration: He reached a point from whichhe could look beyond the barrier.]
What he saw in that first glance was so utterly incredible that it could not be true, though if it were it would be the most welcome and beautiful sight in all the world. Yet it was only a ship! Just one ship and a lot of men! The ship was not even a handsome one, being merely a three-masted steam sealer, greasy and smeared in every part with coal soot from her tall smoke stack. She lay a mile or so away, but well within the pack, through the outer edge of which she had forced a passage. The men, evidently her crew, who were on the ice near the foot of Cabot's ridge, were a disreputable looking lot, ragged, dirty, unkempt, and as bloody as so many butchers. And that is exactly what they were—butchers engaged in their legitimate business of killing the seals that, coming up from the south to meet the drifting ice pack, had crawled out on it by thousands to rear their young.
This was all that Cabot saw; yet the sight so affected him that he laughed and sobbed for joy. Then he stood up, and, with glad tears blinding his eyes, tried to shout to the men beneath him, but could only utter hoarse whispers; for, in his overpowering happiness, he had almost lost the power of speech. As he could not call to them he began to wave his arms to attract their attention, and then, all at once, he was nearly paralysed by a hail from close at hand of:
"Hello there, ye bloomin' idjit! Wot's hup?"
Whirling around, Cabot saw, standing only a few rods away, a man who had evidently just climbed the opposite side of the ridge. He recognised him in an instant, as he must have done had he met him in the most crowded street of a great city, so distinctively peculiar was his figure.
"David! David Gidge!" he gasped, recovering his voice for the effort, and in another moment, flinging his arms about the astonished mariner's neck, he was pouring out a flood of incoherent words.
"Wal, I'll be jiggered!" remarked Mr. Gidge, as he disengaged himself from Cabot's impulsive embrace and stepped back for a more comprehensive view. "Your voice sounds familiar, Mister, but I can't say as I ever seen you before. I took ye fust off fer a b'ar, and then fer a Huskie. When I seen you was white, I 'lowed ye might be one of the 'Marmaid's' crew, seeing as she was heading fer the pack 'bout the time we struck it. Now, though, as I say, I'm jiggered ef I know exectly who ye be."
"Why, Mr. Gidge, I'm Cabot Grant, who——"
"Of course. To be sartin! Now I know ye!" interrupted the other. "But where's White? What hev ye done with Whiteway Baldwin?"
"He's back there on the ice helpless with a crippled leg, freezing and starving to death; but if you'll come at once I'll show you the way, and we may still be in time to save him."
With instant comprehension of the necessity for prompt action, Mr. Gidge, who, as Cabot afterwards learned, was first mate of the sealer "Labrador," turned and shouted in stentorian tones to the men who were working below:
"Knock off, all hands, and follow me. Form a line and keep hailing distance apart, so's we'll find our way back after dark. There's white men starving on the ice. One of ye go to the ship and report. Move lively! Now, lad, I'm ready."
Two hours later Cabot and David Gidge, with, a long line of men streaming out behind them, reached the little hut. There was no answer to the cheery shouts with which they approached it, and, as they crawled through its low entrance, they were filled with anxious misgivings. What if they were too late after all? No spark of fire lighted the gloom or took from the deadly chill of the interior, and no voice bade them welcome. But, as David Gidge struck a match, a low moaning sounded from one side, and told them that White was at least alive.
It took but a minute to remove him from the hut, together with the few things worth taking away that it contained. Then it was left without a shadow of regret, and the march to the distant ship was begun. Four men carried White, who seemed to have sunk into a stupor, while two more supported Cabot, who had become suddenly weak and so weary that he begged to be allowed to sleep where he was.
"It's been a close call for both of 'em," said David Gidge, "and now, men, we've got to make the quickest kind of time getting 'em back to the ship."
Fortunately there were plenty of willing hands to which the burdens might be shifted, for the "Labrador" carried a crew two hundred strong, and, as the little party moved swiftly from one shouting man to another, it constantly gained accessions.
At length the sealer was reached, and the rescued lads were taken to her cabin, where the ship's doctor, having made every possible preparation for their reception, awaited them. They were given hot drinks, rubbed, fed, and placed between warm blankets, where poor, weary Cabot was at last allowed to fall asleep without further interruption.
The animal sought by the sealers of Newfoundland amid the furious storms and crashing floes of the great ice pack is not the fur-bearing seal of Alaska, but a variety of the much less important hair seal, which may be seen almost anywhere along the Atlantic coast. From its skin seal leather is made, but it is chiefly valuable for the oil yielded by the layer of fat lying directly beneath the skin and enveloping the entire body. These seals would hardly be worth hunting unless they could be captured easily and in quantities; but, on their native ice in early spring, the young seals are found in prime condition and in vast numbers. Each helpless victim is killed by a blow on the head, "sculped" or stripped of his pelt, and the flayed body is left lying in a pool of its own blood.
The crew of a single vessel will thus destroy thousands of seals in a day, and in some prosperous years the total kill of seals has passed the half million mark. Now only about a dozen steamers are engaged in the business, but by them from 200,000 to 300,000 seals are destroyed each spring. The movements of sealing vessels are governed by rigidly enforced laws that forbid them to leave port before the 12th of March, to kill a seal before the 14th of the same month, or after the 20th of April, and prohibit any steamer from making more than one trip during this short open season. The crews are paid in shares of the catch, and men are never difficult to obtain for the work, as the sealing season comes when there is nothing else to be done.
As March was not yet ended when our lads were received aboard the "Labrador," and as she would not return to port until the last minute of the open season had expired, they had before them nearly a month in which to recover their exhausted energies and learn the business of sealing. White had suffered so severely, and reached such a precarious condition, that he required every day of the allotted time for recuperation, and even at its end his strength was by no means fully restored. Cabot, on the other hand, woke after a thirty-six-hour nap, ravenously hungry, and as fit as ever for anything that might offer. After that, although he could never bring himself to assist in clubbing baby seals to death, he took an active part in the other work of the ship, thereby fully repaying the cost of the food eaten by himself and White.
Of course, with their very first opportunity, both lads eagerly plied David Gidge with questions concerning the welfare of the Baldwin family and everything that had happened during their long absence. Thus they learned to their dismay that another suit had been brought against the Baldwin estate that threatened to swallow what little property had been left, and that White, having been convicted of contempt of court for continuing the lobster factory after an adverse decision had been rendered, was now liable to a fine of one thousand dollars, or imprisonment, as soon as he landed.
"But what has become of my mother and sister?" asked White.
"They are in Harbour Grace," answered David Gidge, "stopping with some kin of mine. You see, all three of us was brung to St. Johns as witnesses, and there wasn't money enough to take us back till I could come sealing and make some."
"You are a trump, David Gidge!" exclaimed Cabot, while White gratefully squeezed the honest fellow's hand.
"I promised to look arter 'em till you come back," said the sailorman, simply.
At length the sealing season closed, and the prow of the "Labrador" was turned homeward, but even now, after many an anxious discussion, our lads were undecided as to what they should do upon landing. But a solution of the problem came to Cabot on the day that the steamer entered Conception Bay and anchored close off Bell Island, to await the moving of a great ice mass that had drifted into the harbour.
"I know what we'll do!" he cried.
As the deeply laden sealer drew near to land, Cabot had impatiently scanned the coast of the great island that he had once thought so remote, but which, after his long sojourn in the Labrador wilderness, now seemed almost the same as New York itself. When the "Labrador" entered Conception Bay, at the head of which lies Harbour Grace, her home port, and was forced by ice to anchor, he inquired concerning a small island that lay close at hand.
"Bell Island," he repeated meditatively, on being told its name. "Isn't there an iron mine on it?"
"Sartain," replied David Gidge. "The whole island is mostly made of iron."
"Then it is a place that I particularly want to visit, and I know what we will do. Of course, White, we can't let you go to prison, but at the same time you haven't, immediately available, the money with which to pay that fine. I have, though, right in St. Johns. So, if you will endorse that New York draft to me, I will carry it into the city, deposit it at the bank, draw out the cash, and take the first train for Harbour Grace, so as to be there with more than enough money to pay your fine when you arrive. After that I propose that we both go on to New York, where I am almost certain I can get you something to do that will pay even better than a lobster factory. If that plan strikes you as all right, and if Mr. Gidge will set me ashore here, I'll just take a look at Bell Island and then hurry on to St. Johns."
The plan appearing feasible to White, Cabot—taking with him only his bag of specimens, to which he intended to add others of the Bell Island ore—bade his friends a temporary farewell, and was set ashore. As the country was still covered with snow, he had slung his snowshoes on his back, and as he was still clad in the well-worn fur garments that had been so necessary in Labrador, his appearance was sufficiently striking to attract attention as soon as he landed. One of the very first persons who spoke to him proved to be the young superintendent of the mine he wished to visit, and, when this gentleman learned that Cabot had just returned from Labrador, he offered him every hospitality. Not only did he show him over the mine and give him all possible information concerning it, but he kept him over night in his own bachelor quarters, and provided a boat to take him across to Portugal Cove on the mainland in the morning.
From that point, there being no conveyance, Cabot was forced to walk the nine miles into St. Johns, which city he did not reach until nearly noon. Even there, where fur-clad Arctic explorers are not uncommon, Cabot's costume attracted much attention. Disregarding this, he inquired his way to the Bank of Nova Scotia, where he presented the letter of credit that he had carefully treasured amid all the vicissitudes of the past ten months. The paying teller of the bank examined it closely, and then took a long look at the remarkable-appearing young man who had presented it. Finally he said curtly:
"Sign your name."
Cabot did so, and the other, after comparing the two signatures, retired to an inner room. From it he reappeared a few moments later and requested Cabot to follow him inside, where the manager wished to see him.
The manager also regarded our lad with great curiosity as he said:
"You have retained this letter a long time without presenting it."
"And I might have retained it longer if I had not been in need of money," rejoined Cabot, somewhat nettled by the man's manner.
"You are Cabot Grant of New York?"
"I am."
"Not yet of age?"
"Not quite."
"And you have a guardian?"
"I have."
"Do you mind telling his name and address?"
"Is that a necessary preliminary to drawing money on a letter of credit?"
"In this case it is."
"Well, then, he is James Hepburn, President of the Gotham Trust and Investment Company."
"Just so, and you will doubtless be interested in this communication from him."
So saying, the manager handed over the telegram in which Mr. Hepburn instructed the St. Johns branch of the Bank of Nova Scotia to advance only the price of a ticket to New York on a letter of credit that would be presented by his ward, Cabot Grant.
"What does it mean?" asked Cabot in bewilderment, as he finished reading this surprising order.
"I've no idea," replied the manager dryly. "I only know that we are bound to follow those instructions, and can let you have but forty dollars, which is the price of a first-class ticket to New York by steamer. Moreover, as this is sailing day, and the New York steamer leaves in a couple of hours, I would advise you to engage passage and go on board at once, if you do not want to be indefinitely detained here."
"In what way?"
"Possibly by the sheriff, who has wanted you for some time in connection with a certain French Shore lobster case that the government is prosecuting."
Perplexed and indignant as he was, Cabot realised that only in New York could his tangled affairs be straightened out, and that the quicker he got there the better. Determined, however, to make one more effort in behalf of his friend, he produced the missionary's draft and asked if the manager would cash it.
"Certainly not," replied that individual promptly. "Under present circumstances, Mr. Grant, we must decline to have any business dealings with you other than to accept your receipt for forty dollars, which will be paid you in the outer office."
So Cabot swallowed his pride, took what he could get, and left the bank a little more downcast than he had been at any time since the day on which President Hepburn had entrusted him with his present mission.
"I don't understand it at all," he muttered to himself, as he sought an eating-house, where he proposed to expend a portion of his money in satisfying his keen appetite. "Seems to me it is a mighty mean return for all I have gone through, and Mr. Hepburn will have to explain matters pretty clearly when I get back to New York."
From the eating-house Cabot sent a letter to White, explaining his inability to secure the money he had expected, begging him to lie low for a few days, and announcing his own immediate departure for New York, from which place he promised to send back the amount of the draft immediately upon his arrival. In this letter Cabot also enclosed fifteen dollars, just to help White out until he could send him some more money. This outlay left our young engineer but twenty-five dollars, but that would pay for a steerage passage, which, he reflected, would be plenty good enough for one in his reduced circumstances, and leave a few dollars for emergencies when he reached New York.
Two hours later, still clutching the bag of specimens that now formed his sole luggage, he stood on the forward deck of the steamer "Amazon" as she slipped through the narrow passage leading out from the land-locked harbour, gazing back at the city of St. Johns climbing its steep hillside and dominated by the square towers of its Roman Catholic cathedral. He was feeling very forlorn and lonely, and was wondering how he should manage to exist on steerage fare in steerage company during the next five days, when a familiar voice, close at hand, said:
"Hello, young man in furs! Where do you come from? Been to the North Pole with Peary?"
Turning quickly, Cabot gasped out:
"Captain Phinney!"
"No, not cap'n, but second mate Phinney," retorted the other. "But how do you know my name? I don't recognise you."
"I am Cabot Grant, who was with you on the 'Lavinia' when——"
"Good heavens, man! It can't be."
"It is, though, and I never was more glad to see any one, not even David Gidge, than I am to see you at this minute. But why are you second mate instead of captain?"
"Because," replied the other bitterly, "it was the only berth they would give me after I lost my ship, and I had to take it or beg."
"But I thought you went down with the 'Lavinia'?"
"So I thought you did, but it seems both of us were mistaken. All but you got off in two of the boats, and ours was picked up the next day by a liner bound for New York. But how, in the name of all that is wonderful— Hold on, though. Let us go up to my room, where we can talk comfortably."
As a result of this happy meeting, Cabot's voyage was made very pleasant after all. Much as he had to tell and to hear, he also found time to write out a full report on the Bell Island mine, and also a series of notes concerning the ore specimens that he was carrying to New York.
At length the great city was reached, the "Amazon" was made fast to her Brooklyn pier, and Cabot went to bid the second mate good-bye. "Hold on a bit," said the latter, "and run up to the house with me. You can't go without seeing Nelly and the baby."
"Nice calling rig I've got on, haven't I?" laughed Cabot. "Why, it would scare 'em stiff. So not to-day, thank you; but I'll come to-morrow."
The carriage that Cabot engaged to carry him across to the city cost him his last cent of money, but he knew it was well worth it when, still in furs and with his snowshoes still strapped to his back, he entered the Gotham building. Such a sensation did he create that he would have been mobbed in another minute had he not dodged into an elevator and said:
"President's room, please."
He so petrified Mr. Hepburn's clerks and office boys by his remarkable appearance that they neglected to check his progress, and allowed him to walk unchallenged into the sacred private office. Its sole occupant was writing, and did not notice the entrance until Cabot, laying a folded paper on his desk, said:
"Here is that Bell Island report, Mr. Hepburn."
The startled man sprang to his feet with a face as pale as though he had seen a ghost, and for a few moments stared in speechless amazement at the fur-clad intruder. Then the light of recognition flashed into his eyes, and holding out a cordial hand he said:
"My dear boy, how you frightened me! Where on earth did you come from?"
"From the steerage of the steamer 'Amazon,'" replied Cabot, stiffly, ignoring his guardian's proffered hand. "I only dropped in to hand you that Bell Island report, and to say that, as this happens to be my twenty-first birthday, I shall be pleased to receive whatever of my property you may still hold in trust at your earliest convenience. With that business transacted, it is perhaps needless to add, that I shall trouble no further the man who was cruel enough to leave me penniless among strangers."
"Cabot, are you crazy, or what do you mean? I received your Bell Island report months ago, and it was that caused me to recall you. Why did you not come at once?"
"I never sent a Bell Island report. In fact I never wrote one until yesterday, and there it lies. Nor did I ever receive any notice of recall, and I did not come back sooner because I have been following your instructions and wintering in Labrador. There I have acquired one of the most remarkable iron properties in the world, which I intend to develop as far as possible with my own resources, seeing that not one cent of your money has been used in defraying the expenses of my recent trip," replied Cabot, hotly.
But Mr. Hepburn did not hear the last of this speech, for he had opened the report laid on his desk and was glancing rapidly through it.
"This is exactly what I expected and wanted!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you send it in before, instead of that other one?"
"I never sent any other," repeated Cabot, and then they sat down to mutual explanations.
For that whole morning President Hepburn denied himself to all callers and devoted his entire attention to Cabot's recital. When it was finished, and when the bag full of specimens had been examined, the elder man grasped the other's hand and said:
"My dear boy, you have done splendidly! I am not only satisfied with you as an agent, but am proud of you as a ward. Yes, this is your day of freedom from our guardianship, and I shall take pleasure in turning over to you the balance of the property left by your father. It, together with the balance remaining on your letter of credit, and your salary for the past year, will amount to about ten thousand dollars, a portion of which at least I would advise you to invest in the Man-wolf mine."
"My dear boy, you have done splendidly!"[Illustration: "My dear boy, you have done splendidly!"]
"My dear boy, you have done splendidly!"[Illustration: "My dear boy, you have done splendidly!"]
"Then you intend to develop it, sir?" cried Cabot.
"Certainly, provided we can acquire your claim to the property, and engage a certain Mr. Cabot Grant to act as our assistant Labrador manager."
"Do you think me capable of filling so responsible a position, sir?"
"I am convinced of it," replied Mr. Hepburn, smiling.
"And may I find places for White, and David Gidge, and Captain Phinney, and——"
"One of the duties of your new position will be the selection of your subordinates," interrupted the other, "and I should hope you would give preference to those whose fidelity you have already tested."
Within an hour after this happy conclusion of the interview, Cabot had wired White Baldwin the full amount of the missionary's draft and invited him to come as quickly as possible to New York. He had also written to Captain Phinney asking him to resign at once his position as second mate, in order that he might assume command of a steamer shortly to be put on a run between New York and Labrador.
With these pleasant duties performed, our young engineer prepared to accept President Hepburn's invitation to a dinner that was to be given in his honour, and with which the happiest day of his life was to be concluded.