“But how?”
“Why, though they do not know where the Viking foundered, they certainly know where the bottle was picked up by the Danish vessel. So we have one valuable clue which it would be very wrong to ignore.”
“Where was it?”
“Listen, my dear Help, and I will tell you.”
Sylvius Hogg then apprised his friend of the important information which had just been received through the Naval Department, and the full permission given him to utilize it.
The bottle containing Ole Kamp’s lottery ticket had been picked up on the third of June, about two hundred miles south of Iceland, by the schooner Christian, of Elsineur, Captain Mosselman, and the wind was blowing strong from the southeast at the time.
The captain had immediately examined the contents of the bottle, as it was certainly his duty to do, inasmuch as he might have rendered very effectual aid to the survivors of the Viking had he known where the catastrophe occurred; but the lines scrawled upon the back of the lottery ticket gave no clue, so the Christian could not direct her course to the scene of the shipwreck.
This Captain Mosselman was an honest man. Very possibly some less scrupulous person would have kept the ticket; but he had only one thought—to transmit the ticket to the person to whom it was addressed as soon as he entered port. Hulda Hansen, of Dal, that was enough. It was not necessary to know any more.
But on reaching Copenhagen, Captain Mosselman said to himself that it would perhaps be better to transmit the document through the hands of the Danish authorities, instead of sending it straight to the person for whom it was intended. This would be the safest, as well as the regular way. He did so, and the Naval Department at Copenhagen promptly notified the Naval Department at Christiania.
Sylvius Hogg’s letter, asking for information in regard to the Viking, had already been received, and the deep interest he took in the Hansen family was well known. It was known, too, that he intended to remain in Dal some time longer, so it was there that the ticket found by the Danish sea-captain was sent, to be delivered into Hulda Hansen’s hands by the famous deputy.
And ever since that time the public had taken a deep interest in the affair, which had not been forgotten, thanks to the touching details given by the newspapers of both continents.
Sylvius Hogg stated the case briefly to his friend Help, who listened to him with the deepest interest, and without once interrupting him. He concluded his recital by saying:
“There is certainly one point about which there can be no possible doubt: this is, that on the third day of June, about one month after the departure from Saint-Pierre-Miquelon, the ticket was picked up two hundred miles southwest of Iceland.”
“And that is all you know?”
“Yes, my dear Help, but by consulting some of the most experienced mariners of Bergen, men who are familiar with that locality, with the general direction of its winds, and, above all, with its currents, will it not be a comparatively easy matter to decide upon the route followed by the bottle? Then, by calculating its probable speed, and the time that elapsed before it was picked up, it certainly would not be impossible to discover the spot at which it was cast into the sea by Ole Kamp, that is to say, the scene of the shipwreck.”
Help, Junior, shook his head with a doubting air. Would not any search that was based upon such vague indications as these be sure to prove a failure? The shipowner, being of a decided, cool and practical turn of mind, certainly thought so, and felt it his duty to say as much to Sylvius Hogg.
“Perhaps it may prove a failure, friend Help,” was the prompt rejoinder; “but the fact that we have been able to secure only vague information, is certainly no reason for abandoning the undertaking. I am anxious that nothing shall be left undone for these poor people to whom I am indebted for my life. Yes, if need be, I would not hesitate to sacrifice all I possess to find Ole Kamp, and bring him safely back to his betrothed, Hulda Hansen.”
Then Sylvius Hogg proceeded to give a full account of his adventure on the Rjukanfos. He related the intrepid manner in which Joel and his sister had risked their own lives to save him, and how, but for their timely assistance, he would not have had the pleasure of being the guest of his friend Help that day.
His friend Help, as we said before, was an eminently practical man, but he was not opposed to useless and even impossible efforts when a question of humanity was involved, and he finally approved what Sylvius Hogg wished to attempt.
“Sylvius,” he said, “I will assist you by every means in my power. Yes, you are right. However small the chance of finding some survivor of the Viking may be, and especially of finding this brave Ole whose betrothed saved your life, it must not be neglected.”
“No, Help, no,” interrupted the professor; “not if it were but one chance in a hundred thousand.”
“So this very day, Sylvius, I will assemble all the most experienced seamen of Bergen in my office. I will send for all who have navigated or who are now navigating the ocean between Iceland and Newfoundland, and we will see what they advise us to do.”
“And what they advise us to do we will do,” added Sylvius Hogg, without an instant’s hesitation. “I have the approval of the government. In fact, I am authorized to send one of its dispatch-boats in search of the Viking, and I feel sure that no one will hesitate to take part in such a work.”
“I will pay a visit to the marine bureau, and see what I can learn there,” remarked Help, Junior.
“Would you like
