“Yes,” said the man, “this here country’s Anticosti--un woe to the poor wretch that’s cast ashore here. For there ain’t no life here, an there ain’t no hope, an there ain’t no food; an the only thing a man can do is to lie down an die as fast as he can.” A long silence followed. The boys felt utterly overwhelmed. They had all heard enough about Anticosti to make the name one of dread, and to surround it with the darkest gloom and the most formidable terrors. “We thought,” said Arthur, at length, to the man, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, “we supposed that we were on the coast of Newfoundland, somewhere between Cape Ray and Fortune’s Bay; so we started off to sail along the coast in search of a settlement, and if we couldn’t find any we intended to go to St. Pierre.” “This is Anticosti,” said the man. “Very well,” said Arthur, gravely, “we’ll suppose it is. So much the more need for us to help our friends. You appear to have had a hard time of it; but you’re a sailor, and we are not. You can help us. It seems to me that you can do a great deal for us. I think we had better keep to our plan, and try to reach the nearest settlement. If it is St. Pierre, or the Bay of Islands, or any other place, perhaps you can tell us. At any rate, you can sail the boat, and we can’t. We’ve got lots of provisions here; so you’d better come with us, and help us to reach some place where we can get assistance for our friends.” While Arthur was saying this, the man stared at him most intently. “Well,” said he at last, as Arthur ceased, “you’re about the pluckiest lot in the way of boys that I’ve come across for some time. All I can say is, you needn’t beat round the bush with me. You’ve saved my life, and so you’ll find that Dick Bailey is yours till death. All you’ve got to do, boys, is to tell what you want done, and I’ll do it--if it can be done. But fust and foremost, let me tell you ’tain’t no use tryin to get any further in that there boat this day, for the wind’s risin, and you’d best come ashore till it blows over. We’ll take the boat up high and dry out of harm’s way, and then we can talk over what we’d best do.” “Can’t we go any farther to-day?” asked Arthur, in a disappointed tone. “No,” said Bailey,--“no, you can’t go either for’ard or back’ard, for it’s a head wind one way, and the other way is barred by that there pint. So, as I said afore, you’d better land. We’ll draw the boat up high an dry out of harm’s way, and we’ll wait till to-morrer. By that time there’ll be a change for the better.” Upon this Arthur and Tom got out, and the three drew the boat up as far as they could upon the beach. “There,” said Bailey, “she’s out of harm’s way, unless a sou’-wester comes; an if it does, we can move her up further. But there ain’t no chance of that. And now, boys, hain’t you got something to give a poor feller to eat that’s been starvin for a fortnight?”