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.