“It gave me the strangest feeling,” said Tom, telling Henry Burns about it some time later. “At first, before I was fully awake, I had forgotten where I was, and I thought I was back in our own tent upon the point. Then it flashed over me that that was gone, and the next moment I remembered that I was down there in Harvey’s camp, and you can’t imagine what a queer feeling it gave me.” Harvey and the crew had already arisen, and Tom and Bob could hear the crackling of a fire outside, where they were preparing breakfast. Harvey had awakened apparently as strong as ever, unharmed by his terrible experience of the night before. “Hello, Bob,” said Tom, as they looked across the tent at each other. “Do you know where you are? Isn’t this a queer scrape? I wonder what will come of it.” “Hello,” answered Bob, yawning and stretching. “Oh, but how I did sleep. I feel as though I had slept about a week. I never was so tired in my life. Say, this is queer, isn’t it? Who’d ever have thought we would be sleeping here, of all places.” They arose and stepped outside. The crew paused in their work and looked up, while Harvey advanced to meet his guests. “Hello,” he said. “We thought we’d let you have your sleep out. You must have been played out.” “Hello,” answered Tom and Bob. “We thought you were far worse off than we,” continued Bob, “but you seem to have come out of it all right.” Harvey had by this time come up to them. He paused, hesitatingly, for a moment, while his face flushed. Then he put out his hand. “Will you shake hands with me?” he asked. Tom and Bob, for answer, extended each his right hand and grasped that of Harvey. “Thank you,” said Harvey, simply. “I don’t deserve it, I know.” There may have been the faintest suspicion of moisture about his eyes. “Come over here,” he said, and led the way to a big log that lay near the fire, close by where the crew now stood. “I want to say something to you, and so do the fellows, too.” There was an embarrassing moment as Tom and Bob seated themselves on the log, while the crew stood awkwardly by. They seemed uncertain what to do or say to these brave young fellows, whom they now knew had risked their lives to save their leader. With boy-like reticence, they were too ashamed to speak. Harvey broke the silence. “The fellows and I don’t know hardly what to say to you,” he said. “The crew want to tell you how ashamed we all are for the way we have treated you, and they want to thank you for what you did for me; but they can’t begin to tell what they feel,—and no more can I,—but they want me to speak for them, too, as I’ve been their captain in all we’ve done, as well as aboard the yacht.