ks,
Captain Gancy fervently exclaims, "Again we may thank the Lord for
deliverance!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A ROUGH OVERLAND ROUTE.

As soon as they are convinced that the canoes are gone for good,
Seagriff counsels immediate setting out on the journey so unexpectedly
delayed. It is now noon, and it may be night ere they reach their
destination. So says he, an assertion that seems strange, as he admits
the distance may be but a few hundred yards, certainly not over a mile.

They are about taking up their bundles to start, when a circumstance
arises that causes further delay; this time, however, a voluntary and
agreeable one. In a last glance given to the cove ere leaving it, two
flocks of gulls are seen, each squabbling about something that floats on
the surface of the water. Something white, which proves to be a dead
fish, or rather a couple of them, which have been overlooked by the
hunter-fishermen. They are too large for the gulls to lift and carry
away; hence a crowd of the birds are buffeting their wings in conflict
above them.

"A bit of rare good luck for us!" cries young Gancy, dropping a pair of
oars he has shouldered. "Come, Harry! we'll go a-fishing, too."

The English youth takes the hint, and, without another word, both rush
down to the water's edge, where, stripping off coats, shoes, and other
_impedimenta_, they plunge in.

In a few seconds the fish are reached and secured, to the great grief
and anger of the gulls, who, now screaming furiously, wheel round the
heads of the swimmers until they are on shore again.

Worth all their trouble is the spoil retrieved, as the fish prove to be
a species of mullet, each of them over six pounds in weight.

Now assured of having something to eat at the end of their journey, they
set out in much better spirits. But they make not many steps--if steps
they can be called--before discovering the difficulties at which the old
sealer has hinted, saying, "ye'll see." Steps, indeed! Their progress
is more a sprawl than a walk; a continuous climb and scramble over
trunks of fallen trees, many so decayed as to give way under their
weight, letting them down to their armpits in a mass of sodden stuff, as
soft as mud, and equally bedaubing. Even if disposed, they could no
longer laugh at the cook's changed colour, all of them now showing much
the same.

But no place could be less incentive to laughter than that which they
are in. The humid atmosphere aroun