“It is not necessary, and you must be fatigued.”
“Fatigued! I—at my age?”
“Nevertheless, you had better rest until my return, my dear and ever-young Sylvius.”
That same day there was a large meeting of captains of merchant and whaling vessels, as well as pilots, in the office of Help Bros.—an assemblage of men who were still navigating the seas, as well as of those who had retired from active service.
Sylvius Hogg explained the situation briefly but clearly. He told them the date—May 3rd—on which the bottle had been cast into the sea by Ole Kamp, and the date—June 3rd—on which it had been picked up by the Danish captain, two hundred miles southwest of Iceland.
The discussion that followed was long and serious. There was not one of these brave men who were not familiar with the currents of that locality, and upon the direction of these currents they must, of course, chiefly depend for a solution of the problem.
But it was an incontestable fact that at the time of the shipwreck, and during the interval that elapsed between the sailing of the Viking from Saint-Pierre-Miquelon, and the discovery of the bottle by the Danish vessel, constant gales from the southeast had disturbed that portion of the Atlantic. In fact, it was to one of these tempests that the catastrophe must be attributed. Probably the Viking, being unable to carry sail in the teeth of the tempest, had been obliged to scud before the windy and it being at this season of the year that the ice from the polar seas begins to make its way down into the Atlantic, it was more than likely that a collision had taken place, and that the Viking had been crushed by a floating iceberg, which it was impossible to avoid.
Still, in that case, was it not more than probable that the whole, or a part, of the ship’s crew had taken refuge upon one of these ice fields after having placed a quantity of provisions upon it? If they had really done so, the iceberg, having certainly been driven in a northwesterly direction by the winds which were prevailing at the time, it was not unlikely that the survivors had been able to reach some point on the coast of Greenland, so it was in that direction, and in those seas, that search should be made.
This was the unanimous opinion of these experienced mariners, and there could be no doubt that this was the only feasible plan. But would they find aught save a few fragments of the Viking in case the vessel had been crushed by some enormous iceberg? Could they hope to effect the rescue of any survivors?
This was more than doubtful, and the professor on putting the question perceived that the more competent could not, or would not, reply. Still, this was no cause for inaction—they were all agreed upon that point—but action must be taken without delay.
There are always several government vessels at Bergen, and one of the three dispatch-boats charged with the surveillance of the western coast of Norway is attached to this port. As good luck would have it, that very boat was now riding at anchor in the bay.
After making a note of the various suggestions advanced by the most experienced seamen who had assembled at the office of Help, Junior, Sylvius Hogg went aboard the dispatch-boat Telegraph, and apprised the commander of the special mission entrusted to him by the government.
The commander received him very cordially, and declared his willingness to render all the assistance in his power. He had become familiar with the navigation of the locality specified during several long and dangerous voyages from the Loffoden Islands and Finmark to the Iceland and Newfoundland fisheries; so he would have experience to aid him in the humane work he was about to undertake, as he fully agreed with the seamen already consulted that it was in the waters between Iceland and Greenland that they must look for the survivors, or at least for some trace of the Viking. If he did not succeed there, he would, however, explore the neighboring shores, and perhaps the eastern part of Baffin’s Bay.
“I am all ready to start, sir,” he added. “My coal and provisions are on board, my crew has been selected, and I can set sail this very day.”
“Thank you, captain,” replied the professor, “not only for your promptness, but for the very kind reception you have given me. But one question more: Can you tell me how long it will take you to reach the shores of Greenland?”
“My vessel makes about eleven knots an hour, and as the distance from Bergen to Greenland is only about twenty degrees, I can count upon arriving there in less than a week.”
“Make all possible haste, captain,” replied Sylvius Hogg. “If any of the shipwrecked crew did survive the catastrophe, two months have already elapsed since the vessel went down, and they are perhaps in a destitute and even famishing condition upon some desert coast.”
“Yes, there is no time to lose, Monsieur Hogg. I will start this very day, keep my vessel going at the top of her speed, and as soon as I find any trace whatever I will inform the Naval Department at Christiania by a telegram from Newfoundland.”
“Godspeed you, captain,” replied Sylvius Hogg, “and may you succeed.”
That same day the Telegraph set sail, followed by the sympathizing cheers of the entire population of Bergen, and it was not without keen emotion that the kindhearted people watched the vessel make its way down the channel, and finally disappear behind the islands of the fjord.
But Sylvius Hogg did not confine his efforts to the expedition undertaken by the dispatch-boat Telegraph. On the contrary, he was resolved to multiply the chances of finding some trace of the missing Viking. Would it not be possible to excite a spirit of emulation in the captains of merchant vessels and fishing-smacks that
