.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 47992
   :PG.Title: In the Misty Seas
   :PG.Released: 2015-01-18
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Harold Bindloss
   :DC.Title: In the Misty Seas
              A Story of the Sealers of Behring Strait
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1905
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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IN THE MISTY SEAS
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      Cover art

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   .. _`"'TELL YOUR SKIPPER THAT IF EVER I FIND HIS SCHOONER INSIDE OUR LIMITS AGAIN I'LL HAVE MUCH PLEASURE IN SINKING HER"`:

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   [Frontispiece: "'TELL YOUR SKIPPER THAT IF EVER I FIND HIS SCHOONER 
   INSIDE OUR LIMITS AGAIN I'LL HAVE MUCH PLEASURE 
   IN SINKING HER" (missing from book)]

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      In the Misty Seas

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      A Story of the
      Sealers of Behring Strait

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      By

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      Harold Bindloss

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      *Author of "True Grit," etc.*

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      With Six Illustrations

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      London
      S. W. Partridge and Co.
      8 and 9 Paternoster Row, E.C. 

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   CONTENTS

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CHAP.

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I.  `JIMMY'S DUCK`_
II.  `OUT OF DOCK`_
III.  `DOWN CHANNEL`_
IV.  `A LESSON IN SEAMANSHIP`_
V.  `UNDER TOPSAILS`_
VI.  `A FAIR WIND`_
VII.  `ADRIFT`_
VIII.  `THE 'CHAMPLAIN,' SEALER`_
IX.  `A TRIAL OF SPEED`_
X.  `HOVE TO`_
XI.  `AMONG THE HOLLISCHACKIE`_
XII.  `PICKING UP THE BOATS`_
XIII.  `ON THE BEACH`_
XIV.  `GOOD WORK`_
XV.  `IN PERIL`_
XVI.  `STICKINE MAKES A DEAL`_
XVII.  `THE PLEDGE REDEEMED`_
XVIII.  `TREACHERY`_
XIX.  `THE SEALERS' RECKONING`_
XX.  `THE NEXT MEETING`_
XXI.  `IN VANCOUVER`_
XXII.  `THE RESULT OF THE CHOICE`_

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   LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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`"'TELL YOUR SKIPPER THAT IF EVER I FIND HIS
SCHOONER INSIDE OUR LIMITS AGAIN I'LL HAVE
MUCH PLEASURE IN SINKING HER"`_ (missing from book) . . . *Frontispiece*

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`"'CHRISS, ARE YOU HURT?'"`_

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`"'ARE YOU TWO LADS GOING OFF TO THE BARQUE OUT THERE?'"`_

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`"GLANCING OVER HIS SHOULDER, SAW THE INDIAN
STILL CROUCHING MOTIONLESS, RIFLE IN HAND"`_

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`"AS HE HOPPED ABOUT THE DECK, APPLEBY LAUGHED UPROARIOUSLY"`_

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`"'I'VE COME FOR THE TWO LADS YOU PICKED UP.'"`_

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.. _`JIMMY'S DUCK`:

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   IN THE MISTY SEAS

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   CHAPTER I

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   JIMMY'S DUCK

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"The sea!" said Bluey, the Nova Scotian, sitting up
on his pillow.  "Oh, yes.  It's kind of pretty, but the
only use I've got for it is for bathing in."

There was laughter and a growl of disapproval from
two beds in a corner of the dormitory, for nobody
could go to sleep at nine o'clock, especially on the last
night of the term, though retiring at that hour was
compulsory at Sandycombe School.  Pearson, the
assistant master, had not, however, come round as yet to
turn the lights out, and the gas-jet blinked fitfully in
the big wire cage which apparently protected it from
unlawful experiments.  It did not, however, do so in
reality, because Niven had discovered that the cage
could be unscrewed, and it was not difficult to curtail
the hour of preparation in the morning and evening by
blowing strenuously down the pipe in turn.  There
were, of course, risks attached to this, but Niven had
pointed out that anybody caught at the operation would
suffer in a good cause, and it provided work for the
Sandycombe plumber, who was voted a good fellow
because he would smuggle in forbidden dainties for a
consideration.

"The sea," said Appleby, "is everything that's fine.
What do you know about it, Bluey?"

"Well," said the Nova Scotian in his slowest drawl, "I
do know quite a little.  You see, ours is a kind of hard
country, and most of our folks go in sea now and then
when they can't do better.  Sometimes it's fishing way
out on the Grand Banks where you got lost in a fog in
the dory boats and starve before the schooner finds you,
and if you don't it's quite likely a liner steaming twenty
knots runs bang over you.  Or it's carrying dried cod
south in little schooners in winter time, with your long
boots stuffed with straw to keep your feet from freezing,
while you run for it under a trysail that's stiff with ice,
with a full-size blizzard screaming behind you.  No, sir.
Going to sea isn't any kind of picnic, and that's why
I'm sorry for Niven.  The fellows who wrote those books
'bout cutting out pirates and catching slavers are dead,
and it's 'bout time they were."

"Bluey's not going to stop to-night.  Throw a pillow
at him, somebody," said Niven, and there was a thud as
the Nova Scotian's slipper, which was quicker than the
pillow, alighted within an inch of the speaker's head.

Niven, however, took it good-naturedly, and he would
have resented a better shot less than the remarks which
had preceded it.  He was going to sea, and had been
describing his apprentice's uniform, and the life he
fancied he was to lead on board a sailing ship, to an
appreciative audience.  His contentment had only one
alloy, and that was the fact that Appleby, who had read
Marryat and others with him under a gorse bush on sunny
afternoons when he was presumed to be playing cricket,
was not coming with him too.  Nobody, however, was
apparently willing to pay Appleby's premium, and
Niven pinned his last hope on the possibility of his
comrade being able to ship on the same vessel as
ordinary seaman.  Appleby, whom Niven privately
considered somewhat slow and over-cautious, did not
appear very enthusiastic about the scheme.

"To your kennels!" said somebody, and there was a
footfall on the stairway, while two cots rattled as a
couple of scantily-attired forms alighted upon them
with a flying leap.  They had been lying prone upon
the floor giving a realistic representation of Niven
swimming ashore with the captain in his teeth, though
the lad who played the part of skipper protested
vigorously that there was no necessity for his being
grievously bitten.

"That was fine," said somebody.  "When Pearson's
gone we'll have it again.  You could pour some water
on to him first to make it more real."

"Then," said the skipper, "you'll get somebody else
in the place of me.  It was a good deal nicer the last
time I was nibbled by a ferret, and I'm not going home
with hydrophobia to please any of you."

After this there was silence whilst the footsteps grew
nearer, and presently the assistant master came into the
room.

"You are all here?" he said as he swept his glance
from bed to bed.

Then he gave a little sigh of relief, for he had a good
deal to do that night, and they were all there, and
apparently very sleepy, while it was not his fault that he
did not see that two of them wore their outdoor clothes
under their night gear.  Appleby and Niven had
business on hand, and they had discovered that with the
aid of contributions levied from their comrades it was
possible to lay out a suit of clothing that sufficed to pass
a hasty inspection on their chairs.  Pearson, however,
glanced round again, for he had been taught that there
was need for greater watchfulness when his charges
were unusually quiet, and then turned out the gas.

"Good-night, boys.  If there is any breach of rules
some of you will not go home to-morrow," he said.

Two minutes later everybody was wide awake again,
and a voice was raised in a corner.

"Let's have a court-martial and try Bluey for conduct
unbecoming an officer and a gentleman," it said.
"You'll be president, Appleby, and we'll make Niven
executioner."

"Sorry," said Niven, "but we can't.  You see,
Appleby and I have got another assize on to-night.
We're going to put an *habeas corpus* on Tileworks
Jimmy's duck."

"More fools you!" said Bluey.  "I'm sorry, too,
because I've a few fixings handy that would double the
court-martial up.  Anyway, you'll only catch red-hot
trouble instead of Jimmy's duck."

"What's that about a duck?" asked a lad who had
come up in the middle of the term, and a comrade
proceeded to enlighten him.

"It is by this time ancient history, and it may have
been a drake," he said.  "Anyway, this is Appleby's
story.  He stays here in the holidays, you know, and
he made a catapult thing during the last ones."

"It wasn't," said Appleby.  "It was a crossbow, and
Pearson thought so much of it that he took it from me."

"Well," said the other, "Appleby went out shooting,
and shot a wild duck, but it was a tame one, and
Tileworks Jimmy's.  Now if he'd been wiser he'd have
buried it, but he took it to Jimmy's house.  Jimmy
wasn't in, and Appleby forgot, but a few days later
Jimmy came round to see the Head, and wanted ten
shillings for his duck.  Took an affidavit that it would
have won prizes at a dog show anywhere.  The Head,
who should have kicked him out, gave him five
shillings, and stopped it out of Appleby's pocket-money,
and Appleby went back to Jimmy's to ask for his duck.
Jimmy told him how nice it was, and that he'd eaten the
thing to save it going bad.  That, I think, is
Q.E.D. Appleby."

Appleby laughed softly.  "You're not very far out,
but it wasn't the duck but the principle of the thing
that worried me," he said.  "The one I shot was a
common one worth one-and-six, and I didn't even get
it, though when Jimmy took the money he sold it me.
Now I don't like to be cheated by anybody."

There was a little laughter, for Appleby was known
to be tenacious of his rights.

"It was better than a circus when he made the Aunt
Sally man fork out the cocoa-nuts he won," said
somebody.

"Well," said Appleby slowly, "it was right, and
sixpence has to go a long way with me.  I don't get so
many of them as the rest of you."

He slipped out of bed as he spoke, and there was
another rustle when Niven followed him, while a lad in
the cot nearest them sat up.

"You haven't told us how you're going to get the
duck," he said.

"That," said Niven, "is going to be almost too easy.
I throw big stones on Jimmy's roof, and when he comes
out after me Appleby slips in and gets the duck.  With
a little brains a fellow can do anything."

Next moment they were out in the dark corridor, and
Niven held his breath as they slipped past the half-open
door of a lighted room where the Head of the school
was busy making out the bills.  The treatment at
Sandycombe was at least as firm as kind, and the
Head was known to have an unpleasantly heavy hand.
Nobody heard them, however, and in another minute
or two they were crawling about the dark passage
where Charley, the boy of all work, had laid out a long
row of boots.  Niven, it was characteristic, took the
first pair that seemed to fit him, while Appleby went
up and down the row on his hands and knees, until his
comrade fancied he would never be ready.  Then Niven
shoved up a window.

"Get through while I hold it.  There isn't any
sash-weight," he said.

"Then who's going to hold it for you?" said
Appleby.  "There'll be no duck catching if it comes
down with a bang."

Niven growled disgustedly.  "Your turn!  I never
thought of that," he said.

"Then," said Appleby, "it's a good thing I did.  Put
this piece of stick under it."

It was done, and they dropped into a flower bed,
slipped through the garden behind the hollies, across a
quaggy field, and came out into the road just beyond
the village.  It was drizzling, and a bitter wind drove a
thin white mist past them.  Niven stood still a moment
ankle-deep in mud, and glanced back towards the
lights of the village blinking through the haze.

"It doesn't look quite so nice now, but we had better
go on," he said.

Appleby said nothing, but laughed a little as he
plodded on into the rain and mist, and, though the plan
was Niven's, this was typical of him.  Appleby was not
very brilliant at either work or play, but he usually did
what he took in hand with a slow thoroughness that
occasionally carried him further than his comrade's
cleverness.  He was also slow to begin a friendship or
make a quarrel, but those who drove him into the latter
usually regretted it, and his friends were good.  Nobody
but Niven knew anything about his relations, while it was
but once in the term, somebody sent him a few shillings
for pocket money.  Niven on the contrary could do
almost anything he wanted well, and came back each
term with several hampers and a big handful of silver
in his pocket.

"It's beastly cold, and one of these boots is coming
off.  I'm not sure it's my own," he said.  "It would be
a good joke for the other fellow if I lost it."

"It wouldn't be for me," said Appleby dryly.  "If I
lost mine I would have to go home with you in my
stockings, but we'll have to get on faster than we're
doing."

They could scarcely see the hedgerows, and the mud
got deeper.  Now and then a half-seen tree shook big
drops down on them as they went by, and there way a
doleful crying of wild fowl from a marsh not far away.
The drizzle also beat into their eyes, and Niven, who
felt distinctly sorry he had ever heard about the duck,
presently stopped altogether with his feet in a pool.

"We could still go back, Tom," he said.

"No," said Appleby dryly.  "I don't think we could,
though because I could manage it myself there's nothing
to stop you if you wanted to."

There was not much mirth in Niven's laugh.  "I'm
not very anxious, if you put it like that," he said.

They went on again, getting rapidly wetter, until
Niven fell down as they clambered over a dripping stile.
"We're a pair of splay-footed asses, Tom," he said.

Appleby nodded.  "Still, we'd be bigger ones if we
did nothing after all this.  I wouldn't sit there in the
mud," he said.

Niven scrambled to his feet, and presently they
crawled through a hedge into a rutted lane with the
lighted window of a cottage close in front of them, and
the radiance shone upon them as they stopped to glance
up and down.  Appleby stood square and resolute with
decision in his face, and he was short and thick, with
long arms and broad shoulders.  Niven shivered a little,
and leaned forwards turning his head this way and that
with quick, nervous movements.  He was lithe and
light, with a graceful suppleness that was not seen in
his companion.

"Tom," he said softly, "there aren't any stones.
Still, I could heave a lump of stiff mud through the
window, and that would fetch him."

Appleby shook his head.  "There are tiles yonder,
and they would do as well," he said.  "You see, we are
entitled to the duck, but Jimmy's window is another
thing.  Give me a minute, and then begin."

He slipped away into the gloom of a hedge, and it
was evidently high time, for a dog commenced growling.
Niven felt very lonely as he stood still in the rain, but
the depression only lasted a moment or two, and in
another minute he had flung a big tile upon the
roof.  When the second went banging and rattling
down the slates he raised a high-pitched howl.

"Jimmy, come out," he said.  "Come out, you
shuttle-toed clay stamper, and be a man."

He was not kept waiting long.  The door swung open
and a man stood out black against the light in the
opening.  He was peering into the darkness, and
apparently grasped a good-sized stick, but when another
tile crashed against the low roof above his head he saw
the object deriding him in the mud.

"Ellen, loose the dog," he said as he sprang forward.

Niven promptly darted up the lane, but there were
two things he had not counted on, and one of them was
the dog, for Jimmy had not kept one when they last
passed his cottage.  The other was even more embarrassing,
for while Niven could run tolerably well on turf
in cricket shoes the deep sticky mud was different, and
one of the boots which were somebody else's would slip
up and down his foot.  Still because Jimmy was not far
behind him, he did all he could, and was disgusted to find
that a tileworks labourer could run almost as well as he
did.  Indeed, for the first Five minutes he had a horrible
suspicion that Jimmy was running better, but presently
it became evident that the splashing thud of heavy
boots grew no louder, and he saw that he was at least
maintaining his lead.  Still, he could not shake off the
pursuer, and while he held on with clenched hands and
laboured breath an unfortunate thing happened.  One
foot sank deep in a rut, Niven staggered, blundered
through another stride, and then rolled over in the grass
under a tall hedge.  That was bad, but it was worse to
find that he had now only a stocking upon one foot.
Jimmy was also unpleasantly close, and Niven, seeing
he could not escape by flight, rolled a little further
beneath the hedge.

Then he lay very still while the man came floundering
down the road, and held his breath when he stopped as
if to listen close beside him.

"The young varmint has made for the hedge gap,"
gasped the man.  "If I cut across to the stile I might
ketch him."

He went on, and when his footsteps could no longer
be heard Niven crawled out and felt in the puddles for
the boot.  It was not to be found, and rising with a
groan he worked round towards the back of the cottage.
The dog was growling all the time, and he could hear a
woman's voice as well as a rattle of chain, but presently
he saw a dark object gliding along beneath a hedge.
When he came up with it he noticed that Appleby had
something in his hand.

"I've got it," he said.

Niven looked at the object he held up.  "It's very
quiet," he said.

"Of course!" said Appleby.  "You wouldn't make
much noise without your head.  Killing anything is
beastly, but there was a billhook handy.  We've no
time for talking now.  It's a good big dog."

They crossed a field, and Niven's shoeless foot did
not greatly embarrass him until they crawled through
a hedge into recent ploughing, while as they plodded
over it the growling of the dog drew nearer.

"Come on!" gasped Appleby.  "She has got him
loose at last."

The beast was close at hand when another hedge rose
up blackly against the sky before them, and Niven
swung off a little towards an oak that grew out of it.

"It's a horrible brute, but it can't climb a tree.  I'm
going for the oak," he said.

Appleby grasped his shoulder.  "Jimmy could," he
said.  "Go on, and try if you can pull one of those
stakes in the gap up."

In another minute Niven was tearing out a thick
stake, and felt a little happier when he saw the end of
it was sharpened, while Appleby had clawed up a big
clod of stiff clay from the ploughing.

"He's only a cur, any way, and I think there's a stone
in it," he said.

They could now dimly see the dog, and it was evident
that it saw them, for it stopped, and then commenced
to work round sideways in their direction, growling as
though a little disconcerted by their waiting.

"It's an ugly beast," said Niven, whose heart was in
his mouth.  "It would get us if we ran."

"We're not going to run," said Appleby quietly,
though his voice was a trifle hoarse.  "Howl at him,
Chriss."

Niven commenced a discordant hissing, and the dog
growled more angrily.  They could see it black
against the ploughing, and it looked very big.
Appleby was standing perfectly still with something held up
above his head, and drew back a pace when the brute
came creeping towards him.

"Here's something for you, Towser," he said, flinging
his arm up.

Then a howl followed, and next moment Niven
was tearing up the clay, and hurling it in handfuls
after something that seemed fading in the dimness of
the field.  When he could see it no longer he stood up
breathless.

"We've beaten him," he gasped.  "It's about time
we were going."

They went at once, and did not stop until they
reached the road, where Niven leaned against a gate,
and glanced down ruefully at his foot.

"It wasn't so bad on the grass, but I don't know how
I'm going to get home now," he said.

"Put up your foot," said Appleby.  "We'll tie our
handkerchiefs round it."

He was quick with his fingers, but when they turned
homewards Niven was not exactly happy.  He was wet
and very muddy, while, as he afterwards observed, walking
a long way on one foot is not especially easy.  It was
also raining steadily, and a little trickle from his soaked
cap ran down his shoulders, while the bare hedgerows
seemed to crawl back towards them very slowly.  The
mud squelched and splashed underfoot, and there was
only the crying of the plover in the darkness.

"I never fancied it was such a beastly long way to the
tileworks," he said as he limped on painfully.

At last when the knotted handkerchief hurt his foot
horribly a light or two blinked faintly through the rain,
and presently they plodded into the silent village.
Nobody seemed to see them, the window they had
slipped out of was still open, and crawling in they went up
the stairway and along the corridor on tiptoe with the
water draining from them.  Niven had expected to find
his comrades asleep, and was too wet and dispirited to
wish to waken them, but there was a murmur of
sympathy when he crept in.

"I wouldn't be you," said somebody.  "The Head
came in to ask how many panes in the greenhouse
Nettleton had broken, and he saw you were away."

"And he came back, and threatened to keep the
whole of us here to-morrow, if we didn't tell him where
you were," said another lad.  "It was very nice of you
to let us all into lumber."

"Did you tell him?" asked Appleby.

"Of course!" said a third speaker sardonically.  "It's
just what we would do.  I'll thank you for that
to-morrow, and I'd get up now only the Head would hear
us, and he's breathing slaughter."

"Tearing around," said Bluey the Nova Scotian.
"Cutlasses and pistols, and the magazine open!  You
know the kind of thing you're fond of reading."

Niven, who was tired out, groaned.  As he told his
comrades afterwards he had enjoyed himself sufficiently
already, and one wanted to brace up before a visit from
the Head.

"What are we going to do, Tom?" he said.

Appleby laughed softly.  "I'm going straight to bed,"
he said.  "The Head's busy, and there mayn't be
anything very dreadful if he sends Pearson."

He was undressed in another two minutes, and as
Niven crept into bed somebody said, "Did you get the
duck?"

"We did," said Niven solemnly.  "And be hanged to
it!  That's enough for you or anybody, and don't worry
me.  I want to be asleep when the Head comes."

"You needn't be afraid he'll mind waking you," said
another lad.  "I'd rolled up my jacket, so it looked just
like Appleby's big head, and when he saw it wasn't, he
got speechless mad."

Ten minutes passed, and Niven was just feeling a
little warm again when there were footsteps in the
corridor.  They drew nearer, and with a little gasp of
dismay he swung himself out of and then under his bed.
A swish and a rustle told him that Appleby had followed
his example, and a voice from under the adjoining cot
said, "He'll go away again if he doesn't find us, and we
may tire him out before the morning."

Next moment the door was opened, and while a light
shone in somebody said, "Asleep, of course, all of you!
Have Niven and Appleby returned yet?"

Niven, glancing out from under his cot, saw a robust
elderly gentleman holding a candle above him, while he
swung what looked like a horse girth suggestively in his
other hand, but a snore answered the master's question,
and he laughed unpleasantly.

"We have had sufficient nonsense," he said.  "You
can either tell me at once where your comrades went, or
improve your memories by writing lines the rest of the
night."

Here and there a sleepy object sat up on a bed, but
there was still no answer, and the head of Sandycombe
School tapped his foot impatiently on the flooring.

"I'm not in a mood for trifling, boys," he said.  "You
have another minute to decide in, and nobody in this
room will go home to-morrow if you do not tell me
then."

There was for several seconds a silence that could be
felt, and though all of those who heard him knew the
head of the school would keep his word, nobody spoke.
Then there was a rustle under a bed, and Niven caught
a low murmur, "Keep still.  If he get's one of us he'll
forget the other."

Next moment Appleby was speaking louder.  "I'm
here, sir," he said.

The master lowered his candle as something wriggled
out from under the cot, and then swung up the strap
when Appleby stood very straight before him in his
night gear.

"Where is Niven?  It was you who took him away?"
he said.

"Yes, sir," said Appleby.  "I did, but he came back
all right."

"Very good!" said the master.  "You seem to be
proud of it.  Hold out your hand."

Appleby glanced at him, and did not move for a
second or two while he thought rapidly.  He did not
like what he saw in his master's eyes, and now he had
delivered his comrades it was time to shift for himself.
He and Niven were leaving school early on the morrow,
and he fancied he might escape if he could tide through
the next ten minutes, because the head of the school
had a good deal to attend to on the last night.  The
door was also open, and not far away, the candle was
flickering in the draughts, and swinging suddenly round
he darted for the opening.  He was, however, a second
too late, for the great strap came down swishing, and
coiled about his shoulders, but he was in the corridor
before it rose again, and making for the head of a short
stairway.  The master, however, seemed to be gaining
on him, and Appleby fancied he heard the swish of the
strap when a yard away from the first step.  One taste
had been sufficient, and bracing every sinew he went
down in a flying leap.  As he alighted there was a
thud and a crash, and the candle suddenly went out.
Still, nobody fell down the stairway, and surmising
that the pursuer missing him with the strap had driven
the candle against the wall, Appleby did not wait for
a recall but went on, and into the great, dark
schoolroom underneath.  There he listened until heavy
footsteps overhead seemed to indicate that the master
had gone back to his room, when creeping up another
stairway, he regained the opposite end of the corridor
through a class-room.  In another few minutes he had
crawled back into his bed.

"Does it hurt, Tom?" said Niven sympathetically.
"I'm owing you a good deal for this, but I know you
don't like that kind of talk—and did you forget the
duck?"

Appleby laughed softly, partly to check the groan, for
there was a horrible tingling round his shoulders.

"I've had a lighter tap, but I've got the duck.  It's
here under the bed," he said.





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   CHAPTER II


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   OUT OF DOCK

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Appleby went home with Niven next morning, as
he had done once or twice before, for he had no home
to go to, or relations who seemed anxious to invite him
anywhere.  Mr. Niven was a prosperous Liverpool
merchant who had, however, made his own way in the
world, and he and his wife had taken a liking to the
quiet, friendless lad.  Chriss Niven also wrote to his
mother every week, and, though Appleby did not know
this, had mentioned more than one difficulty out of
which his comrade had pulled him.

It was a week later when Appleby, who had slipped
away from the rest, sat somewhat moodily in a corner of
a little ante-room opening out of a large one that was
brilliantly lighted.  The chords of a piano rang through
the swish of dresses, patter of feet, and light-hearted
laughter, for it was Mrs. Niven's birthday, and she had
invited her son's and daughter's friends to assist in
its celebration.  Appleby was fond of music, and he
drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair, and
now and then glanced wistfully towards the doorway.

Under the glances of bright eyes that seemed to
find his clumsiness amusing, and amidst the dainty
dresses, he had grown horribly conscious that his clothes
were old and somewhat shabby.  The fact had not
troubled him before, but he had never been brought
into contact with pretty girls of his own age hitherto.

Niven, however, always looked well, and Appleby
sighed once or twice as he watched him, and found it
hard not to envy him.  Chriss could do everything well,
and he was to sail south in a great iron merchant ship
by and by.  Appleby had lived beside the warm tropic
sea in his childhood and had loved it ever since, but
now, when the sight of the blue uniform of his friend
stirred up the old longing so that his eyes grew almost
dim, he knew that he was to begin a life of distasteful
drudgery in an office.  Presently Mr. Niven, who had a
lean face and keen dark eyes, came in.

"All alone, Tom.  Have the girls frightened you?"
he said with a smile.

"Well, sir," said Appleby quietly, "you see, when I
tried to turn over the music for Miss Lester I couldn't
quite guess the right time and it only worried her,
while it didn't seem much use to stand about in
everybody's way.  I'm going back when they start a game."

Mr. Niven nodded, for the unembarrassed gravity of
the answer pleased him.  "That's right.  There's very
little use in pretending one can do things when one
can't," he said.  "And you are going into business, eh!
I fancy, however, that Chriss told me you wanted to go to
sea."

"Yes," said Appleby with a reluctance that did not
escape the listener.  "Still, it seems all the owners ask
a good big premium, and of course there is nobody to
lend me the money.  The little my father left was
spent on my education, and my guardian writes me that
he has heard of an office where I could earn enough to
keep me."

"How did you know they wanted a premium?"
asked Mr. Niven.

"Because I went round all the shipowners' offices I
could find in the directory, sir," said Appleby.

The merchant nodded gravely to hide his astonishment.
"Your father died abroad, and your mother
too?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Appleby quietly.  "At Singapore.  I
can only just remember them.  I was sent back to
England when I was very young—and never saw either
of them again."

Mr. Niven noticed the self-control in the lad's face as
well as the slight tremble in his voice which would not
be hidden.  It was also if somewhat impassive a brave
young face, and there was a steadiness that pleased him
in the grave, grey eyes, he wished his own son looked
as capable of facing the world alone.

"And you would still like to go to sea?  It is a very
hard life," he said.

Appleby smiled.  "Isn't everything a little hard, sir,
when you have no friends or money?"

"Well," said Mr. Niven dryly, "it not infrequently is,
and I found it out at your age, though not many
youngsters do.  Who taught it you?"

Appleby looked a trifle confused.  "I," he said slowly,
"don't quite know—but it seems to make things a little
easier now.  Of course I did want to go to sea, but I
know it's out of the question."

The merchant looked at him curiously.  "You will
probably be very thankful by and by, but hadn't you
better go back to the others?  We'll have a talk again."

Appleby went out to take part in a game, and Mr. Niven
sat looking straight before him thoughtfully until
his wife came in.

"They are getting on excellently, and I am glad the
affair is a success, because it is difficult to please young
people now-a-days, and I want Chriss to have only
pleasant memories to carry away with him," she said.

She glanced towards the doorway with a little wistfulness
in her eyes as Chriss passed by holding himself
very erect while a laughing girl glanced up at him, and
Mr. Niven guessed her thoughts.

"It will be his own fault if he hasn't," he said with
a smile.  "It was, however, the other lad I was thinking of."

Mrs. Niven sat down and gazed at the fire for almost
a minute reflectively.  "You have had an answer from
that relative of his?"

The merchant nodded.  "To-day," he said.  "He is
evidently not disposed to do much for the lad, and has
found him an opening in the office of a very third-rate
firm.  Appleby does not like the prospect, and from
what I know of his employers I can sympathize with him."

"He has no other friends.  I asked him," said Mrs. Niven.
"Jack, I can't help thinking we owe a good
deal to that lad, and you know I am fond of him.  He
has always taken Chriss's part at Sandycombe, and you
will remember he thrashed one of the bigger boys who
had been systematically ill-using him.  Then there was
another little affair the night before they left the
school.  Chriss told Millicent, though he didn't mention
it to me."

"Nor to me," said Mr. Niven.  "A new, senseless
trick, presumably?"

The lady smiled a little as she told the story of
Jimmy's duck.  "The point is that the plan was
Chriss's, but when they were found out Appleby took
the punishment," she said.  "Now I scarcely fancy
every lad would have done that, or have been sufficiently
calm just then to remember that the master, who
it seems was very busy, would probably be content
when he had laid his hands on one of them.  It was
also a really cruel blow he got."

"Did he tell you?" said Mr. Niven dryly.

"No," said the lady.  "That was what pleased me,
because though I tried to draw him out about it he
would tell me nothing, but a night or two ago I
remembered there were some of his things that wanted
mending.  The lad has very few clothes, but he is shy
and proud, and I fancied I could take what I wanted
away and replace it without him noticing.  Well, he
was fast asleep, and I couldn't resist the temptation of
stooping over him.  His pyjama jacket was open, and I
could see the big, purple weal that ran right up to his
neck."

"If he knew, he would never forgive you," said Mr. Niven
with a little laugh.  "But what did they do
with the duck?  Chriss would certainly have forgotten it."

"Appleby brought it away, and gave it to some poor
body in Chester," said Mrs. Niven.

"That was the one sensible part of the whole affair,
but I want to know why you told me."

"Well," said the lady slowly, "you know he wants to
go to sea, and I feel sure his relative would be only too
glad to get rid of him.  Now it wouldn't be very
difficult for you to get him a ship almost without a
premium."

"A ship?" said Mr. Niven with a little smile.

"Yes," said the lady.  "Chriss's ship.  Chriss
is—well, you know he is just a trifle thoughtless."

"I fancy you mean spoiled," said her husband.
"Still, as usual, you are right.  It is quite probable
that Chriss will want somebody with a little sense
behind him.  Going to sea in a merchant ship is a
very different kind of thing from what he believes it is."

Mrs. Niven sighed.  "Of course.  Still, about Appleby?"

"Well," said her husband smiling, "I think I could
tell you more when I have had a talk with the owners
to-morrow."

He nodded as he went away, and it was next afternoon
when he sat talking with an elderly gentleman in
a city office.

"We would of course be willing to take a lad you
recommended," said the latter.  "Still, I was not
altogether pleased to hear that my partner had promised
to put your son into the *Aldebaran*."

"No?" said Mr. Niven with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Now I fancied you would have been glad of the
opportunity of obliging me."

The other man looked thoughtful.  "To be frank, I
would sooner have had the son of somebody we carried
less goods for," said he.  "With the steamers beating
us everywhere we have to run our ships economically,
and get the most out of our men, and I accordingly
fancy that while it would not have made him as good a
seaman, your son would have been a good deal more
comfortable as one of the new cadet apprentices on
board a steamer."

Mr. Niven smiled dryly.  "I have no great wish to
make my lad a seaman.  The fact is, there's a tolerably
prosperous business waiting for him, but in the
meanwhile he will go to sea, and it seems to me that the
best thing I can do is to let him.  He will probably be
quite willing to listen to what I have to tell him after
a trip or two, and find out things I could never teach
him on board your vessel."

"Well," said the shipowner with a little laugh, "it
is often an effective cure as well as a rough one."

Mr. Niven left the office with a document in his
pocket, and on Christmas morning Appleby found a big,
blue envelope upon his breakfast plate.

"I wonder what is inside it," said Mrs. Niven.

Appleby sighed.  "It has a business appearance," he
said.  "It will be to tell me when I'm to go to the
office."

"Hadn't you better open it?" said Mrs. Niven with
a glance at her husband, and there was silence while
Appleby tore open the envelope.  Then the colour
crept into his face, and his fingers trembled as he took
out a document.

"I can't understand it," he said.  "This seems to be
an apprentice's commission—indentures—for me.  The
ship is the *Aldebaran*."

There was a howl of delight from Chriss, and a rattle
as he knocked over his coffee, but Appleby sat still,
staring at the paper, while belief slowly replaced the
wonder in his eyes.  Then he rose up, and his voice
was not even as he said, "It is real.  I am to go in the
*Aldebaran*.  I have to thank you, sir, for this?"

Mr. Niven laughed.  "No, my lad," he said.  "It
was my wife's doing, and if you are sorry by and by
you will have her to blame."

Appleby turned to the lady, and his eyes were shining.
"It's almost too much," he said.  "Chriss and I
are going together.  It is everything I could have hoped
for."

Mrs. Niven smiled, though there was a little flush in
her face.  "Sit down and get your breakfast before
Chriss goes wild and destroys all the crockery," she said.

Chriss laughed uproariously.  "Crockery!" he said.
"If we'd been at Sandycombe we'd have smashed every
pane in the Head's conservatory.  Tom, it's—oh, it's
jim-bang, blazing, glorious!"

That was the happiest Christmas Appleby had ever
spent, and he remembered it many a time afterwards
when he kept his lonely watch peering into the bitter
night from plunging forecastle and spray-swept bridge,
or while he clung to the slanted topsail yard clawing at
the canvas that banged above him in the whirling snow.

Then, when he knew the reality, he could smile a
little at his boyish dream, but that day he only felt
his blood tingle and every fibre in him thrill in answer
to the calling of the sea.  He was English, and the
spirit which had from the beginning of his nation's
history driven out hero and patriot, as well as
cutthroat slaver and privateer, to scorch, and freeze, and
suffer, do brave things, and some that were shameful,
too, and with it all keep the red flag flaunting high in
symbol of sovereignty, was in him also.  All that day
shield-ringed galley, caravel, towering three-decker,
steel-sheathed warship, and ugly cargo tramp sailed
through his visions, and they had for a background
palms and coral beaches, mountains rolled in snow
cloud, and the blink of frozen seas.  They and their
crews' story were a part of his inheritance, because,
although the times have changed and canvas is giving
place to steam, English lads have not forgotten, and the
sea is still the same.

Appleby, however, had commenced to realize that
going to sea is not all luxury when he stood on the
*Aldebaran's* sloppy deck one bleak morning in February.
It was drizzling, and the light was dimmed by a smoky
haze, while the ship was foul all over with black grime
from the coaling staithes and the dust that had blown
across her from a big elevator hurling up Indian wheat.
It was also very raw, and Niven's face was almost
purple with the cold, while the moisture glistened on
his new uniform.  A few bedraggled women and a
cluster of dripping men stood on the dock wall above
them.  Other men tumbled dejectedly about the
forecastle, falling over the great wet hawsers,
while one or two who had crawled out of the mate's
sight lay rather more than half-asleep in the shadow
beneath it.

A grey-haired man with a sour face paced up and
down the poop, raising one hand now and then when a
dock official shouted, while Appleby sprang aside when
another man he spoke to came down the poop-ladder
and along the deck in long, angry strides.  He wore a
woolly cloth cap, knee-boots, and a very old pilot-coat,
and he had a big, coarse face, with heavy jawbone and
cruel eyes.  Still, the very way he put his feet down
denoted strength, and Appleby noticed the depth of his
chest and the spread of his shoulders.  Niven, who
had not seen him, did not move in time, and the man
flung him backwards.

"Out of the way!" he said.

Niven's face was flushed when he recovered his
balance, and there was an angry flash in his eyes
as he watched the man plunge into the shadow below
the forecastle.  In another moment several figures
came scrambling out of it, and went up the ladder
as for their lives, with the man in the pilot-coat close
behind.

"If that's the new mate he looks more like a prize-fighter
than a sailor," said Niven.  "How does he strike
you, Tom?"

"I think he's a brute," said Appleby quietly.

They said nothing further, for that was their first
acquaintance with the under-side of life at sea, and
their thoughts were busy, while in another minute the
mate looking in their direction signed to them, and it
did not appear advisable to keep a man of his kind
waiting.

"Give these beasts a hand," he said when they stood
among the seamen on the sloppy forecastle.  "You
can't be more useless than they are, anyway."

Niven stooped, and clawed disgustedly at the great
wet hawser behind the swaying men, and one of them,
who was dark-haired and sallow, glanced over his
shoulder when the mate swung away.

"Ah, *cochon*!" he said.

Another, who had tow-hair, stood up and stretched
his stalwart limbs.  "Der peeg!  Oh, yes.  Dot vas
goot," he said.  "I tink der vas some troubles mit dot
man soon."

A little man with high cheek bones and curious
half-closed eyes loosed his grasp upon the rope and laughed
softly.  He also said something to himself, but as it
was Finnish neither Appleby nor Niven were much
the wiser.

It, however, occurred to them that the language
they had listened to was not quite what one would
have expected to hear on board an English ship.
There were a few Englishmen on board her, but they
did not talk, and for the most part leaned up against
anything handy, or slouched aimlessly about looking
very unfit for work, which was not altogether astonishing
considering the fashion in which they had spent the
previous night.

Still the hawser was paid out at last, and Appleby
stood up breathless, smeared with slime and coal-dust
when the ropes astern fell with a splash, and there was
a hoot from the bustling little tug.  Somebody roared
out orders on the quay above, paddles splashed, and the
lad felt his heart give a curious little throb as the
*Aldebaran* slowly commenced to move.  She was a big
iron barque loaded until her scuppers amidships were
apparently only a foot or two from the scum of the dock.

He stood forward behind the maze of wire rope
about the jibboom, which was not yet run out, on the
forecastle, but just below him this broke off, and the
deck ran aft sunk almost a man's height between
the iron bulwarks to the raised poop at the opposite end
of the ship.  Half-way between stood a little iron
house, and down the middle of the deck rose the three
great masts, the last and smallest of them, springing
from the poop.  Behind it a man in shining oilskins
was spinning the wheel.  The deck looked very long
and filthy, for the wheat-dust and the coal-dust were
over everything, and bales, and boxes, and cases strewn
amidst the straggling lengths of rope.

Then he heard a fresh shouting, and saw that the
bowsprit was already raking through the open gate of
the dock, and there were faces smiling down on him
from the wall above.

"Chriss," he said, "look up."

Niven did, and Appleby swung his cap off when a
hoarse and somewhat spiritless cheer went up.
Mr. Niven was shouting something he could not catch,
Mrs. Niven was smiling down at them with misty eyes,
and the very pretty girl at her side waving a
handkerchief.

Appleby glanced at his comrade out of the corner of
his eyes and saw that Chriss's face had grown unusually
red.  Still, he was shouting lustily, and swinging his
cap, while in the silence that followed the cheer a
hoarse voice rose up—

   |  Blow the men down,
   |  Blow the men down,
   |  Oh, give us time
   |  To blow the men down.
   |

There was another scream from the whistle, and a
roar from the mate, and while the last ropes were cast
off the two lads ran aft along the deck.  Paddles
splashed, ropes slid through the water, and while the
red ensign thrice swung up and sank above their heads
the *Aldebaran* slid out into the Mersey.  Once more
the voices rang out hoarsely in farewell, and then while
the groups on the quay grew blurred and dim they
were sliding away with the ebb-tide into the haze and
rain.  Niven looked astern until the speck of waving
handkerchief was lost to him, and then turned to
Appleby with a little gulp.

"That's the last of them!" he said.  "They're going
back to dinner, and we—now I wonder what we're
going to out there."

He pointed vaguely with a hand that shook a little
across the dismal slate-grey waters beyond the
bows, but Appleby understood him, for it was the
unknown that was filled as yet with great and alluring
possibilities the jibboom pointed to.  Yet deep down
within him he felt as Niven did, a regret and a yearning
after the things he had left behind.  It was very
cold and wet on the *Aldebaran's* deck.





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   CHAPTER III


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   DOWN CHANNEL

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The first day at sea is seldom very pleasant to
anybody, especially on board a sailing ship, and the one
the lads had looked forward with bright hopes to,
dragged by dismally.  For an hour or two painted
buoy and rolling red lightship came crawling back
towards them out of the rain, and then when the last
of the Lancashire sandhills had faded over their
starboard hand, there was only smoky cloud before them
and a grey sea, across which little white ripples
splashed.

Still, the tug was powerful and hauled them steadily
along with a rhythmical splash and tinkle at the bows
that rose and fell a little, and a muddy wake streaked
with froth astern.  Once or twice they caught a blink
of the hills of Wales, but the vapours that unrolled a
trifle closed in again, and the lads were glad they had
not much opportunity for looking about them.  There
were huge ropes to be coiled up and stowed away,
bales and cases to be put below, the jibboom to be
rigged out, decks washed and everything cleaned down,
and while the drizzle blew about them they stumbled
amidst the litter and got in everybody's way.  Now
and then a seaman laughed at them or another growled.
One or two they offered to assist shoved them aside,
and it commenced to dawn upon Chriss Niven for the
first time that he was of very little use in the busy
world.  The knowledge was not pleasant, but it was
probably good for him.

Then the daylight died out, and while now and then
coloured lights crept up ahead and grew dim again
behind, one after another long streamers of brilliance
whirled up across the sea.  They, too, grew brighter,
flashed, and blinked, and flickered, and faded away, and
Appleby grew more chilly when he could find nothing
more to do, until at last he sighed with contentment
when somebody told him to go into the deckhouse if he
wanted any tea.

When he entered it he saw a lamp that smoked a
good deal swinging from a blackened iron beam, and
two lads a little older than himself sitting on their
sea-chests with enamelled plates on their knees, and a
great can of steaming tea before them.  They were just
out of port, and having brought their own things they
feasted for once royally on fresh bread and butter,
sardines and marmalade.  One of them who had a
pleasant face filled up Niven's pannikin, and pointed to
the bread.

"Wire in.  You'll not have the chance very long,"
he said.  "It's your job to go to the galley and bring
the senna in, but we have let you off this time.  I'd
take those things you're wearing off, if I was you.  We
don't dress like gunboat commanders on board the
*Aldebaran*."

"You brought this grub yourselves.  They don't
feed you very well," said Appleby, and the others
laughed.

"No," said one.  "None of the *Aldebarans* would
get a prize at a cattle show, and you'd be glad to steal
the dog's dinner in a week or two, only we haven't
got one.  You see a dog can't live on nothing as we're
almost expected to do, and the old man's too mean to
waste food on anything that can't handle sail."

"What's he like apart from his stinginess?" asked
Niven.

"Well," said one of the others, "I have sailed with
worse—a little—but the old man don't count for very
much, anyway, because it's the mate who runs the ship,
and the one we've got now's a terror."

"He's a pig-faced Geordie with a tiger's heart.  I'd
sooner live with a shark," said a lad who sat in a
corner.  "Hadn't been out two hours when he pitched
one of the fellows forward down the hold.  Of course it
was tolerably full, and he didn't fall very far."

"What did the man do?" asked Appleby.

"Crawled away out of sight, and went to sleep—of
course," said the first speaker; "none of them will be
much good until to-morrow, but there'll be a circus or
two on board this packet before we fetch Vancouver."

It was not very encouraging, but it was evident that
they must make the best of it, and Appleby solaced
himself with a long draught from his pannikin.  The
tea was hot and sweet at least, though there was very
little else to recommend it, and it and the crumbly
bread that tore beneath the knife put a little warmth
and vigour into him.  There was very little of the loaf
left when all were contented, and following the example
of the others, he and Niven crawled into their shelf-like
bunks.  Appleby flung off his jacket only because
Lawson the eldest lad warned him that he might be
wanted at any moment, but though his clothes were
wet and his straw mattress might have been more cosy,
he was glad to feel the warmth begin to creep back
into his chilled limbs.  The lamp creaked dolefully
above him as it swung to and fro, casting a brightness
that flickered and vanished on the brass of the ports.
Moisture stood beaded on the iron beams, and the
wooden floor was wet, while now and then one of the
big sea-chests groaned as it moved a little.  Nothing
was quite what Appleby had expected, but he did not
think there was anything to be gained by mentioning
it, and his eyes were growing dim when a shout roused
him.  Lawson was out of his berth in a moment and
struggling into a black oilskin.

"You should have had yours handy, but you'll have
to turn out without it.  They're getting sail on to her,"
hee said.

It seemed very black and cold when Appleby went
out into the rain again.  The wind had evidently
freshened, and sang through the maze of cordage above
him with a doleful wailing, while as he peered into the
darkness a burst of bitter spray beat into his eyes.  It
was almost a minute before he could see again, and
then he made out the reeling lights of the tug with a
row of paler ones behind them, and not far away a
great whirling blaze.

"That's the Skerries," said Lawson, who appeared at
his elbow.  "Yonder's Holyhead.  Wind's freshening
out of the south-east, and she'll about fetch Tuskar on
a close jam down channel."

Appleby did not understand very much of this, but
he had little time to wonder as to its meaning, for the
mate went by just then, and Lawson vanished into the
darkness when his voice rang out, "Fore and main
topsails.  Forward there, loose the jibs."

Dark objects went by at a floundering run, and
Appleby followed some of them to the foremost shrouds
which ran spreading out with the rattlings across them
from the lower mast-head to the rail.  He had swung
himself up on to it, and was glancing down at the
leaping foam below, when somebody grabbed him by the
arm, and next moment he was staggering across the deck.

"You'll go up there when you're told," the mate's
voice said.  "We want a good deal more work out of
you before you're drowned."

"He's a pig," said Niven, appearing close by, and
then sank back into the shadow when a big hand
reached out in his direction, while presently the two
found themselves pulling and hauling amidst a group
of swaying figures about the foot of the foremast.  It
ran up into the darkness black and shadowy, and dark
figures were crawling out on the long yard above them
that stretched out into the night, while there was a
groaning and rattling that drowned the wailing of the
wind.

"Gantlines!" said somebody.  "A pull on the lee-sheet.
Overhaul your clew," and black folds of canvas
blew out and banged noisily above them.  Then while
the men chanted something as they rose and fell, the
flapping folds slowly straightened out, and Niven
looking up saw the topsail stretch into a great shadowy
oblong.  Then the men upon its yard seemed to claw
at the next one, and there was more banging and
thrashing as it rose, while the tug's whistle hooted, and
hoarse shouts fell from the darkness and mingled with
those from the poop.

"Forward," roared somebody.  "Get the jibs on to her."

Neither Niven nor Appleby knew whether this
referred to them or what they were expected to do,
but there was nobody to tell them, so they followed
two men forward, and stood panting a moment on the
forecastle.  It was rising and falling sharply now, for a
long swell was running up channel, and they could
dimly see a man crawling out upon the jibboom.  This
time they did not attempt to follow him, and when
somebody drove them down the ladder a figure in
oilskins thrust a rope into their hands.

"Hang on while I sweat it up," it said.

Appleby did not understand the manoeuvre, but
when the man caught the rope beneath a pin and
they took up the slack he gave them at every backward
swing, a long triangular strip of canvas ceased
banging, and the lads felt they were doing something
useful when presently a second one rose into the
blackness.  Then they stood gasping, and watched
the lights of the tug slide by.  They could see the
white froth from her paddles and the rise and fall of
the black hull, while the voice of her skipper came
ringing across the water.

"Good voyage!" he said.  "You'll fetch Tuskar
without breaking tack."

The tug went by, and Niven set his lips when with
a farewell hoot of her whistle she vanished into the
blackness astern.  She was going back to Liverpool,
and would be there before the morrow, while when
another day crept out of the rain he would be only
so much farther from home.  He was not exactly
sorry he had come, but by no means so sure that
the sea was the only calling for Englishmen as he
had been.  Then the bulwarks they leaned upon
lurched beneath them, and he was sensible that
Appleby was speaking.

"She's starting now.  Look at her.  This is good,
after all," he said.

Niven looked, and saw that black tiers of canvas
had clothed the masts, though their upper portions
still projected above it.  They were also slanting, and
the deck commenced to slope beneath him, while the
long iron hull took on life and motion.  There was
a roar beneath the bows which rose and fell with a
leisurely regularity, a swing and dip of the sloppy deck,
and the spray began to blow in little stinging clouds
over the forecastle.  The wind also grew sharper, and
at last Niven laughed excitedly as he felt the *Aldebaran*
sweep away faster and faster into the night.

"Oh, yes," he said.  "Now one can forget the other
things."

"She's lying up close," said Lawson, who came by.
"Still, I'm glad the old man doesn't want the topgallants
on her yet.  Those are the next higher sails, and she's
a very wet ship when you drive her.  Look out.  She's
beginning her capers now."

As he spoke the bows dipped sharply, and from the
weather side of the forecastle a cloud of spray whirled
up.  It blew in long wisps to leeward, struck with a
patter along the rail, and before Niven, whose face was
streaming, could shake himself, a rush of very cold
water sluiced past him ankle-deep.  Then the long
hull heaved beneath him, and lurched forward faster
still.

"I'm wetter than I was when we found Jimmy's
duck, but this is great.  She's just tearing through
it," he said.

As he spoke a sing-song cry came out of the spray
that whirled about the dipping forecastle, "Steamer's
masthead light to starboard, sir."

Appleby, glancing over his right hand, saw a blink of
yellow radiance beyond the swelling curves of the jibs.
It was rising higher rapidly, and while he watched it,
a speck of green flickered out beneath.  Then a
deep, organ-toned booming broke through the
humming of the wind, and he saw a dark figure which he
fancied was the mate swing up and down the poop,
and another behind it stand rigid at the wheel.

"One of the Liverpool mailboats doing twenty knots,
and it isn't any wonder their skippers are nervous when
they meet a sailing-ship coming down channel," said
Lawson at his side.

Then somebody gave an order on the *Aldebaran's*
poop, and though it was not the usual one, any English
sailor would have understood it.  As it happened,
however, the man who held the wheel was not a Briton,
and next moment Appleby felt the ship swing round
a trifle.

"Jimminy!" gasped Lawson.  "The Dutchman's
going to ram us right across her."

Next moment there was a bewildering roar from the
whistle, and ringed about with lights the great bulk of
the liner sprang out of the night.  Towering high with
her long rows of deckhouses punctured with specks of
brilliancy and her two great funnels black against the
sky, she was apparently heading straight for them.

Appleby saw all this in a second while he held his
breath, and then there was a scuffle on the *Aldebaran's*
poop.  Somebody sprang towards the wheel, there was
a thud, and a man reeled away from it, while high up
in the darkness, canvas banged as the *Aldebaran* once
more swerved a trifle.  As she did so a man came
staggering down the poop ladder, and with the white
froth seething about her the liner swept by.  Appleby
gasped, and felt that he was shaking, while he saw that
Lawson's face was a trifle white by the yellow glow
that came out of one of the poop windows.

Then there was a roaring of orders, rattle of blocks,
and hauling at ropes, and a curious silence by contrast
when the *Aldebaran* swung forward with a springy
lurch again, and Appleby saw the man who had come
down the ladder, sitting apparently half-dazed upon
the deck.  His face was bleeding.

"Der port und der starboard I know.  Also der
loof, and keep her away, but der pinch her up I know
not, und now I am very seeck," he said.

"I shouldn't wonder if he was," said Lawson dryly.
"Still, though that's how accidents happen, it wasn't
the stupid beggar's fault he didn't understand pinch
her up.  The old man wanted him to screw her a
little nearer the wind, and luff, or a little higher
would have been the usual thing."

"Pinch!" said the seaman.  "I not know him, but
oop I hear, und I oop mit him."

"And he'd have slung us across the liner's bows
if the mate hadn't been too quick for him," said
Lawson.  "The fellow's head must be made of iron
or that smack would have killed him.  Well, these
things will happen when you're fresh from port."

Appleby and Niven were glad to crawl into their
berths again when the watch was over, and neither
of them said anything, though that was not because
they were not thinking.  It was evident that going
to sea was not quite all they had fancied it would
be, and they had an unpleasant recollection of the
Dutchman's bleeding face, and other tokens of the
mate's temper.  Still, they were tired and drowsy,
and in another few minutes Appleby was sleeping
too soundly even to dream of slavers and pirates as
he had not infrequently done at Sandycombe.  Niven,
however, tossed and groaned, for his head was hot, and
everything seemed to be spinning round, but at last
the blinking light faded, and slumber banished the
distressful nausea that tormented him.

There was a greyness low down to the eastwards
when, swathed in streaming oilskins now, they stood
where there was a little shelter beneath the weather-rail
next morning.  It was raining heavily, but the
sky was no longer covered by the smoky haze, and
here and there a patch of pale indigo showed between
the streaks of driving cloud.  The lads could see the
white-flecked sea tops heave against it, and the rows
of straining staysails, and great oblongs of the topsails
across the masts, sharp and black above them as if cut
out of ebony.  They were not, however, especially
interested in anything just then, for the *Aldebaran* was
pitching close-hauled into a short head sea, and
Appleby felt unpleasantly dizzy.  Niven also clung
very tightly to the rail, and his face, so far as it
could be seen, was of a curious greyish-green, while he
gasped each time the barque dipped her nose viciously
and sent a cloud of spray blowing all over her.

Then for some ten minutes there was a deluge which
blotted everything out, and they could only hear the
roar of the rain.  It ceased suddenly, and was followed
by a great whirling of cloud, while the streaks of blue
grew larger, and the topsails became grey instead of
black as the light came through.  The wind had also
almost gone, but Appleby could see the figure of a
man upon the poop with his head turned aft as though
looking for something.  In another minute he stood
at the top of the ladder shouting orders, and the deck
was suddenly dotted with scrambling men.  They
gathered in little groups about the feet of the masts
and along the rail, and became busy flinging down
coils of rope.  Somebody shoved one into Niven's
hands, and he and Appleby hauled among the rest
as the long yards swung round until they were square
across the vessel, and then pointed a trifle towards
the other side of her.  There was a banging and
rattling overhead as the staysails came down, and a
man laughed when the *Aldebaran* lay rolling in a
momentary calm.

"It's not easy to pull a Geordie's tail when he's
asleep," he said.  "And you'd better go round the other
road if he has a fancy you've got a bone."

Niven understood the speech was a compliment to
the mate's watchfulness.  "What is he making us do
this for?" he asked.

"Well," said the seaman good-humouredly, "you'll
find out these things by and by.  Now we were working
down channel close-hauled with the wind south-east
over our port bow, but it has dropped away with the
rain.  The mate doesn't wait to see if another one will
catch us with topsails aback, because he smells it
coming, and it will be screaming behind us out of the
north-west presently."

As he spoke one of the topsails swelled out, flapped
and banged, then other great oblongs of canvas ceased
their rustling too, and a flash of brilliant green swept
athwart the sea.  A patch of brass blinked in the
sudden brightness, the rigging commenced to hum, and
the *Aldebaran* moved, while once more the hoarse
voice rose from the poop.

"Topgallants," it said, and then after a string of words
Niven could not catch, "Main royal."

Instantly there was a bustle.  Men went up the
shrouds, swung high on the yards, letting little coils of
rope run down, and a third big tier of sailcloth swelled
out on either mast.  Chain rattled, running wire
screamed, the *Aldebaran* ceased rolling, and Appleby
could see the sea smitten into white smoke rush past
while he endeavoured to shake the kinks out of very
hard and swollen rope.  In the meanwhile the voice
rose from the poop again, and when he had time to
look about him two great pyramids of sail with a
third of different shape behind covered the *Aldebaran*
from the last feet of her mastheads to her spray-swept
rail.

Then Appleby drew in his breath with a little gasp
of wonder and delight.  The towering tiers of canvas
that gleamed a silvery grey now were rushing as fast as
the clouds that followed them across blue lakes of sky.
The great iron hull had become an animate thing, for
there was life in every swift upward lurch and easy
swing, and when he saw the foam that roared away in
ample folds about the bows unite again astern and
swirl straight back athwart the flashing green towards
the horizon he realized for a few moments all the
exhilaration of swift motion.

Presently, however, he was sensible of a horrible
qualm under his belt, and looked at his hands with a
little groan—one of them was bleeding from the rasp
of the ropes, and the other swollen and more painful
than if it had been beaten.  He stood still for another
second or two endeavouring to convince himself that
there was nothing unusual going on inside him, and
then staggered dizzily to the leeward rail.  He found
Niven there already, and for the next few minutes
two very unhappy lads gazed down at the foam that
whirled and roared beneath them as the *Aldebaran*
swept out from the narrow seas before the brave
north-wester.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A LESSON IN SEAMANSHIP`:

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   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A LESSON IN SEAMANSHIP

.. vspace:: 2

It was a fine Sunday, and the *Aldebaran* rolling
southwards lazily over a dazzling sea when Niven and
Appleby lay on the warm deck with their shoulders
against the house listening to Lawson who sat in the
doorway reading.  Pleasant draughts flickered about
them as the warm wind flowed under the great arch of
the mainsail's foot, and above it the sunlit canvas
climbed, tier on tier, to the little royals swaying slowly
athwart the blue.  The barque was sliding forward on
an even keel, but now and then she lifted her weather
side with a gentle roll, and a brighter glare was flung up
by the shining brine.  Behind them the blue smoke of
the galley whirled in little puffs, and glancing aft
Appleby was almost dazzled by a flash from the
twinkling brass boss of the wheel.  Then when the
poop went down he could see the figure of the
helmsman forced up against the iridescent blueness of
the sea.

Appleby wore a thin singlet and slippers, duck
trousers and a jacket of the same material that had
once been white and was a nice grey now.  Niven's
things were cleaner, but one rent trouser leg had been
inartistically sewn up with seaming twine, and neither
of them looked very like the somewhat fastidious
youngsters who had once found fault with their rations
in Sandycombe School.  Their faces were bronzed from
their foreheads to their throats, their hands were
ingrained as a navvy's, and almost as hard, and they
could by this time have eaten anything there was
nourishment in.

"There's no use reading that stuff to us.  We can't
take it in," said Niven.

Lawson grinned at Appleby.  "A little thick in the
head?" he said.

"No," said Niven.  "My head's as good as those
most people have, anyway.  I was top of the list almost
every term when I was at school."

Lawson's smile grew broader.  "That's a bad sign,"
he said.  "Now I never knew how much I didn't know
until I came to sea, and you don't seem to have got that
far yet.  You see, there's a good deal you want to
forget."

"Well," said Niven, "forgetting's generally easy.
What would you teach a fellow who wanted to go to sea?"

Lawson rubbed his head.  "How to get fat on bread
and water would come in useful for one thing," he said.
"Then it would be handy to know just when to say
nothing when you're kicked, and when it would be better
to put your foot down and answer with your fist.  You
see, if you do either of them at the wrong time you're
apt to be sorry."

"Appleby knows that already," said Niven, whose
eyes twinkled as he glanced at his friend.

Appleby made a grimace, and Lawson laughed.

"Then it's a good deal more than you do, though I
expect the mate will teach you the first of it," he said.

"Now, when Cally put soft-soap in your singlet and
sewed your trousers up you should have laughed fit to
split yourself, as Appleby did.  Cally tarred his hair for
him, and there's some in yet, but any one would have
fancied that he liked it."

Niven wriggled a little.  "Oh, shut up!  That's not
what we want to know," he said.

"No?" said Lawson.  "Then we'll get on to the
healthful art and practice of seamanship.  Am I to
commence at the end, or half-way through?  The
beginning will not be much use to you."

"I'll climb down," said Niven.  "Made an ass of
myself, as usual.  Now, do you want me to lick your
boots for you?  Begin at the beginning, and make it
simple."

Lawson chuckled.  "You'll get on while you're in
that frame of mind, my son," he said.  "Well, now, there
are, generally speaking, two kinds of sailing ships—first
the fore-and-afters, examples, cutter, ketch, and schooner,
with their canvas on one side only of the mast.  They're
to be described as tricky, especially when you jibe them
going free, but when you jam them on the wind they'll
beat anything."

"Jam them on the wind?" said Appleby.

Lawson nodded.  "Close-hauled sailing.  That's what
I'm coming to," he said.  "In the meanwhile there's
the other kind, the one the Britisher holds to, while the
Yankee who knows how to run cheap ships smiles, the
square-riggers, examples, the ship and brig.  Their sails
are bent to yards which cross the masts, and, as you
have found out, you've got to go aloft in all weathers to
handle them, which is not one of their advantages.
Then we come to the modifications or crosses between
them, the barque, two masts square-rigged, fore-and-aft
on mizzen, of which the *Aldebaran* is a tolerably poor
example, topsail schooner, brigantine, which has yards
on her foremast and fore-and-aft main, and barquentine
with foremast square-rigged and two mainmasts carrying
fore-and-aft canvas, though they call the last of them
the mizzen.  The other kind I didn't mention is the one
that makes the money, and sails with a screw.  Got
that into you?"

"Oh, yes," said Niven, yawning.  "Can't you get on?
I knew it all years ago."

Lawson grinned.  "Of course!" he said.  "Well, I'll
leave the mate to talk to you."

He went into the deckhouse, and returned with a
sheet of paper and a little, beautifully-constructed model
of a full-rigged ship.  "I made it last trip to work out
questions for my examination with," he said, but the
deprecation in his bronzed face betrayed his pride, and
Appleby, who saw how tenderly he handled the model,
understood.  "Now we come to the one and universal
practice of sailing.  I make this ring on the paper, and
you can consider it the compass, or, and it's the same
thing, one-half the globe.  Here I draw two lines across
it crossing each other, and we'll mark the ends of them
North, South, East, and West.  That divides the circle
into four quarters, and the corners where the lines
intersect are right angles, each containing ninety
degrees, or eight points of the compass which has
thirty-two in all."

He laid the paper on the deck, and when he had
turned it so that the first line run from North to
South, placed the model at the upper end of it, and
twisted the yards and sails, which moved, square across
the hull.  "The wind's blowing from Greenland to
the South pole, and she's going before it," he said.
"Anything would sail that way—it's called running—even
a haystack, and you trim the vessel's sails whether
she's fore-and-aft or square-rigged at right angles to
a line drawn down the middle of her hull.  Well, we've
reached the south end of the line—we'll say it's the
south pole, and want to get back north again, but the
wind is right against us now."

He picked up the model, and twisted the yards again
so that they slanted sharply across the hull, making a
small angle with its middle line.  "Now she's braced
sharp up, or close hauled—every sheet's hauled in—on
the wind, and we'll start her heading north-east on the
port tack.  That is, the wind's on the port side of her,
though we could have started on the opposite one
heading north-west, if we had liked.  Run that line
along, and you'll find it makes an angle of four points of
the compass, or forty-five degrees, with the wind, which
makes it evident that by and by you come to the edge
of the first quarter of the circle at east.  Then, if we
put the ship round with the wind on her opposite side,
and sail at the same angle as far again, we come back to
north, where the wind is blowing from, and when you
grasp that you've got the principle of the whole thing.
With the wind behind you all sails flowing, when you're
working up against it, everything's flattened in, but you
have to remember that all vessels don't sail equally
close to the wind, and while a racing cutter will lie
very close indeed, a shallow full-bowed hooker must
have it almost on her side to keep her going.  That's
why I took four points as a handy example, because
two tacks of forty-five degrees would bring us back
again."

"But why doesn't the wind shove her away sideways
when she's close-hauled?" asked Appleby.

Lawson nodded approval.  "That shows you're following,
it does," he said.  "Still it don't amount to
very much if the vessel's deep, because all of her that's
in the water offers resistance to it.  They all slide off
a little, and that's the leeway."

"Well," said Niven, "when the wind's so to speak
almost against her, what makes her go ahead at all?"

Lawson grinned.  "What makes a kite go up against
the wind?  You see the sails of a close-hauled ship
make about the same angle to it as a kite does.  They
didn't teach you that at school?"

"I think they did," said Appleby.  "There's something
very like it in the parallelogram of forces."

"The biscuit's yours," said Lawson.  "Get that into
you, and you know all the whys of sailing."

He yawned and bent over his book, repeating snatches
of curious ditties about green to green and red to red,
and steamers crossing, but Appleby remembered what
he had heard, which was fortunate, because it was the
only instruction that anybody ever gave him on board
the *Aldebaran*.  Then the cook banged on something
in his galley, and Niven, who got up and stretched
himself, went along to bring in the tea.  He came
back with a big steaming can and grinned at Appleby.

"They'll be getting very different tucker at home,"
he said.  "Still, it will be beastly cold and wet up there
just now."

His merriment was evidently a trifle forced, and
another lad who lay poring over a book in a corner
raised his head.

"Oh, shut up!" he said.  "We've heard all that
before, and you don't do it very well.  If I could get
back into the shop the governor found me I'd like to
catch myself going to sea.  Oh, great handspikes!
Just listen to the brute."

A storm of venomous language came forward from
the poop, and through the drowsy flap of canvas
and stillness of the dazzling ocean there rang the
strident voice of the mate.  Lawson slowly shook his
head.

"She was scarcely steering, and Biddulph has let
her fall off," he said.  "They've stood a good deal
forward, but that mate of ours is pushing them too
far."

Then there was silence that seemed deepened by
the light flap and rustle of sailcloth and gurgle of
shining brine, but the peace of the day had gone, and
the shadow which crept into the four young faces was
that which has darkened so many lives at sea.  They
had all been used to discipline, and did not resent it,
while it had been made evident to two of them of late
that on board a sailing ship toil that is brutal as
well as perilous is often a necessity.  They would also
have undertaken it more or less cheerfully, but there
had been added to it a ruthless tyranny, and Appleby's
little sigh seemed to ask the question that downtrodden
men have asked from the beginning—why such things
must be?  And, for he was young, he could not find
an answer.

A little breeze sprang up after sunset, and the ship
was sliding faster through a sea that blazed about
her with lights of green and gold when Appleby hung
about the deck, held still and silent by something in
the harmonies of the night.  There was no moon, but
there was also no cloud in the sky, and the great stars
the mast-heads swayed across hung set far back one
behind the other in the blue, while the spires of canvas
towered black and sharp under their cold light.  Not
a cloth rustled, but there came down from the gossamer
tracery of rigging a little musical humming that
suggested the chanting of an invisible choir.

Forward a black figure was visible on the forecastle.
Here and there another showed along the dusky line
of bulwarks, and now and then Appleby could see
the dark shape of the mate standing high upon the
poop.  This, however, was not often, because he
preferred to keep the great shadowy mainsail between
himself and it.  Night and sea were still and
peaceful, and that sinister figure alone jarred upon their
serenity.

Suddenly the harsh voice he feared broke the silence,
and Appleby instinctively set his lips when he saw his
comrade cross the deck.  It was noticeable that Niven
went at a trot, and if he had been told that one side
of the poop is usually sacred to the officer of the
watch knowing that haste was advisable he forgot.  A
moment or two later he stood panting at the head of
the ladder, which rose about six feet from the deck, and
the mate strode towards him with arm drawn back.
Possibly something had ruffled his temper, which was
at the best a bad one, that night.

"There are two ladders to this poop, and this will
teach you which is yours," he said.

Then before Niven could speak the arm shot out,
and the breathless lad reeled backwards with head
swimming and a tingling face.  The blow had possibly
not been a very cruel one, but the *Aldebaran* swung her
stern up just then, and the opening in the rails was
close behind him.  He went out through it backwards,
caught his foot on the rung of the ladder, and pitching
over came down with a sickening thud on deck.
Appleby, who had seen it all, ran aft and knelt down
beside him.

"Chriss, are you hurt?" he gasped.

.. _`"'CHRISS, ARE YOU HURT?'"`:

.. figure:: images/img-063.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: "'CHRISS, ARE YOU HURT?'"

   "'CHRISS, ARE YOU HURT?'"

There was no answer, and hearing a rattle on the
ladder the lad looked up, and saw the mate standing
close by.  He had his hands in his pockets, but there
was an unpleasant look in his face.

"Shamming.  Take him forward," he said, and stooped
as though about to shake the lad who still lay motionless.

He, however, straightened himself as Appleby rose
up, and stood before him, quivering, with hand clenched
and a blaze in his eyes.

"Get back!  You have done enough," he said, and
if Niven could have heard it he would scarcely have
recognized his comrade's voice.

"Hello!" the mate said sharply.  "Were you talking
to me?"

"Yes," said Appleby hoarsely, but very quietly.
"And I have a little more to tell you.  You can't do
these things with impunity, and we'll have you kicked
out of the Company for this."

It was not, of course, a judicious speech, but Appleby
was scarcely in a state to decide what was most fitting
then.  The mate moved a pace nearer him, and his
hands were out of his pockets now, but he stopped
close by Appleby, for the lad stood stiffly upright, his
face grey with passion.

"I'll make you sorry.  Get him out of this," he said.

Then Niven raised himself a little, and blinked
dizzily at both of them.  "I think I could get up if
you helped me, Tom," he said.

Appleby shivered a little as he saw the red smear on
the back of his head, but before he moved an elderly
man with a sour face and grizzled hair came down the
ladder and stopped in front of them.  He glanced at
Niven and then at Appleby, but it is probable that
a scene of the kind was not quite new to him, and his
face was expressionless.

"Well, what's it all about?" he said.

Appleby had but once or twice spoken to the captain,
who was a grim, silent man, and not seen very often in
fine weather.  Whether he was contented with the
mate's conduct was not apparent, but as usual it was
the latter who handled the ship's company.

"You had better ask the mate, sir," said Appleby.
"He knocked him down the ladder."

The skipper turned towards the other man, and the
mate laughed a little.

"That's not quite right, sir," he said.  "The lad
can't take telling, and he came up the wrong ladder
when I sang out for him.  I guessed it was done out of
impudence, and let him have it so it wouldn't hurt him
much with the flat of my hand.  She gave a lurch
just then that threw him off his feet and down he went.
Then this one began a rumpus, and told me he'll have
me run out of the service."

The skipper stooped over Niven.  "Head's cut—at
the back," he said in an expressionless voice.  "Get up,
and go aft, my lad.  I'll fix it for you."

Niven rose shakily, and obeying the skipper's pointing
hand walked towards the poop with uneven steps.
Then the latter looked at Appleby.

"What did he mean by that?" he said quietly.

Appleby understood the question, and though he
fancied he was doing wisely made a blunder.  "I think
I can do all I told him, sir," he said.  "You see, this
ship is carrying Mr. Niven's goods, and one could fancy
the Company is glad to get them."

"Niven?" said the skipper, more to himself than the
others.  "Most of the freight belongs to Clarke and
Hall."

"They're dead," said Appleby, who had been told
this.  "There's only Mr. Niven in the business now."

The skipper looked thoughtful.  "Now I remember,"
he said as he turned towards the mate, and stopped.
"Well, this is my affair, Appleby, and I'm the only man
who can question what the mate does on board this
ship.  If you do it again it will be the worse for you.
Remember that."

Appleby touched his cap and moved away, and
presently Niven came forward from the poop with his
head tied up.  He was still pale, and moved slowly,
while he had little to tell his comrade.

"He put some stuff that smarted on the cut, but
didn't ask any questions, and told me to lie down," he
said.  "I'm going to do it because I'm not myself yet.
My head's all humming, and I don't seem to want to
talk."

Appleby helped him into his bunk, and then went
back to his watch, while he told Lawson all that had
passed when he next had an opportunity.  The elder
lad listened gravely.

"You fancy the old man believed you?" he said.

"Yes," said Appleby.  "It isn't my fault if he didn't.
I did my best to make him."

Lawson shook his head.  "Then I'm afraid you
made a mess of things," he said.  "You see, if the old
man believed you the mate would."

"Of course!" said Appleby.  "That was what I wanted."

"Well," said Lawson, "it's unfortunate that you did.
Now the old man's tolerably tough, but he's not a fool,
and, to give him his due, is content with getting two
men's work out of every one of the crew.  He knows
the men who fill the ships up can make things nasty
for the captain, and it's quite likely he'll talk straight
to the mate, though he wouldn't to you, and that's not
going to make the mate any fonder of you and Niven."

"I was hoping it would keep him quiet," said Appleby.

"It wouldn't," said Lawson.  "All that Niven's father
could do would be to get him turned out, and if the mate
thought that likely he'd make it warm for you before
he went, you see.  If you've any pull on the owners it's
not, as a rule, advisable to mention it at sea.  It doesn't
make anybody think the better of you."

Appleby groaned.  "I've been an ass again," he said.
"Still, I fancied he had killed Niven—and I had to do
something."

Lawson smiled dryly.  "There's only one thing anybody
can do at sea, and that's to keep his mouth shut
and out of the way of trouble," he said.  "When you
can't help things there's no use in kicking."

Appleby made no answer.  It was a somewhat grim
lesson, but it was one that sooner or later every lad
must learn, and the result of it is the capacity for
endurance which is not infrequently worth a good deal
more than courage in action.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`UNDER TOPSAILS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   UNDER TOPSAILS

.. vspace:: 2

Appleby was not long in discovering that Lawson
was right.  Hitherto the mate had only stormed at
him and his comrade as he did at the rest of the
vessel's company, but now he seemed to single them
out for abuse whenever he had an opportunity, and he
managed to find a good many.  It was true that he
attempted no further violence, but they could have
borne that better than the relentless petty persecution,
for there was scarcely a difficult or unpleasant task
within their strength that the lads were not set to do.
Unpleasant duties are also by no means uncommon on
board a sailing ship.

Still, Appleby had seen that to protest was useless
and likely to make things worse, while because the
mate was cunning as well as cruel it would have been
difficult to make a definite complaint even if there had
been anybody to listen to him, which, however, was
not the case.  So he set his lips and bore it, and so
as he could endeavoured to restrain Niven, who
would now and then break out into fits of impotent
anger or lie silent in his bunk after some fresh indignity.
Had the work been always necessary Appleby would
have endeavoured to do it willingly, though it was
now and then almost disgusting, but the mate probably
knew this, and arranged things so that he should feel he
was doing most of it only to please his enemy.  Grown
men have been driven to self-destruction or murderous
retaliation by treatment of this kind, and after a few
weeks of it both lads felt they could endure no more.

Meanwhile the weather grew colder and the work
harder.  That was not the worst time of the year for
rounding Cape Horn, but they found it bad enough,
for the *Aldebaran* met wild weather and she was loaded
heavily, while on the afternoon she lay rather more
than a hundred miles to the eastwards of the dreaded
cape her crew were almost too worn out for duty.  She
was then heading about south-west upon the starboard
tack, thrashing very slowly to windward under
topsails, and flooding her decks with icy water each
time she poked her nose into the seas, and she did it
tolerably often, for the seas were very big.  They came
rolling down to meet her out of the south-west,
blue-black in the hollows, which were streaked with foam
and frothing on their crests, and Appleby would hold
his breath when one larger than its fellows rose high
above the starboard bow.  Most often the *Aldebaran*
would swing up her head in time and climb over the
big wall of water with a swooping lurch, while the
spray that whirled up from her bows rattled like
grapeshot into her foretopsails and blew out in showers
between the masts.  Now and then, however, she went
through, and then there was a thud and roar and her
forecastle was lost from sight.  It seemed a long while
before she hove it up again streaming, and every man
held on to what was handiest when the long deck was
swept by torrents of icy brine.  Then while frothy
wisps blew away from the forecastle and every scupper
on one side spouted she would stagger on again for
perhaps ten minutes more dryly, because the long
ocean seas are by no means all equally steep and high.

Appleby and Niven were holding on, shivering with
cold and wet through in spite of their oilskins, by a pin
on the weather rail, for the deck slanted sharply and
the water was washing everywhere.  Glancing forward
they could see nothing but spray, and every now and
then the frothing top of a larger sea hove up against
a vivid glare of green.  When they looked up, which
it was not often advisable to do, they could see the
mastheads raking across a patch of hard deep blue,
athwart which clouds with torn edges whirled.  There
was little canvas on the slanted spars, two jibs that ran
water above the bowsprit, two topsails on either mast,
a staysail or two between them, and half the spanker
on the mizzen.  The sails did not look as if they were
made of flexible canvas but cast in rigid metal.

Presently a wet man came clawing his way along,
and stopped when Niven called to him.

"Did you hear what we had made?" he said.

The man nodded, and growled at the spray which
beat into his face.  "The stooard he heard the old
man and the mate a-fixing it," he said.  "She's worked
off about another twenty miles since noon yestidday."

Niven groaned.  "Only twenty miles!" he said.
"That's another week before we can square away."

"Well," said the man with a little grim laugh, "I'd
give her another fortnight when I was at it.  She'll
take all that to fetch round with this wind, any way."

The two lads looked at each other, and neither
of them said anything when in a lull between two
plunges the man lurched away, but that was because
they fancied he was right and both were unwilling to
admit all that they were feeling.

They knew a good deal about close-hauled sailing
now, for during four long weeks the *Aldebaran* had
been thrashing her way to windward in the face of
stinging gales.  Sometimes when the sea was a trifle
smoother she would gain a little on every tack, and
then a fresh storm would come roaring down, and when
they had furled the higher sails with half-frozen hands
she would do little more than hold the wind upon her
side and of course make nothing at all in the required
direction.  Also they had often to heave her to under
little rags of sail with the sea upon her bow while she
blew away to leeward and lost in a few hours all they
had won the preceding day.

Always the decks were flooded, and the men wet to
the skin.  The galley fire was frequently washed out,
and they got cold provisions, often so soaked with salt
water that they could scarcely eat them, while when
sleep was possible they lay down as they were, all
dripping, too worn out to strip off their clothes.  It
would not have been advisable to take them off in any
case, for they might be turned out at any moment to
furl upper topsails or haul down staysails in a sudden
freshening of the gale.  Canvas was furled and hoisted
continually, because a ship will not sail to windward
through a heavy sea unless she is sternly pressed, while
her crew fight for every yard she makes.

Appleby even in his oilskins looked very gaunt and
thin.  His face was hollow and bronzed by exposure
to bitter wind and stinging brine, while Niven, like
many of the others, was troubled with painful sores
from sleeping in salt-stiffened clothes.  Their hands
were stiffened and clawlike, their knuckles bleeding, and
from the ceaseless rasp of ropes the undersides of
their fingers were very like grain-leather.  Worn out
utterly and half-fed they were just holding out with the
rest of the *Aldebaran's* company until they could thrash
her far enough to the westwards to square away and
run north into better weather on the other side of
Cape Horn.

"Hallo!" said Niven presently.  "That's a nasty
cloud.  I wonder what fresh beastliness it's bringing us."

Appleby, glancing to windward, saw that the glaring
green beyond the seatops had faded out, and the
horizon was smeared with grey.  It also seemed to be
closing in upon them rapidly, and overhead a black
cloud with torn edges was swallowing up the strip of
blue.

"More wind, any way.  She'll scarcely bear upper
topsails now," he said with a little groan.  "Still, the
old man's tolerably stubborn at carrying on."

Niven, glancing aft, could see the skipper's gaunt
figure swung high upon the poop against a frothing
sea as he too glanced to windward.  He was probably as
anxious as any one to get round Cape Horn, but it was
only by carrying sail to the last moment and making
the most of every lull he could hope to do it.  Even
as he gazed ragged ice fell pattering along the decks,
and the daylight died out leaving a grey dimness behind
it.  Then for a few minutes sea and ship were hidden
by the flying hail.  It cut the lads' raw knuckles until
they could have cried out in agony, thrashed their wet
faces and rattled on their oilskins, while the rigging
roared above them, and twice in succession the *Aldebaran*
put her whole forecastle in.  Then a great sea foamed
in almost solid over her weather rail, and through all
the uproar rang a high-pitched cry.  The words were
indistinguishable as they would have been a yard away,
but the lads recognized it as the summons to shorten
sail.  For a minute or two they were busy about the
deck, and then while the ship swayed over further the
mate lurched by and grabbed the Dutchman, who was
working awkwardly with one hand, by the shoulder.

"Lay aloft, and give them a hand up there, you
skulking hog," he said.

"Mine arm," said the seaman, "der right one, she is
nod of good to me."

Appleby remembered that the fellow had badly hurt
his arm, and scarcely wondered at his reluctance to go
aloft with only one hand to trust to as he glanced above.
The upper topsail had been partly lowered down, but
the loose canvas was thrashing between the yards, and
these sloped down towards the whitened sea apparently
as steeply as the roof of a house.  Still, it was evident
that every man was needed, for there were other sails
to be handled and the *Aldebaran* was apparently going
bodily over.  She hove her nose up for an instant, and
Appleby had a momentary glimpse of a jib that had
burst its sheet thrashing itself to pieces above the
bowsprit.  Then sight and hearing was lost in a cloud of
flying brine.

When he could open his eyes again he saw the mate
lift his fist, and the Dutchman glance deprecatingly at
the arm that hung at his side.

"Lay aloft," said the former, "before you get a
damaged head as well as an arm."

The Dutchman shuffled towards the shrouds, and just
then a half-heard shout came down from one of the
black figures on the inclined yard.  "We're beat.  Send
us another hand."

It was already evident to Niven that as the yard was
higher than it should have been something was foul,
and he could see that unless the men had help they
would be hurled off it or the sail blown away.  It was
not his especial duty, but it was no time to be particular
when the *Aldebaran* lay swept from end to end at the
mercy of the squall, and he swung himself up into the
shrouds close behind the Dutchman with Appleby
following.  The wind flattened them against the
rattlings as they fought their way up, and then almost
choked and blinded them as with the swinging foot-rope
against their heel and stiffened hands on the slippery
spar they crept outwards from the mast along the yard.
They were not of very much use there, indeed, most
often they were in the way, but they did what they
could while the hail lashed their faces and the drenched
and stiffened canvas banged about them so that to hear
anything else was almost impossible.  At times somebody
shouted, but the words were blown to leeward and
quite incomprehensible.

It was their business to roll up the great flapping sail,
and lash it to the yard, but parts of it tore away from
them, and blew out with a bang like a rifle-shot every
now and then, while the long wet spar they leaned
across increased the steepness of its slant.  Niven
glancing down a moment fancied that the *Aldebaran's*
leeward rail was in the sea, and saw the rigid figure on
the weather side of the poop waving a hand to them.
He could, of course, hear no voice at all, but surmised
the gestures meant it was high time their work was
finished.  Then the *Aldebaran* dipped her nose into a
sea, and the cloud of spray she flung up hid everything,
while in another moment a more furious gust shrieked
about them.  The yard slanted still further, and he
fancied it was impossible the ship could recover.

His hands were stiffened and almost useless, his
fingers were bleeding, and his breath was spent, while
as he held on helpless for a moment there was a sound
like thunder, and as a strip of canvas rent itself from the
grasp of those about him he saw the Dutchman clawing
desperately at the yard.  The man slipped along it a
foot or two, and Niven, seeing his fingers sliding,
remembered he had an injured arm.  He had also
evidently lost his footing, for one leg was dangling, and
the lad instinctively seized his shoulder.  That left him
one hand to hold on by, and he gasped with horror as
he felt his fingers slipping from the yard and saw a
great sea burst into a tumultuous frothing beneath him.

He was too cold and dazed to wonder if any of the
others saw what was happening, and could remember
only that if he loosed his hold the man he clutched
would go whirling down to strike the iron bulwarks or
plunge into the sea.  So he set his lips, and while his
arms seemed to be coming away from their sockets held
on for a moment or two.

Then the hand he grasped the yard with slipped a
trifle further, and with a sickening horror he felt his
clawlike fingers yield, but dazed, half-blinded, and too
overwrought with the struggle to think, he still clutched
the Dutchman.  In another moment the hand came
away altogether, and man and boy went down.

Now a second or two earlier Appleby had noticed their
peril, but could do nothing because there was a man
between them and him.  He smote the fellow's shoulder
and shouted, but his words were blown away, and no one
else had eyes for anything but the banging sail.  It was
too late before he could shout again, for with a little
gasp he saw the two figures whirl downwards beneath
him, until, because the *Aldebaran* lurched a trifle just
then, the smaller of them struck a big wire stay with
folds of loose canvas about it where it joined the mast,
and lay for a second or two across it.  The other fell on
the top of the deckhouse, and then, while Appleby
shivered, rolled off it and down on to the deck below.
Almost as this happened Niven slipped from the
hauled-down staysail and fell upon the house too, but
apparently upon feet and hands together.

Then as Appleby endeavoured to get back to the
mast so that he could descend, the man nearest it grasped
him and he could not pass.  The lad could not hear what
he said, but he guessed its purport, and grew sick with
horror as he saw that the man was right.  There
were others below to pick up the fallen if there was
any life in them, and with the ship in peril every hand
was needed on the yards.  Also, while that fact might
not have stopped him, he could not pass the man, who
barred his way to the mast.

So he stayed, and did what little he could among the
rest, until at last they had stowed the sail, and then
went down in frantic haste, only to be driven forward
by the second mate.  The latter was a kindly man, but
there are times when the injured or dying must take
care of themselves at sea, and there was still strenuous
work to do.  Thus at least half-an-hour had passed, and
the *Aldebaran* was blowing sideways about as fast as
she forged ahead under lower topsails when Appleby
reached the deckhouse breathless and dripping.  It was
almost dark inside it, for driving cloud had blotted the
daylight out, but the swinging lamp diffused a sickly
radiance which fell on his comrade as Appleby bent
over his dripping bunk.  Everything in the deckhouse
was wet, as was Niven's face, but though it was drawn
and white his eyes were open.

"Not quite all smashed up yet," he said with a little
smile.

Appleby felt almost dizzy with relief, and his voice
shook a trifle as he said, "But you are hurt, Chriss?"

"Well," said Niven feebly, though there was a little
twinkle in his eyes, "it wouldn't be astonishing if I
was, but I think a good lie down will put me right
again.  There was a big lump of the staysail under me,
and I fetched the top of the house on my hands and
toes.  Couldn't get up just now, however, if I wanted to."

Appleby could think of nothing fitting to say, and
patted his comrade's shoulder while he turned his head
away.  His eyes were a trifle hazy, and he felt that
there are a good many things one cannot express in
speech.

"The Dutchman?" he said presently.

Niven seemed to shiver, and shook his head.  "I
don't know.  Couldn't take much notice of anything
because I felt all in pieces myself just then, but I saw
him come down," he said.  "He just seemed to crunch
up—as if he was an egg."

Lawson, who was sitting on his chest, made a
gesture of impatience.  "Now you shut up and lie
still," he said.  "Any one would fancy you had done
enough to take a rest."  Then he nodded to Appleby.
"Get out.  It's quietness he wants, and it's not going
to make anything any better to remember what
happened to the other fellow.  I'll keep an eye on him,
and you needn't worry."

Appleby, who knew Lawson could be trusted to do
this, went out, and it was an hour or two later when he
and the rest sat in the house again over a big can of
tea which the cook had by some means contrived to
supply them with.  They still wore streaming oilskins,
and the lamp that swung above them cast flickers of
smoky radiance across their wet faces, while from
outside came a muffled roar of wind and the crash of
falling water as the *Aldebaran* lurched over the great
smoking seas.  Niven was evidently a little better, and
smiled, though his face was awry with pain, when
Appleby lifted his shoulders a little and handed him
a biscuit soaked in tea.

"It's nice yellow jellies and grapes I'd be eating if
I was laid up at home," said he.

"If you don't stop we'll make you," said one of the
other lads.  "Who has got any business to talk of
those things at sea?  What did the old man do to you?"

Niven grinned in a sickly fashion.  "He asked me
where I felt bad, and I told him everywhere," he
said.  "Then he and the steward pulled the clothes
off me and prodded me with their fists.  They didn't
seem to find anything broken, but I was sore all over,
and I'd sooner be whacked with a horse-girth than go
through that again."

"Smacked with a horse-girth!" said Lawson,
reflectively.  "Now I've been kicked—with sea
boots—a good many times, but that would be a new
sensation.  What does it feel like?"

"If you want to know you can ask Appleby," said
Niven.  "I fancy he could tell you."

Appleby laughed, for he saw his comrade was
recovering.  "But what about the Dutchman?" he said.

Lawson shook his head.  "I only know the old man
went forward to look at him, and he's tolerably bad.  He
came down bang on his shoulder, you see.  Did the
mate know he had only one arm that was any good to
him, Appleby?"

"Yes," said Appleby slowly.  "He was there when
the man hurt it, and just before he went up I heard
him tell him.  I saw the mate double up his fist
too—and the Dutchman had to go."

There was silence for a moment or two, intensified
by the roar of wind, and the lads looked at one another
with a curious grimness which seemed out of place
there in their young faces.

"If he doesn't get better it's manslaughter, any
way," said somebody.  "Now we've had almost enough
of this.  What's to be done, Lawson?"

Lawson stared at the lamp for almost a minute
before he answered.  "If the man comes round we
can't do anything," he said.  "Of course we and the
men could make a declaration about ill-usage at
Vancouver, but the old man would back the mate up
and we'd only be quietly sat upon.  If the Dutchman
dies it would be a little easier.  The old man would
have to put down all about it in the log, but he'd fix it
the nicest way and then get two witnesses—the mate
and the second mate—to sign it."

"Would the second mate do it?" said Appleby.

"I think he would have to," said Lawson dryly.

"Well," said one of the other lads, "where do we
come in?"

"You," said Lawson, with a little, mirthless laugh,
"don't come in at all, but there's one chance yet.
When the men are paid off the old man's account of
any death on board is read over, and they're asked if
it's all correct and if the man was ill-used at all.  If
they could only stick to one story they'd get a hearing,
and the Government would go into the thing."

"That doesn't sound difficult," said Appleby.

Lawson shook his head.  "I'm afraid it's more than
they could do," he said.  "Every man would tell a
different tale and get arguing with the rest until
nobody could make head or tail of it, and the skipper
who says nothing that isn't dragged out of him would
come up on top again.  Still, of course, there is just a
chance of them being listened to, and that's going to
make the mate a good deal nastier in the meanwhile."

Niven, who had lain silent, looked over his bunk.
"He will not be nasty to me very long.  I've had
enough of the brute already.  One could get ashore at
Vancouver."

Lawson glanced at him impatiently.  "Better shut
up before you're sorry," he said.  "There's only one
thing to do, and that's to leave the old man to run the
mate out quietly.  He's a tolerably tough old nigger
himself, but I fancy this kind of thing is a little too
much for him.  As I've told you before, there's very
little use kicking about anything when you go to sea."

Then there was once more silence as the unpleasant
veracity was borne in upon the rest.  Nobody, it
seemed, cared very much what became of them, and
there was no one they could appeal to.  They must
take what came, and grin and bear it, however irksome
it might be.  The knowledge was especially bitter to
Niven, who had possibly been made too much of at
home, but Appleby had already a vague suspicion that
in any walk of life it would be much the same.  Every
man had rights, he knew, but he had discovered that it
is very little use to make speeches about them when
they are unobtainable, and generally wiser to wait in
silence for an opportunity and then stretch out a firm
hand and take them.  Some lads find this out early,
though there are men who never discover it at all, and
these are not infrequently a nuisance to everybody.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A FAIR WIND`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   A FAIR WIND

.. vspace:: 2

Niven, though severely bruised and shaken, recovered
rapidly, and one morning a fortnight after his injury sat
under the partial shelter of the weather-rail rubbing tar
into a long strip of worn-out canvas with his hands.
He had more than a suspicion that the canvas would
never be used, and sitting still in a bitter wind while
he dabbled his stiffened fingers in the sticky mess was
far from pleasant, but the mate frequently found him
work of that kind to do, and Niven knew that when he
gave an order it was not advisable to argue.

Appleby was sitting close beside him similarly
occupied, and every now and then a cloud of spray
which swept the rail stung their faces and rattled upon
their oilskins.  Icy water came on board, too, but
because they sat well aft they escaped the frothing
deluges which poured over the weather bow and sluiced
down the slanted deck to lee.  Here and there a
dripping man scrambled out of the way of them or
clung fast to something in the wilder lurches, for the
*Aldebaran* was still hammering to windward under
scanty sail.

There was, however, clear, cold sunlight, and the wet
canvas swayed across a patch of blue, while the lads
could see the froth of the rollers shine incandescent
against the flashing green over the weather-rail.  The
*Aldebaran* was shouldering her way through them
with heavy plunges that buried her forecastle at times.
Then she would swing it up, streaming, high above the
sea, and there was a general scramble clear of the
water which came splashing everywhere.  The sunlight
showed that the men's faces were gaunt and worn.
They had for more than a month held out stubbornly,
living for the most part on uncooked and soaked
provisions, toiling the watch through at shifting sail,
and then flinging themselves down in their drenched
clothing only to be turned out half-dazed by the sleep
for which brain and body craved as the screaming gale
freshened again.  Now they had, thanks to what the
steward had gleaned in the cabin and told the cook,
reason to believe that if the *Aldebaran* could make a
few more leagues to windward the next day would see
them round Cape Horn.

Still, they had been almost as near before only to be
driven back to the east again, and haggard faces were
turned expectantly towards the hard blueness athwart
which the seatops heaved over the weather-rail.
Presently Appleby glanced up sharply as the shadow of
a sail fell upon him.

"Hallo!" he said, and there was a curious eagerness
in his voice.  "The topsail leach has come between us
and the sun."

"I don't see why that should please you," said Niven.
"It only makes it colder, and it's bad enough already,
especially when you've had nothing worth mentioning
to eat for weeks."

"No?" said Appleby.  "Well, if I'm right it means
warm weather, dry clothes, sound sleep when your
watch is done, and the galley fire lit all day."

Niven looked up.  "Oh," he said with a little gasp.
"The wind is backing round—or is he only screwing her
up a little?"

Both of them glanced from the straining canvas to
the figure at the wheel, and the eyes of all on deck
were turned in the same direction, for it was evident
that only two things could have happened.  Either the
helmsman was jamming the ship half-a-point closer to
the wind, which was unlikely, because the mate would
have seen he sailed her as close as possible before; or
the wind was going round.  As they watched, the canvas
swung further athwart the sun, and their hearts
throbbed faster because they knew it was the latter.
In place of thrashing to windward tack and tack, and
frequently losing on one all they had made upon the
other, they were now sailing almost in the direction
they desired to go.

"I wish I could see the compass," said Niven.  "Still,
the wind must be backing southerly by the bearing of
the sun.  Why doesn't the old man let her go while he can?"

It is probable that every man on deck was asking the
same question, for the heads of all were turned towards
the poop, and nothing would have induced one of them
to speak when the skipper appeared out of the
companion.  He stood quite still for several minutes,
and then nodded to the officer of the watch as though
contented, but no one moved on deck when he went
below, and the attitude of the men suggested what they
felt.  They were, it seemed, not round Cape Horn yet,
and the *Aldebaran* still held on plunging through the
white-topped rollers close-hauled.  Hour after hour
dragged by, and all on board bore them in tense
expectancy, until at last, when the watch was changed
again, the skipper came forward to the edge of the poop
with a little sour smile on his face.  He spoke
ostensibly to the mate close by him, but it is possible he
meant his voice to carry further.

"Get a pull on the weather-braces, and the topgallants
loosed.  We'll make a fair wind of it," he said.

The mate came forward shouting, and for once he was
very willingly obeyed.  Both watches were on deck, for
the one relieved had not left it yet, and the men fell
over each other in their eagerness to get at the ropes,
while Appleby felt his pulses throbbing and the blood
surge to his face, as he watched the figure aft pulling
at the wheel.

Round went the long, slanting yards, stopped, swung
further, and stopped again, while the *Aldebaran* hove
herself more upright and shook the salt wash from her
as she brought the wind upon her quarter.  Then there
was a scurrying of agile figures, stripped of their oilskins
now, for the high top-gallant yards, and when the loose
canvas blew away from them, wet and weary men
broke into a breathless song as they swung and fell
about the feet of the masts.  They had hoarse voices,
and the lips of some were rent and cracked.  Their
bodies were raw from the constant lash of brine, but
there was a light in their gaunt faces and the ring of
triumph in their song.  Its words were senseless
rubbish, but through them the spirit of those who sang
was clear, and it was the pride that comes of a hardly-won
victory.  They had borne almost all that flesh and
blood could bear, and now they had won the gale they
had defied and beaten was their ally.  The *Aldebaran*
seemed to know it, and swept north-west faster at every
roll, hurling off vast folds of froth from her hove-up
bows, while the foam seethed and flashed past, lapping
in places almost to her rail.  Still, for a ship will carry
more canvas going free than she will close-hauled, her
crew were not contented, and while they coiled the
ropes away still watched the motionless figure on the
poop expectantly.

Once more he raised a hand, and there was another
scramble, more eager than before, and a rush towards
the weather-shrouds, while presently great folds of
canvas came dropping from the long lower yards.  They
spread out in a vast curve from rail to rail, and the
*Aldebaran*, quivering to the drag of them, sped on faster
than ever, with a wake that swirled and seethed far
back across the long seas that now came rolling up
behind her.

Then a Breton Frenchman solemnly danced upon the
deck, and a little Italian cackled with shrill laughter,
while a half-articulate growl of victory that was not a
cheer went up from the British sailormen.  They were
flying faster than any but a very fast steamer, away
from cold and wet and hunger, northwards towards the
sun again.

For two days the *Aldebaran* drove along, swept by
spray, at a pace which occasionally exceeded twelve
miles an hour, and then, though her decks dried up and
the foam sank lower beneath her rail, the pace did not
diminish appreciably, for as the wind fell lighter there
was a crowding on of sail.  The royals were shaken out
in turn, stay-sails in rows swelled between the masts,
and while the long heave that was smoother now and
dazzlingly blue came rolling up on her beam, she swung
along, three towering spires of canvas above a
froth-licked hull, with her jibboom pointing to the midday
sun.  It grew warmer every day, oilskins, pilot-coats
and long boots were flung aside, wet berths and
saturated bedding dried, and there was no more dining
on pulpy biscuit because a sea had washed out the
galley as well as the fire.

Then there might have been peace and contentment
on board the *Aldebaran* had not the mate's temper
apparently grown worse as the weather grew finer, until
the half-cowed, sullen crew were glad to crawl away
below out of the reach of his beady eyes when the
watch was done.  They were kept hard at work at
something all day long, chipping iron, painting,
scraping spars down, and the man who had only a bitter
jibe for the most willing and scurrilous abuse for
the tired generally contrived when nothing more
unpleasant suggested itself that Niven or Appleby should
carry the tar pot, while the blood would surge to
their faces at the words which followed, if at any
time they let fall one splash of it where it was not
wanted.

The work began as soon as there was light enough to
see by, and was never done.  A good deal of it was
brutal and much unnecessary, and it went on without
intermission under the scorching sun of the equator,
and was apparently no nearer finished when reaching
in close-hauled one day they had their first glimpse of
the great, snow-crested mountains that rise above the
forests of Washington.  Then the apprentices envied
the men who had only signed on to Vancouver, because
they at least would soon be free of the ceaseless
small-persecution and hateful tyranny.

At last as they worked into the Straits of San Juan
the pines of Vancouver Island lifted themselves above
the horizon, and a day or two later the *Aldebaran* came
to an anchor off Port Parry, which is where the
warships lie and close to Victoria City.  Vancouver, where
she was to unload, stands on the Canadian coast about
a day's sail with a fair wind further east, but the straits
are sprinkled with islands and swept by tides, and
because the wind was easterly and the sky dimmed by
smoke, the skipper had gone ashore that morning to
send off telegrams and if possible engage a tug.  He
did not return all day, and when evening was closing
in Appleby and Niven sat outside the deckhouse, while
the mate stood up on the poop apparently to see if there
was any signal from the shore.

The evening was chilly, and a fresh breeze streaked
the waters with a haze of smoke from some great forest
fire which drove in thin wisps across the rising moon
and now and then growing thicker blotted out the dark
pines ashore.  The lads had been working hard helping
to send down the lighter canvas all day, and now they
were aching in every limb.  They were also moody, for
do what they would the mate's bitter tongue had not
spared them.  Somebody was singing forward in the
forecastle, and now and then a burst of hoarse laughter
came aft, for the men there would be leaving the
*Aldebaran* in a day or two.  Niven sighed a little as he
listened.

"Those fellows are well off.  It's no wonder they're
singing," he said.  "Things are getting worse every day,
and I'm very sick of it, Tom."

Appleby laughed, but there was not much merriment
in his face.  "Of the sea?"

"Well," said Niven slowly, "the sea is different from
what I expected it would be, but that's not what I
mean."

"The mate then?"

Niven nodded.  "Of course," he said.  "Now, he
stops with the ship, and we don't know where we're
going to from Vancouver.  Lawson was telling me the
Company's ships are away sometimes four years
together.  Four years of that mate, Tom.  Just fancy
it!"

Appleby's face grew a trifle grim.  It was not an
encouraging prospect, and he could see no way of
avoiding it.

"It does not sound nice," he said.

"No," said Niven savagely.  "If there's no improvement—and
I don't expect there will be—I'm not going
to put up with it."  Then he glanced at his companion.
"Tom, you'll stand in with me?"

Appleby looked grave.  "Don't be an ass, Chriss.
Wait and see what can be done when you go home."

Niven sat silent for almost a minute, and when he
spoke his young face was very determined.  "The
point is, when are we going home?  If we sail from
here for England I'll try to put up with him, but if
there's to be two or three more years of it I'm going to
make for the bush before she leaves Vancouver.
There's no use talking.  I'm quite decided, and the
only question is whether you will come with me!"

Appleby, glancing at his comrade, saw that no
arguments could persuade him.  Niven could be very
obstinate, and Appleby had reasons for believing that
the other apprentices also intended slipping away.

"If you go I'll go too, but I don't want to," he said
quietly.  "You see, there are good mates as well as
brutes like this one, while I may never get another
chance if I throw away the one your father has given
me.  I don't like the *Aldebaran*, but I still like the
sea."

"The pater would find you a dozen better ones," said
Niven eagerly, but Appleby shook his head.

"I couldn't take another favour from him if I made
a bad use of this one."

Niven rose and moved once or twice wearily across
the deck.  "I'd get him to make you.  Then you're
not coming?"

"Yes," said Appleby gravely.  "Whatever you decide
on I shall do, but that will separate us very soon,
because I will not ask your father to find me another
opportunity."

Niven stopped and stood still with indecision in his
face, while his voice was a trifle hoarse as he said,
"Tom, you're a good fellow, and ever since I knew you
have done your best for me, but now—oh, it's just
because you're so decent you're stopping me putting
an end to this misery."

"I'm not sorry," said Appleby dryly.  "If you go, I'm
coming too.  Only when your father sends for you I
shall stay out here and do anything I can or go on
board another ship as seaman."

Niven saw he was beaten, and sat down wearily.
"Very well!" he said with a little groan.  "Perhaps
something will happen, and I don't care what it is.
Anything would be better than—this—and I simply
can't bear it very much longer.  Now the Dutchman's
coming round the mate will be more brutal than ever."

He said nothing further, and while he sat still with a
hopeless face in black dejection, the mate, who did not
know all that he was doing, took his affairs in hand.
Coming forward along the deck he stopped before them
with a packet in his hand.

"Take the gig ashore, and put these letters in the
post," he said.  "Wait for half-an-hour, and then if you
see no sign of the skipper, come off again.  You can
take Cally with you."

The lads were almost desperate, or they would not
have done a foolish thing, for Appleby did not stand up.

"It's not our watch, sir," he said.

The mate swung round and looked at him with a
little glint in his eyes.  "You're talking again," he
said.  "If you're not on board the gig inside five
minutes, I'll have my answer ready for you."

Appleby rose up and touched his cap sardonically,
but Niven was sullen.  "Very well, sir, but the gig's
too big for us, and I don't know that we can pull her
back against the breeze," he said.

The mate moved a little nearer with an unpleasant
smile in his face.  "The stream will sweep you off the
land unless you do, and it should help you to pull if
you remember it," he said.  "That reminds me, I want
Cally for something else."

Appleby saw that he had made a mistake again.
Since he had spoken to the skipper their persecutor had
avoided violence and harassed them with a vindictive
cunning which left no room for any objection that
would not put them in the wrong.  So far speech had
only lost them the help of a third hand who could have
taken his turn at an oar and steered for them, and he
grasped Niven fiercely by the shoulder lest he should
answer as he turned away.  The gig lay astern, and in
another minute or two they had climbed down into her,
and casting off stepped the mast and ran up the little
sail.  The wind would carry them ashore, but the gig
though light was nearly twenty feet long, and, while
they could row tolerably well, both knew it would cost
them a strenuous effort to pull her off again.

"He's a pig and a beast!" said Niven, hoarse with
rage, as he sat aft with the tiller in his hand while the
boat swung over the little splashing sea.  "She's not
going to fetch the ship under sail coming back, and it
will be no end of a fag to pull her, while I'm about
done with handling those staysails all day already."

Appleby said nothing, but his face was very sombre
as he slacked the sheet a little when a puff of spray flew
over the weather gunwale, and the brine lapped
perilously near the opposite one.  He saw that the breeze
was freshening, as an easterly wind often does at nightfall,
and did not anticipate any pleasure in rowing back again.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ADRIFT`:

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   CHAPTER VII


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   ADRIFT

.. vspace:: 2

When Appleby and Niven came clattering down the
beach it was growing very cold and night was closing
in.  They had not found the skipper, and a man had
told them that the little tramway between Port Parry
and Victoria had stopped running.  The lads had also
been working hard in the sunshine all day, and because
the mate had given them no time to change the light
clothes they stood in they shivered a little in the chilly
breeze.  It came down moaning across the dark pines,
crisping the land-locked harbour where two big
warships lay, and when they stood on the pebbles there
was a clear ringing of bugles.

"Half-an-hour, to the minute," said Appleby.  "There's
a tolerably stiff breeze."

"You timed us?" said Niven.  "Of course, you
would.  Now, I could never have remembered it."

Appleby laughed a trifle grimly.  "Yes," he said.
"You see, I didn't want to stay here any longer than
was necessary with the wind freshening.  It's going to
be quite hard enough work to get back as it is."

Niven groaned a little as he helped to thrust off the
boat, for he was very tired, and his limbs had stiffened
with the cold, while as he was about to step on board a
Canadian came sauntering down the beach.

"Are you two lads going off to the barque out there?"
he asked.

.. _`"'ARE YOU TWO LADS GOING OFF TO THE BARQUE OUT THERE?'"`:

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   :alt: "'ARE YOU TWO LADS GOING OFF TO THE BARQUE OUT THERE?'"

   "'ARE YOU TWO LADS GOING OFF TO THE BARQUE OUT THERE?'"

Appleby nodded, and the man glanced towards the
swaying trees and the little streaks of froth that showed
white against the dimness out at sea.  "It's a tolerably
big contract," he said reflectively.  "You've got to
go?"

"Yes," said Appleby.  "If you knew what our mate
was like you wouldn't ask that question."

The Canadian laughed.  "I figure I can guess," he
said.  "Well, now, you pull up well to windward along
the shore where you'll get less breeze and smoother
water, and when it strikes you you're far enough to
head her across pull fit to split your boots—but don't
miss her."

Appleby saw it was good advice, and did his best to
follow it, but his back was aching and his arms were
stiff; while when Niven missed a stroke, which he did
not infrequently, the wind drove them a trifle further
off shore before they could pull the gig's head round
again.  She had been built for four men to row, and
while they would have no difficulty in propelling her in
smooth water it was different when with the wind
against them every little lurch checked her speed.
Still, they toiled for half-an-hour or so, making no great
progress that Appleby who watched the trees ashore
could see, until Niven groaned.

"I'm almost done," he said.  "If you don't head
across soon I'll double up before we fetch the
*Aldebaran*."

Appleby glanced at the shore, and then at the
barque's riding light blinking fitfully half-a-mile
away.

It was no great distance, but the breeze that blew
slantwise off the shore would be on their side while
they headed for her, and if the boat made much leeway
they could not reach her.  Nor did he fancy they would
have the strength to drive the gig back to windward if
they once drifted astern of her.

"Shake yourself together, Chriss, and we'll make a
shot at it," he said.

Niven said nothing, but he bent his back, and for ten
minutes they strained every sinew while the boat
lurched and plunged on the little splashing sea as they
drew out from the land.  Cold as it was the perspiration
dripped from them, and the oars slipped in their
greasy palms, while both were gasping when a haze of
smoke that blotted out everything drove down upon them.

"Head her up a little," said Appleby when the
blinking light faded.  "Put all you're good for into it,
and row.  There's nothing but the Pacific before us if
we miss the *Aldebaran*."

For another five minutes Niven rowed desperately,
his heart thumping and his breath coming in half-stifled
gasps, while the boat plunged more viciously with the
sea upon her bow.  Then he missed his stroke as the
moon came through, and Appleby could not check a
little groan of dismay.  They were close to the
*Aldebaran* and could see her plainly as a cold blast
drove the haze away, but she was well up on their
weather instead of under their lee, and he knew it was
beyond the power of any two worn-out lads to reach
her against the wind.

"It's no use," said Niven hoarsely.  "I can't do any
more.  Shout if you can, though we'd be out of sight
before they could get the other boat over."

They made the most noise they could, but it is
difficult to shout when exhausted by a strenuous effort,
and it is more than possible that the splash of the sea
and sighing of the wind drowned their strained voices.
Nor is the low dusky shape of a boat easy to discern
from a ship's deck on a hazy night.  In any case, there
was no answer, and for a minute the lads watched the
three tall spars and strip of hull that rose black against
the moon slide away from them—and that was the last
they ever saw of the *Aldebaran*.  Then another gust
brought down the haze again, and while the smoky
greyness drifted past them they were alone.

"I can scarcely pull," said Niven.  "Do you think
we could fetch ashore?"

"I don't," said Appleby with grim directness.
"Still, we can try, and it's the only thing we can do."

They rowed for about twenty minutes, the splashing
strokes growing slower while the plunging grew sharper,
and then stopped again as the haze thinned a little.
The blink of the barque's riding light was no longer
perceptible, nor could they see anything of the shore.

"Well?" said Niven dejectedly.

Appleby laughed, though his voice was not mirthful
and there was a curious tremor in it.  "You wanted to
leave the *Aldebaran*—and I fancy you've got your
wish," he said.  "We're blowing out from land, and
there's quite a sea getting up."

"Yes," groaned Niven.  "That's plain enough.  What
are we going to do?"

"I don't know," said Appleby.  "It's not blowing
much, and the proper thing would be to keep her lying
head to with the oars until the morning.  Then we'd
see the land.  If we kept pulling easy she wouldn't
drift very much.  The difficulty is that we're not fit to
do it."

"No," said Niven decisively.  "No more rowing for
me.  That's not going to work, anyway.  What's the
next best thing?"

"Make a sea anchor with the mast and sail and a
piece of iron hanging from it, and lie to it with a long
cable," said Appleby who had been reading some of
Lawson's books.

"Rot again!" said Niven.  "We haven't got any
iron, and the few yards of rope forward wouldn't be half
enough."

"Then," said Appleby with a little hollow laugh, "we
can only let her drift, unless the sea gets too big for it.
I don't feel like rowing any more myself."

They threw the oars in, and sat down out of the wind
on the floorings, feeling very lonely, for an hour or so.
The gig was long and narrow with only a few inches
of her bottom in the water, and the wind did what it
would with her.  Now it drove her sideways, now it
whirled her round, and all the while the dark slopes of
water rose higher and the night grew colder.  At last
when a little splash of brine fell on Appleby's face he
rose to his knees and saw a yellow flicker with a green
blink beneath it swinging towards them through the haze.

"Get your oar out—quick!  There's a steamer coming
up," he said.

Niven obeyed him, but it was another thing to pull
the oar.  Their tired arms had stiffened, and it is
somewhat difficult to row in tumbling water.  The wind
would also blow the gig's head round in spite of them,
and little frothy splashes came in over the bow, but the
lights were growing brighter, and when at last they
stopped rowing a big, shadowy bow was forging through
the water close in front of them.

Twice they sent up a breathless shout, while the bow
drew out into a length of dusky hull.  They could see
the double row of deckhouses showing dimly white, and
the big, black funnel high above them, but only the
thumping of engines answered their cry, and in another
moment the boat reeled and plunged as the steamer's
stern went by.  Then a little seething rush of foam
lapped in over the gunwale, and Niven groaned.

"The brutes—they could have heard us if they had
wanted to," he said with hoarse unevenness, and Appleby
saw what was going to happen by the way his comrade
flung in his oar.

"Hold up!" he said sternly.  "Shake it off, and
stiffen your back, Chriss.  If you're going to give up we
can't do anything."

"It can't make any difference," said Niven with
hopeless apathy.  "You know as well as I do that we
can do nothing now."

It was not astonishing that his courage should desert
him.  He was worn out, and already the gig was taking
more than splashes in over her gunwale, for they had
blown well out from land and the freshening breeze had
raised a little frothing sea in the more open water.  It
appeared very possible that the craft would roll over
presently.  Appleby, however, though very near it, was
not quite beaten yet.

"That's where you're wrong," said he.  "We can get
a little sail on her and keep her running.  There's not
sea enough to hurt her when she's going before it, and
we're tolerably sure to pick up a ship or see the land
to-morrow."

It was a relief to have something to do, and Niven
felt a very little easier in mind when they had stepped
the mast, half-hoisted the sail and baled the boat dry.
She ran well as long, flat-floored boats do, and, though
there was usually a sea that looked unpleasantly big
following close behind her, no more water came on board.
Niven lay on the floorings by his comrade's feet where
the stern kept the wind and spray off him, and Appleby
sat at the tiller doing his best to keep the boat before
the sea, and watching the froth swirl past her.  It raced
forward faster than they were travelling, rose above the
gunwale on either hand, and then surged on into the
darkness and was lost again.  He had only this and the
chill of the wind that swept over his shoulder to guide
him, and by and by, when the gig swerved a little, in
place of seething past, the foam lapped into her.  Then
Niven would stir himself and bale to free the boat of
the water before more came on board her.  He had,
however, no great difficulty in doing it, because a
buoyant craft of that kind will, so long as one can keep
her straight, run before a tolerably nasty sea without
shipping much water, but both lads knew they were
driving four or five miles further from the land every hour.

They saw no more steamers, and very little of anything
beyond the streaks of froth that went hissing by.
Sometimes for a few minutes the moon shone through,
but the silvery radiance was promptly blotted out by
the haze again, and Appleby grew steadily colder and
stiffer at the tiller.  He was also getting drowsy, though
he knew that if he relaxed his vigilance for a moment
and let the gig swerve as she lurched forward with a sea
the next would fill her to the gunwales or roll her over.
At last when his head would droop a little in spite of
his efforts, Niven, who was looking aft just then, rose
half-upright.

"Hallo!" he said excitedly.  "There's something
coming up astern."

Appleby, with every nerve quivering, glanced over his
shoulder, which was not wise of him, and saw a tall,
dusky shape rush out of the darkness.  Then the boat
shot up to windward a little, and her weather gunwale
was lost in a rush of foam.

"Bale!" he shouted, as he felt the chilly water splash
about his ankles.

Niven grasped the baler, for there was evidently no
time to lose, but as he did so a banging and rattling
came out of the darkness, and a hoarse cry reached them.

"Down sail, and pull her up to us!"

Appleby let the sheet fly, and scrambled forward, and
in another moment the flapping sail fell into the boat.

Then while the gig lurched perilously and they
struggled to get the oars out a shadowy blur of
thrashing canvas swept past them and stopped close ahead.
After that he only remembered rowing savagely until a
low dark hull that plunged and rolled swayed down
upon the boat and smote her heavily.  A man sprang
down apparently with a rope, another leaning over the
bulwarks clutched Niven and dragged him up, and
Appleby, who did not quite know how he got there,
found himself standing on a little schooner's deck.
Somebody was speaking close beside him.

"She's twenty feet, anyway, and there's nowhere we
could stow her."

"Then you can let her go," said another man.
"Box her round with the staysail, Donegal.  She'll
fall off now.  Let draw, and out with the main-boom
again!"

There was no sharpness in the man's voice, and he
spoke with a drawl, but Appleby had never seen sail
handled as quickly on board the *Aldebaran*.  Here and
there a dark object hauled on a rope, and then with a
swing to leeward and a swift upward lurch the schooner
was on her way again.  He did not fancy the vessel
was a trader, because she seemed too fast and small for
that, and while he wondered what her business might
be the man who had spoken touched him.

"Come right along, and we'll have a look at you," he said.

Appleby and Niven followed him into the little house
under the mainboom, the floor of which was below
the level of the deck, and stood still with the
water trickling from them while a lamp swung
above them.  A little stove burned in one corner,
the place seemed very hot, while a curious odour
pervaded it.  Then Appleby's eyes rested on the man who
sat down at one end of the little swing table.  He was
tall and lanky, and his face was lean, while his skin was
the colour of new leather, and a ponderous hand rested
on the table in front of him.  His hair was slightly
grizzled, and there was something that suggested
resolution in the set of his lips and the shape of his
chin.  There was, however, a little smile in his eyes,
which were very keen.

"Sit you down," he said.  "Kind of cold night for a
picnic, and you were making good time for Yokohama
when we saw you first."

The lads obeyed him, and the man thumped upon
the beam above him when Niven sank huddled into a
corner and closed his eyes.  Then there was a cold
draught as a skylight opened and a man looked in.
"Wanting anything?" he said.

"Tell Brulée to worry round and raise a pint or two
of coffee—hot," said the man at the table, who glanced
at Appleby.  "Your partner's played out, but we'll fix
him in a minute."

"Are you the skipper of this schooner, sir?" asked
Appleby.

The man nodded.  "That's just what I am—Ned
Jordan of Vancouver, British Columbia, though I kind
of figure it's me that's conducting this meeting.  It was
about the picnic you were going to tell me."

Appleby felt reassured, for the man's voice was
good-humoured, though he fancied it would not be advisable
to trifle with him.

"There wasn't any picnic, sir," he said.  "We
didn't come out for pleasure."

"No," said Jordan dryly.  "I didn't figure there was.
Those things you've got on don't look quite like a city
lad's outfit.  Still, I was wondering if you were going to
put it that way."

Appleby flushed a trifle, for he guessed the man's
thoughts.  "What do you fancy we are?" said he.

Jordan smiled dryly.  "It's me that's asking the
questions, but I'm quite open to tell you.  You're two
English lads from the big barque off Port Parry, and I
figure you got tired of her."

"We didn't run away from her," said Appleby.

"Well," said Jordan with a trace of grimness,
"whether you did or didn't don't count for much with me,
but I've no use for crooked talking on board this packet.
Better tell me what started you off for Japan, and put
it as straight as you can."

Appleby told his story, and Jordan glanced at Niven,
who had opened his eyes again.  "You would tell it the
same way, too?"

"Of course," said Niven angrily.  "Still, I'm not
going to do it since you don't believe him."

There was a little gleam in Jordan's eyes, and, as he
looked at them in turn, they found his gaze somewhat
embarrassing.  "Still, you're not worrying because you
can't get back?" he said.

"No," said Appleby.  "I'm uncommonly glad I can't."

Jordan nodded.  "Not much to eat, and plenty
kicks?" he said, as a man came in.  "Well, here's the
coffee, and I figure you could worry through a little
grub as well.  Whatever they fed you with on board
the barque, they didn't make you fat."

He laid a fresh loaf, butter, and a can of meat upon
the table, and the lads did not wait for a second
invitation, while it was a good many minutes later when
Appleby laid his knife down with a little sigh of
content.

"We have got to thank you, sir, but it's time we
asked where the schooner's going to, and when you can
put us ashore?" he said.

Jordan nodded, and pointed to the northern half of
the compass fixed in the skylight above him.  "That's
where she's going—up there into the ice and fog where
the fur seals live," he said.  "As to the other question,
we could land you in Vancouver when the season's over.
We're away five or six months as the usual thing."

"But that would never do for us," said Niven with dismay.

"No?" said Jordan dryly.  "Well, you see, I wasn't
thinking of you very much.  I didn't ask you to come
here, and there are a few other men as well as myself
I've got to suit on board this packet."

Appleby stared at him in silence for a space.  "But
you can't take us away north unless we are willing to
go," said he.  "You could haul her on a wind, and put
us ashore on the west coast of Vancouver Island
to-morrow.  My friend's father would pay you well for
doing it."

Again the expression Appleby had noticed crept into
Jordan's eyes.  "Well," he said with a little laugh, "I
figure I can, and if I put you ashore on the beach you'd
starve in the bush.  Now, I don't quite like the way
you're talking, because while there's no kicking on board
the *Champlain*, we've no use for more than one skipper—and
that's me.  When you've got that into your head
we'll go on a little.  Says you, 'The other lad's father
will pay you.'  Well, I don't know him, and he's living
six thousand miles away, while if he'd sense enough to
raise dollars he could heave away, he'd never have sent
his son to sea.  That's quite plain to me."

"My father is a rich merchant, and a clever one," said
Niven indignantly.  "The value of a good many
schooners like this one wouldn't be much to him."

"Then," said Jordan with a grim smile, "it's quite
clear you don't take after him.  Folks of that kind know
when talking's not much use to them, but it's time we
got ahead a little.  We were nigh a month behind when
we started from Vancouver, and with five boats way up
before me, I'm not stopping one hour for anybody, and
the *Champlain* is going north like a steamer while this
breeze lasts.  You've heard all I've got to tell you as to
that.  Now it might be two or three months before I
could put you on board anything coming south, and in
the meanwhile I've got to give you clothes and feed
you, while, as I want all the dollars I've got, to do it for
nothing wouldn't be square to me.  So since you came
on board the *Champlain*, I'm wanting your word that
you'll stay there until we get back to Vancouver.
You'll get half a man's share in what we make, if we
find you useful and willing, and that seems to me a
square offer."

Appleby looked at Niven.  "It can't be helped—and
we couldn't be worse off than we were in the *Aldebaran*,"
he said.  "There's no use in telling him any more
about your father."

Niven sat silent a little, and then nodded.  "We'll
come, sir," he said.

"Then," said Jordan, "it's a deal.  Now those things
of yours aren't quite fit to go sealing in, and you can
take these along.  Stickine will show you how to fix
them up to-morrow."

He took out several curiously smelling garments from
a cupboard, and shouted, "Stickine!" and in another
minute the lads went out on deck and down a hatchway
with a big silent man who grinned at them reassuringly.





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.. _`THE 'CHAMPLAIN,' SEALER`:

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   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE 'CHAMPLAIN,' SEALER

.. vspace:: 2

A streak of sunlight that crept warm across his
face and then swung away again awakened Appleby
next morning, and for a moment or two he lay still
staring about him in dreamy wonder.  The *Aldebaran's*
deckhouse was held together by little iron beams, and
in place of these great square timbers and ponderous
knees ran into the vessel's framing above his head.
There was something curiously unfamiliar about them.
Then he saw that a long shelf, divided into wooden
bunks, extended beyond the one he lay in, and there
were more of them on the opposite side of the vessel.
Between lay a space of shadow save where a shaft of
sunlight came down through an opening, and Appleby
remembered suddenly when as he watched it swing to
and fro he felt a quick rise and fall which was very
different from the long upward lurch of the *Aldebaran*.
Reaching over he laid his hand on Niven's shoulder.

"Turn out!  It's eight bells, and they're tacking
ship," he said.

Niven was out of his bunk in a moment, and a burst
of hoarse laughter greeted him, when he stood swaying,
half-awake, on the deck, in the scantiest of attire, with
dismay in his face.

"What's—what's all this?" he said.  "Wherever
have I got to?"

"Well," said the man called Stickine they had seen
in the cabin, "I guess it isn't the *Aldebaran*.  Now,
hadn't you better get some of those things on to you?"

Niven struggled into the garments the man pointed
to, while Appleby sat on the edge of his bunk and
grinned at him, and a group of men sitting in the
shadow with plates upon their knees watched them
both curiously.  There were five or six of them, and all
had bronzed faces that had been darkened by frost and
ice blink, as well as sun and wind, and there was, he
fancied, a difference between these men and any he had
seen on board the *Aldebaran*.  He came to know them
later—as a few gentlemen who watched affairs of State
in Vladivostock, Washington, and Ottawa did—as very
daring seamen and fearless free lances, who now and
then came home rich with fur seal pelts from the misty
seas, in spite of the edicts and gunboats of three great
nations.  In the meanwhile he saw they were getting
a much better breakfast than that usually sent forward
on board the *Aldebaran*, and there was an air of
good-humoured comradeship about them.  Appleby had by
this time got into his trousers, and one of the group
stood up when he dropped to the deck.

"Clear away for firing practice with the turret gun!"
he said.

Niven stared at him a moment, and then guessing
what was meant laughed a little.  "No," he said
"you've missed it this time."

"Be easy while I try him," said another man, and
then slammed his hand down on the table.  "Eyes
front.  'Tinshun company!"

"Wrong again!" said Appleby who, remembering
the warships at Port Parry, surmised that they were
taken for lads who had quitted their nation's service
without permission.

"Sure, an' how was I to know, when the woods is
thick with them!" said the seaman glancing round at
his comrades deprecatingly.  "Then 'tis watch your
topsail leaches and mainsail haul, again."

"Yes," said Appleby, grinning, "now you've got it.
If you'd had any sense you'd have seen we were too
thin for navy lads, and too young for the marines."

There was a chuckle, and the man, who had twinkling
blue eyes, stretched out an inviting arm.  "Then
come along, darling, and ate," he said.

They sat down on a chest, and one of the company
gave each of them a can of very good coffee, and pointing
to the great piece of fish in a frying-pan tossed a
loaf in their direction.

"Ned Jordan will see you earn it, so you needn't be
afraid," he said.

Appleby helped himself, and Niven laughed when
he saw that the men were watching him admiringly.
"They feed you well out here," he said.  "We didn't
get soft bread and halibut for breakfast on board the
*Aldebaran*."

"This," said a grinning man, "is a great country.
Now I'm going to raise you, Donegal.  The lad's with me."

The man he spoke to turned with a sparkle in his
eyes, and the sun that shone down the hatch glinting
on his coppery hair.

"This," he said, "is not a country—'tis the sea, an'
the place ye come from is made up of the leavings of
the old one.  'Tis the dumping-ground for all them
we've no use for yonder—bankrupts, suicides and
green-and-red-blind sailors.  When a gintleman in my
country is too big a nuisance to his neighbours, the
boys sind the hat round and prisint him wid a ticket
for Canadaw."

He brought out the last word with the accentuation
of the French Canadian; but the big, lean sailorman
only grinned at him.  "An'," he said, "fwhat was ut
brought you here thin, Donegal?"

Donegal laughed softly.  "A hare," said he.  "She
would come an' sit on the turf-wall winking—impudent
at me, an' with one of the guns that was out in '98
in the cabin, what would anny man of intilligince do?
She was a good gun if ye gave her time and had
something sthrong to lean her on, but the magistrate—an'
me owing him tin pound rint—did not agree with me.
There was no Ground Game Act thin, an' ye tuck the
chances when ye went shooting in my counthry.  Would
ye be finding the lads another loaf—one is no use to
them—Brulée, and now Mainsail Haul, was it the
mate or the skipper who did not agree with ye?"

Appleby realized that speech was direct here and he
must hold his own.  "I fancy you all know how I came
here, by this time, as well as I do," he said, glancing
towards Stickine.  "That man was about the cabin when
I told my story—and they bring you a joint when
you're through with your second course in the old
country."

"Hear him!" said Donegal.  "Sure now, for a sailorman,
'tis Stickine that romances tremenjous, an' he told
us the other one was an earl's son from the old country.
'Turn the *Champlain* round and put me ashore—at
once.  What's the value of ten schooners to the father
av me?' says he."

Niven looked somewhat foolish, but Appleby laughed.
"Well, there was an Emperor's relative who went to
sea in a merchant ship not very long ago," he said.

Donegal shook his head solemnly.  "The man was
mad.  All thim royal families but our one is," he
said.

"In the meanwhile I'd like to know a little more
about where we're going and what we're going to do,
now I'm one of you," said Niven.  "You see, I couldn't
ask the skipper too many questions."

"'Tis his condescending modesty," said Donegal.
"'One of you,' says he!  Sure, 'tis ten years it would
take to make a man of ye, an' it takes ten more to
make a man into a sealer.  Stickine, will ye enlighten
the son av the ducal earl?"

Niven fidgeted, for he realized that education is not
everything, and that even in speech he had not shown
himself the seaman's equal; but Stickine tapped on
the table.  "It works out like this," he said; "we're
going to hear the bear growl, and the eagle scream,
and if it's a white-flag gunboat, put a pinch of salt
right on the beaver's tail."

"Russia," said Niven, "and America, the beaver's
Canada, but what have the gunboats to do with the
seals?"

"Sure," said Donegal, "'tis plain they did not teach
ye very much at school.  Now, the seal, ye will observe,
lives most of his time where no man can get at him in
the lonely sea, but wanst in the year he crawls out on
the rocks of St. Paul and St. George, up in the Behring
Sea, and when it is not convenient for ye to find him
there ye may call at one or two reefs in Russian water
or the Copper Islands."

"Well," said Niven, "where do the warships come in?"

"'Tis patient as well as modest ye are," said the
sealer.  "Now, 'tis not discreet of a youngster to hurry
a grown man, an' that they would have taught ye wid
the thick end of a gun whin ye were in the marines!"

"I was never in the marines," said Niven a trifle
hotly, and Donegal sighed.

"Sure," he said, "'tis a pity, but I will prolong the
discussion.  Now, by the laws of the three nations ye
may kill the seals at sea, though they will not help ye
to find them, that being left—with other things—to the
sealerman's devices, an' the sea, ye will remember, is
not the sea until it's more than three miles from land."

"That's a little mixed," said Appleby, glancing at the
rest of the company.

"No," said Donegal.  "'Tis reason.  When you are
inside the three miles you are in Russia, America, or
Canada, because that's just how far a big gun could
blow the head off ye."

"There was once an American who figured it was
ten," said Stickine dryly.

"Fighting Bob!" said somebody, and there was a
hoarse guffaw, during which Donegal said quietly, "An'
the lashings of dollars it cost him."

"Now, 'tis strictly prohibited to any one but the
American company that rints them Pribyloff islands to
kill the seals on land, an' if ye come too close on others
I could tell of the Russians are not kind to ye.  There
was wanst a fifty-year-old schooner came home manned
by starving men, an' they'd ate the last tail of the rats
aboard her.  'Twas that or Siberia with them, but
Stickine will tell ye the tale again."

"Then where do you catch the seals?" asked Appleby.

There was a little quiet laughter, and Donegal shook
his head.  "Asleep anywhere eight and ten miles out at
sea, as 'tis entered in the logbook," he said.  "Still, ye
may discover that under circumstances unconthrollable
the sealerman kills the holluschackie—where he can."

Appleby, glancing at the men's bronzed faces, fancied
that their merriment was a trifle grim, but a voice
came down through the hatch just then—

"If you are quite through with your talking you
might come up and get more sail on her."

They went up in a body, for though Appleby had
noticed already that discipline was not especially
evident on board the *Champlain* he was also to discover
that nobody loitered when there was work on hand.
The lads followed, and the first thing that occurred to
them was that the schooner was ridiculously small.
After the great length and height of the *Aldebaran* she
seemed a toy ship with two dainty little masts.  Still,
Appleby saw that they were tall for her length and
made of the beautiful figured redwood which affords the
maximum of strength.  Her bowsprit was tilted high to
lift the men who crawled out on it above the icy
seas, and the great boom along her mainsail's foot ran
out at least a fathom beyond her stern.  Then he began
to notice her slenderness forward in spite of the breadth
of the beam that gave her stability to carry a press of
sail, and the lift of the deck towards the bows which the
rail carried higher in a bold curve that would keep her
dry when she thrashed to windward.  Between the
masts stood a nest of boats packed one inside the other
with their thwarts lifted out, and Niven wondered what
so small a vessel did with so many.  It was evident
she did not carry them as a precaution, for he could
see that everything about her suggested strength and
safety.

About the boats stood a few Siwash Indians, squat,
broad-shouldered men dressed in jean and canvas, and
looking, except for their brown colour, very much like
the rest of the crew.  They were, it seemed, by no means
savages, but again Appleby wondered, for they were
doing nothing, and the *Champlain* carried almost men
enough to work an English merchant ship.  Aft with
half his lean height showing above the deckhouse
skipper Jordan stood swaying at the wheel, and he
swung one hand up when he saw the lads.

"Feeling quite pert this morning?" he said when
they came aft.  "Well, you can go up and loose the
fore-topsail."

Though this was not the kind of order the lads had
been used to they went forward, and felt that the
skipper's eyes were on them when they stopped abreast
of the foremast.  There were no rattlings on the
*Champlain's* shrouds, and Appleby was wondering how
they were to get aloft when Niven pointed to the hoops
the big foresail was bound to which ran like a ladder
up the mast.

"I fancy those would do?" he said.

They went up, and it was an easy matter to loose the
little three-cornered topsail which stretched when set
from the masthead to the end of the gaff.  Then they
stood still a moment or two perched high on the cross-trees
looking down on the slender strip of hull and the
white-topped sea.  The *Champlain* was swinging over
it, and the foam that roared off from her bows and
swept away down the white wake showed the pace at
which she was travelling.  Niven drew in a deep breath
of contentment as he swung in a wide sweep to and
fro, the blue of the sky above him and the blue and
white of the sea below.

"I'm not sorry the *Aldebaran's* at Port Parry, and
we're here," he said.  "She's a beauty, and they feed
you well, while I never fancied anything twice her size
could tear along like this."

"Hallo!  Going to sleep up there?" said somebody,
and Appleby glancing down saw a little twinkle in the
eyes of Stickine.

"Topsail's all clear for hoisting, sir," he said, and one
or two of those about the big man laughed.  "What's
the quickest way of getting down, Chriss?"

Niven stooped and grasped a rope.  "Topsail tack, I
think.  It should do," he said.

In another second the rope was rasping between his
ankles and through his hands, then it yielded suddenly
and he fell at least a fathom with Appleby's feet just
above his head.  It held again, however, and he slid to
the deck, while the rest were setting the big maintopsail
with a yard along the head of it when he went aft.
The skipper glanced at him a moment, and then turned
to the men.

"We'll goosewing her, boys.  Get your boom foresail
over," he said.

He span the wheel a trifle, the long narrow foresail
lurched across, and when it swung outboard on the
opposite side the *Champlain* lifted her head a little
and the foam that lapped higher swept almost to her
quarter-rail.

"She's flying," said Niven.  "Going like a train."

Then he felt that the skipper was watching him, and
wondered whether he had done anything unfitting when
he saw his little, dry smile.

"It was a straight tale you told me—most of it.
Stick to that kind of talk," he said.

Niven flushed a trifle, and was about to answer when
Appleby kicked him, and he said, "Yes, sir," instead.

Jordan nodded.  "Rich men's sons don't go to sea,"
he said.  "Well, now, there's a thing you can remember.
Never swing yourself down by anything until you know
just what it is and what it's made fast to.  We've no
use for show tricks on board this packet, and I figure the
cook will find something you can do."

They went forward, Appleby grinning, Niven somewhat
flushed, and it was that night before they quite
understood the skipper's meaning.  The wind had
fallen and the sky was hazy when they sat talking on
the forehatch.  Donegal leaned upon the rail not far
from them, Stickine swung black against the dimness at
the wheel, and the *Champlain* was sliding slowly north,
a vague moving shadow across the great emptiness.
It seemed to Appleby that he could feel the sea as he
had never done on board the *Aldebaran*.  It was so close
beneath him, and life and zest of it throbbed through
everything he touched.  Niven, however, was looking
at the sealer.

"You were aft when the skipper spoke to us,
Donegal," he said.  "What did he mean by saying he
knew we'd told him the right tale?"

The man turned round and regarded him gravely.
"Mr. Callaghan—an' Donegal to my friends—an' for
the son of a ducal earl there's a lot of things you don't
know," he said.

"Then," said Niven, "how am I going to learn them
if I don't ask questions?"

"Now," said Donegal dryly, "ye are showing ye have
some sinse, an' if it's searching for knowledge ye are, I
will enlighten ye.  The moral av ut is that while ye
speak the truth, the little things ye do don't stand
up and conthradict ye.  Now, when ye knew where the
topsail was that showed ye had been to sea, but they've
rattlings on the shrouds av a square-rigger, an' it was
easy to see that when ye could not find them it
perplexed ye.  Then when ye were sleeping Ned
Jordan had Stickine bring some of the things ye tuk
off into the cabin, an' there was names done nice in red
on wan or two of them.  'It's all quite straight but the
last ov it, an' there's lads who can't help talking big.
Many's the time I've tried to teach my own ones
better—wid a fence rail,' says he."

Donegal looked hard at Niven, but Appleby, who
laughed softly, kicked his comrade's leg.

"We'll not worry about what he told your skipper
any more—but it's true," he said.

Donegal said nothing further, but his eyes twinkled
curiously, and there was silence for a space until a blink
of light crept out of the dimness astern.  The moon had
risen, but was hidden by a cloud-bank in the south-east,
and there was nothing to be seen but the light that grew
steadily higher and brighter.  Then a red one became
visible, and while a vague black shape grew into form
there was a blink of green.  Stickine struck the
deckhouse with his foot as he pulled over the wheel, and
the *Champlain* swung round a little, but still the lights
seemed to follow her.

"A steamer," said Appleby.  "What can they
be after?  Our canvas is plain enough against the sky."

Donegal grunted.  "A top-heavy coal basket of a
gunboat, sure!" he said.  "How is it I know?  Well,
ye will have a better acquaintance by and by with the
ships-of-war, an' any one could see the way she's rolling
if he looked at her."

Appleby could see the higher light reeling to and
fro, and a long smear of smoke that streaked the sea
below.  While he watched it the dim hull lengthened
out, and he saw the white froth boil beneath the
flung-up bows.  They came down amidst a spray cloud, and
the slanted masts swung wildly as the long roll of the
Pacific lapped about the shadowy hull.  The steamer
was close upon the *Champlain's* quarter now.

Suddenly there was a faint twinkle of brightness on
board her, and then a great shaft of light smote a
glittering track across the waters and rested on the
schooner's stern.  Jordan's lean figure was forced up
against it, and Appleby could see the little dry smile
in his face as he nodded to Stickine at the wheel.  He
pulled it over a spoke or two, and the *Champlain*
swerved a trifle, while Jordan's smile became a trifle
grimmer, for the light also swinging still blazed upon
her stern.  Then it beat into the lad's eyes and dazzled
them, swept forward and lighted all the foresail when it
rested on the boats, flickered up and down the deck,
forcing up every rope by its brilliancy, and vanished so
suddenly that Niven afterwards said he could hear it
snap.  Next moment the steamer drew ahead, and the
last he saw of her was her shadowy stern lifted high on
the shoulder of a long smooth sea.

Jordan laughed a little as he paced up and down
beside the wheel.  "American," he said.  "That fellow
will know us if he falls in with us again."





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.. _`A TRIAL OF SPEED`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   A TRIAL OF SPEED

.. vspace:: 2

It was early one morning rather more than three
weeks after the lads had fallen in with the *Champlain*,
and a little breeze had just sprung up with the sun
when Appleby, who was scrubbing down decks just
then, turned upon Niven who stood close by with a
dripping bucket in his hand.

"I want the water here, and not all over me," he
said, pointing with his bare toes to the sand he had
sprinkled on the planking.

Niven grinned, and stooping, rolled his trousers to
the knee, after which he commenced a little step-dance
up and down the forehatch, and his laugh rang lightly
when a drowsy growl rose from beneath.

"You want good thick clogs to do it well, but I
fancy this will bring him up," he said.  "Did yez sleep
all day in the old country, Donegal?"

Now few men would have ventured to do what
Niven was doing on board a merchant ship, where the
time for sleep is scanty, but as the *Champlain* carried
twice as many men as were apparently needed, they
had ample space for rest.  Still, as he swung round
grimacing with his back to the scuttle in the hatch, a
coppery head rose up from it, and a long arm reached
out.  Then there was a chuckle from Stickine at the
wheel, and Niven turned again just in time to receive
the contents of the bucket full in his face.  After that
there was a scurry across the deck, and he swung
himself up by the mast-hoops, while a rope-end flicked
about the one from which he had just whipped his
naked feet, and Donegal sat down on the hatch with a
placid grin.

"Ye can stop up there and cool, me son, until Ned
Jordan comes up," he said.

Niven sat down on the jaws of the foresail gaff, and
wiped his dripping face.  "Sure, 'tis an ungrateful
beast, an' me just rousing him while the morning's
fresh," he said.  "Tom, if I had that bucket I could
drop it nicely on his head."

Donegal gazed up at the lad reflectively.  "'Tis
what comes of fattening ye too quick," he said.
"There was no thricks of that kind about ye on board
the *Aldebaran*, and ye had a distressful hungry look
when we got ye."

Niven could not find a neat rejoinder, and sat still
with his arm round the throat halliards high up on the
gaff, while the sun that rose with a smoky glare out of
the eastern haze shone into his face.  It was bronzed
to the colour of copper, and it is possible that his
friends would at first sight have found it difficult to
recognize the lad they had last seen strutting in new
uniform.  He now wore jean trousers and a thick
canvas jacket which Jordan had given him, and while
both were considerably too large there were big smears
of tar on them.  His hands were as hard as a navvy's,
and though he had not lost the love of frolic he had
found no scope for on board the *Aldebaran* there was a
difference in his face.

The sea had set its stamp upon Niven, and the set of
his lips had grown more resolute, while though they
could still twinkle his eyes were steadier.  Hardship
and the need for quick decision and self-reliance had
stiffened him, for Niven had been taught a good deal
since he left Sandycombe School, and the knowledge
that even a rich merchant's son was entitled to nothing
he could not obtain by his native wit or the strength
of his hand was perhaps the most useful of it all.
Money, he had discovered, was not much use at sea,
where nobody cared in the least who he was, and it
was by the things he did he must stand or fall.

There was less change in Appleby, who had been
early cast upon his own resources, but he, who had
never been boisterous, was a trifle quieter, and had
already added an inch or two to the breadth of his
chest.  His skin also resembled half-tanned leather,
and he was picturesquely arrayed in garments of
patched canvas somewhat too large for him.

In the meanwhile Niven glancing aft, and wondering
by what means he could avoid Donegal, who appeared
disposed to sit where he was all morning, saw the
crimson glare of the sunrise beat athwart the sea.  It
streaked the long smooth undulations that rolled up
after the *Champlain* a coppery red, and the schooner
swung over them lazily with half-filled mainsail
banging.  Under the sun there rolled a bank of smoky
vapour, and just as Jordan came up from the little
deckhouse, Niven saw something slide out of it.  He
was not altogether sorry, for although there was no
abuse of the men on board the *Champlain*, he fancied
the skipper's toleration had its limits, and when he
looked down Donegal flicked a rope-end suggestively.

Next moment Jordan saw him.  "Now, I figured
you were washing decks.  Anybody tell you to go up
there?" he said.

Niven looked distinctly sheepish, and Donegal
grinned.  "Is ut telling that's any use to him, an' me
inviting him to come down the last half-hour," he said.
Just then the object that crept out of the haze grew
clearer, and swinging himself up by the peak halliard,
Niven stretched out an arm.  "There's a schooner
coming up astern, sir," he said.  "Another just showing
abeam!"

Donegal sprang into the shrouds, Jordan whipped up
his glasses, and Niven, who saw they had forgotten him,
slipped down.  He had scarcely reached the deck when
the skipper called out, and two or three men came
scrambling out of the scuttle.

"Hand those topsails down, and get up the biggest
yard-headers," he said.

There was no scurrying, but the men were very
swift, and in a few minutes the little three-cornered
topsails they had carried at night were down, and two
big ones set.  The *Champlain* quickened her pace a
trifle, but it was evident the other schooners were
coming up with her.  Jordan laid down his glasses.

"The *Belle* and the *Argo*.  They're bringing the
breeze along with them," he said.

The sea was still only faintly rippled about them,
and the smoke from the galley eddied in the hollow of
the foresail, but the other vessels had grown plainer
and were slanting over, while Niven, who resumed his
deck scrubbing, fancied that Jordan strode up and down
impatiently.  Then Brulée, the French-Canadian cook,
put his head out of the galley.  "The breakfast is
quite ready, *camarades*," he said.

The lads took their places with the rest, and when
they sat down Niven glanced at the big lean-faced
Stickine.

"What are we running away from those fellows
for?" he said.

"Hear him!" said Donegal.  "'Tis marvellous, his
observation."

"Give the lad a show now and then," said the
Canadian.  "Well, now, when you see Ned Jordan run
away you can figure there's dollars somewhere at the
bottom of it, because if he didn't want to it would take
quite a fleet of gunboats to put a move on him."

Brulée laughed.  "You others are all lak that," he
said.  "*V'la la belle chose—courant en courant—la chasse
de dollar*.  It is so with you also in my country, the
Quebec."

"Well, now," said a little man who hailed from
Montreal, "there was a time when some of you made
tolerably good running down there under Montcalm
too.  I've seen the place where that chase came off,
and it's right behind the ramparts at Quebec."

"They run!" said Niven, who had read of the
famous scene on the heights of Abraham, but Donegal
stretched out a big hand, and he wriggled backwards
with his plate.

"What come well from General Wolfe is a thrifle too
big for the size av ye," he said.  "They were good men,
both Montcalm and him, and 'tis but the makings of one
I'm after licking out of ye.  Stickine, ye may purceed."

"Well," said the Canadian, "where the fur seals go
to when they haul off from the Behring Sea nobody
quite knows, but they're coming north, thousands of
them, now, and some men can figure better than others
where they'll first show up again."

"Is the skipper fortunate at finding them?" asked
Appleby.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, just because it's
tolerably plain figuring that it wants a good big head
to make a lucky man," said Stickine.  "It's the one
who can do the most thinking comes out on top, and
the things Jordan knows are the ones that work out
the reckoning."

"You've hit it plump," said another man.  "Ned
Jordan's chased the seals that long he can tell you just
what they're thinking."

Stickine nodded.  "And think they can; they, and
the sea otter, and the salmon they live upon.  Well,
now, when Ned Jordan has worried it all out for days,
he has no use for a crowd of men who're too lazy to do
their own thinking, hanging right on to him.  No, sir.
When the *Champlain* drops right down on top of the
seal herd she'll be there alone."

They went up as soon as breakfast was over, and
Niven saw that one of the schooners had drawn close
up on the *Champlain's* quarter.  The breeze had
freshened, and both vessels were hurling the froth
about their bows, and slanting over until the foam was
near the rail.  Foot by foot the stranger drew up, and
Niven saw the reason as he noticed the length of her
slanted masts.  She sank to her bowsprit at every dip,
and the spray whirled half the height of her tall
foresail, when she swung her streaming bows up again.
A man stood aft with both hands gripping her wheel,
and another with a broad grin on his face leaned on
her rail.  His voice reached them faintly.

"We've been feeling lonely for the sight of you these
two weeks," he said.  "Now it 'pears to me that as the
*Belle* has got the speed, we're going to have your company."

Jordan smiled grimly as he glanced to weather.
"Well, I don't know.  There's more wind coming
along," he said.

Appleby was sensible of a little thrill of pleasurable
excitement, for it was evident that if Jordan desired to
fall in with the seal herds alone he must sail for it, and
glancing aft at the skipper's lean figure and quiet
bronzed face he felt that he was not the man to be
lightly beaten.

At noon there was no great distance between the
vessels, though the *Belle* with her tall masts had crept
forward a little upon the *Champlain's* weather-quarter,
and the third one lay a quarter of a mile astern.  The
spray was whirling in sheets, and now and then a
frothing green deluge came in, for all three were listed
well down to their rails.  The sea was also flecked and
seamed with white, and it was evident to the lads that
no skipper would have driven his vessel so hard had he
not men enough to swiftly shorten sail.  Then just as
Brulée put his head out of the galley, the *Champlain*
heeled further by a screaming blast, buried her lee bow,
and when she hove her head clear again all that side of
her ran water.

Jordan glanced up at his main topmast, and there
was a little twinkle in his eyes as he said, "I figure
nobody would blame us for not hanging on to our sail.
Boys, we'll have the topsail down."

The big sail swung down below the mainsail gaff, but
when Appleby would have laid his hand upon the tack
to haul it lower still Stickine laughed as he stopped him.
"There's two ways of winning a race," he said.  "Let
her lie.  'Pears to me Ned Jordan will want her up
again."

Appleby did not quite understand, but he saw
Jordan's pose stiffen and his face grow intent as the *Belle*,
still carrying everything, forged ahead.  Then her topsail
also fluttered, and he swung up his hand.

"Sheets in, and stand by your peak halliard to let go
with a run," he said.

Then there was a scurry along the deck, blocks
groaned and rattled, and the long booms were dragged
in as the skipper put down his helm.  The schooner
came round, and because no vessel will carry the sail on
a wind that she will going free, her lee-rail was in the
sea and the deck sloped like a roof.  Foam and green
water seethed over her weather bow, and Appleby
thrilled all through as he hung on by a pin with one
hand on the peak halliard ready to let the mainsail gaff
swing down to ease the pressure.  He understood the
manoeuvre now, for the *Champlain* was shooting up
across the other schooner's stern for the berth that
would give her a free hand upon her weather.  It was
almost too late when the skipper of the *Belle* realized
this, but he put his helm down pluckily, and then the
weight of his tall masts came into play.  The *Belle*
seemed buried in a white confusion when she came up,
too, and a huddle of dripping figures appeared to wash
aft together when she dipped her nose in a sea.  Then
there was a crash as she swung her jibs out of the foam
again, and her foresail blew over to leeward banging,
while the *Champlain* swept up dripping on her weather.
A man sprang up in the shrouds shouting ironically, but
Jordan shook his head and called him down.

"We've no use for that kind of thing here," he said.

Appleby was dripping with the spray, but his blood
tingled, and his face was flushed, while Stickine, who
stood close by, nodded to him approvingly.

"Neat, oh, yes.  Quite neat!" he said.  "Her
foresail gaff's gone, and we're well up on her weather
where we can do what we like with her.  Still, I figure
we're not going to hold on to our own sticks very long."

"Square away!" Jordan's voice rang out, and the
long mainboom swung out again, while there was by
contrast a curious ease of motion when the *Champlain*,
rising more upright, turned her stern to the sea.  It no
longer thrashed in over her weather bow, but ran
forward white-topped on either side of her, but the
breeze was even stronger, and Appleby wondered, when
the voice rose again.

"Run the gaff topsail back to the masthead, boys!"

It took several of them to do it, and more were needed
before they hauled the sheet home.  Then the *Belle*
dropped away behind, though the other vessel stayed
where she was, half-a-mile under their lee quarter, a
pyramid of swaying sail.

Jordan laughed softly as he glanced towards her over
his shoulder.  "Old man Carter's most as stubborn as
a mule," he said.  "Well, we'll have more wind by and
by, and I'm figuring we'll see things then.  I don't
know any reason you shouldn't get your dinner in the
meanwhile, boys."

They trooped below, and there was no great change
when they came up, except that the *Belle* was farther
astern and the sea seemed to be getting steeper.  They
swept on before it all afternoon, and the men were a little
more silent when, with a great rolling in of smoky
vapours, nightfall came.  It was now blowing tolerably
hard, but while the seas frothed white as they surged
past high above the rail, the *Champlain* still drove on
under all her lower sails.  She was swept by bitter
spray, and the man who held her straight was panting
at the wheel, but the vapours rolled down thicker and
the *Belle* and the *Argo* were indistinguishable.  Niven
was lying in his bunk when Stickine came down, and
his face was a trifle grave, while, as he flung off his
dripping oilskins, there was a great thud and gurgle
forward, and something seethed across the hatch.

"Put her nose in that time," he said.  "Well, we've
got to shake them off, but we're taking steep chances
already, and we can't press her as we're doing very
long."

"Could you make the others out?" asked a man, and
Stickine laughed silently.

"No," he said.  "Still, we will do if the moon comes
through.  I know old man Carter, and he'd run her
under before he'd let us beat him.  It wouldn't take
them long to get the spare gaff on the *Belle*."

He flung himself into his bunk as he was, and
Appleby, who had heard him, asked no questions.  He
began to realize that these big, good-humoured sealers
could on occasion be very grim, though this was not a
cause of much astonishment to him, for he had seen
already that it is not, as a rule, the domineering and
ostentatious who take the foremost place when the real
stress comes.  He slept, but it was lightly, for the roar
of the sea about the bows and groaning of the
hard-pressed hull roused him now and then.  At times he
seemed to feel the great beams and knees straining
above him and the tremulous quiver of the vessel's skin,
while when for the fourth time he wakened suddenly a
shower of brine came down with a hoarse voice through
the scuttle.  The light of the swinging lamp showed
that Niven was sitting up wide awake, and in a few
more minutes they crawled out on deck with several of
the men.

A shower of stinging spray beat into their eyes, and
when he could see again, Niven had a disconcerting
glimpse of a big frothing comber apparently curling
above the schooner's stern.  The decks ran water, but
when he glanced aloft every sail but the topsail was
drawing still, and he clutched the rail when as they
swung upwards a blink of moonlight pierced the flying
vapours.  To leeward of them lay a schooner, her hull
just showing faintly black through the white smother
that seethed about her, until she hove a breadth of it
up streaming in a leeward roll.  It appeared insignificant
in comparison with the mass of dusky sail that swayed
low again towards the rushing froth as she lurched back
to weather, and then Appleby glanced aft with a little
thrill to the grim set face of the man who stood panting
at the *Champlain's* wheel.

The hiss of the seas that followed, the roar at the
bows, the wild humming of the blast and the whirling
spray stirred his blood.  They were all of them tokens
of what man could dare, and the strain, that human
nerve could bear, for he knew that already hemp and
wire and timber were being taxed to the uttermost, and
that if the helmsman gave her a spoke too much or too
little the next sea would curl on board or the great
black mainsail jibe over and strew the *Champlain's*
decks with ruin.  Niven stood beside him, and Appleby
saw that although his face was almost colourless in the
moonlight, his eyes were shining.

"Oh, it's great!" he said.  "Worth all we stood on
board the *Aldebaran* to have a hand in this."

"And how many hands were ye born with when I see
two av them holding ye where ye are?" said Donegal,
who apparently heard him.  "Is ut dollars or diversion
a man goes to sea after?"

Niven laughed.  "Dollars.  Oh, get out!  You know
you feel it yourself," he said.  "You've got everything
just throbbing inside you as I have now."

Donegal grinned broadly.  "And what if you're
right?" he said.  "'Tis born in the blood av the likes
av me, but if I was the son av a ducal earl it's sorrow
on the day would find me on the sea."

He got no further, but grabbed the lad's shoulder and
held him fast as the *Champlain* swerved a little and a
sea came in.  It swirled about them icy cold as she
rolled down to lee, and the scuppers were spouting when
with a wild lurch she swung back to weather.  Then
Donegal thrust the pair of them aft together.

"Get a good hold an' keep it, until we have some
need av ye," he said.

Then the blink of moonlight went out and the
*Champlain* was alone, while the two lads shivered and
dodged the spray as she swept onwards through the
night, until a faint light crept out of the east across the
whitened sea.  The wet canvas showed black against it,
there was a doleful wail of wind, and then when man's
strength sinks to its lowest something happened.  The
*Champlain* put her bows in, and Jordan sprang
suddenly up on the deckhouse gazing astern.  What he
said was scarcely audible, but the sealers apparently
understood it, for the deck was filled with scrambling
men.  Down came the mainsail's peak, forward a
slashing sail slid down, and the outer jib thrashed
furiously above the bowsprit.  Niven was clawing his
way towards it when Stickine grasped his shoulder and
flung him back.

"I guess this is going to be work for a man," he said.

Niven, who watched him crawl out along the bowsprit,
held his breath when spar and man dipped into the sea,
and then floundered aft to where the others were rolling
up the foot of the half-lowered mainsail.  It slatted and
banged above them, and now and then the long boom
beneath the foot of it that ran a fathom or more beyond
the stern, swung in, for the schooner was coming up to
the wind, but the rush and stress of the race had stirred
his blood, and when it became evident that somebody
was wanted there, he swung himself up on the foot-rope
beneath its outer end as he otherwise might not have
done.  In another moment Appleby was up beside him,
and Jordan standing at the wheel glanced dubiously at
them.  Then he nodded.

"You've got to begin sometime," he said.

It was not easy to keep a grip of the foot-rope, and
more difficult still to roll up the sail and tie the reef
points round it because both hands were needed and to
hold on they must lie across the boom.  Still, they
accomplished it, and Appleby felt content when Jordan
made a little gesture as they sprang down.  He was not
a man who said more than was necessary, but it was
evident that he was pleased with them.  Then they
hauled at the halliards with the rest, and in a few more
minutes they were once more on their way under easy
sail.

"She's snug for a while, but we'll have the trysail
handy," said Jordan quietly.  "Old man Carter was a
little slow.  They're catching the heft of it on board the
*Argo*."

Appleby glanced down to leeward and saw the *Argo*.
She was hove down with one side lifted high above the
sea, and loose canvas thrashing all over her.

"I'll figure he'll just save his masts," said Stickine.
"Wouldn't snug her down till we did.  Well, I figure
Carter couldn't help being born a mule."

Then the *Argo* grew dim behind them, and they
swept on into an empty sea, for the race was over, and
there was no sign of the *Belle*.





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   CHAPTER X


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At noon next day, Jordan once more brought the
*Champlain's* head to wind, and they put the third reef
in her mainsail, while when she swept on again the sea
grew steeper behind her, until the combers that raced
after her apparently hung frothing above her
helmsman's head.  She would fling her stern up to meet
them and while the man panted over his jerking wheel
her bowsprit went down and down.  Then she would
leisurely lift her nose and surge forward lapped in
seething foam, only to sink with a smooth, swift
lurch again.

It was dryest aft, though there was water splashing
everywhere, and the two lads hung about the mainmast
where the little deckhouse partly sheltered them,
watching the helmsman's grim face as he swung with
his wheel.  They knew, by this time, that, while it is
a somewhat difficult affair to keep a hard-pressed
vessel straight before the sea, unpleasant things are
apt to happen to a fore-and-aft one if it is not
done.

Still, the man knew his work, and did it, and at
last, towards nightfall, when the sea was all spray and
foam, Jordan, who came up, stood staring astern.  After
a minute or two he shook his head.

"We had better round her up while we can," he
said.  "Get the main-gaff down, and you'll be handy
with the trysail."

They were very handy, and there was a good many
of them, but Appleby held his breath when the foresail
was lowered, and the mainsail peak swung down.
Jordan was still looking astern, and he nodded after
an especially big sea went smoking past them.

"We'll try it now," he said.

The man beside him swayed with the wheel, the
*Champlain* swung round to windward, and there was
a roar when a roller burst into spray upon that side
of her.  Then she swung further yet, and as the big
mainboom came down the little three-cornered trysail
went thrashing up the mast.  Everybody was doing
something amidst a great banging of canvas, and
in another few moments there was a wonderful
quietness.  Appleby gasped, and Stickine who went by
dripping grinned at him, while Jordan nodded to the
men.

"She'll lie easy now," he said.

In place of running before it the *Champlain* lay
almost head to wind, rising and falling with now and
then a little lurch to leeward and a curious buoyancy.
The strip of sail above her bowsprit and the trysail aft
just sufficed to hold her stationary, and it was with
little more than a spray wisp at her bows she bobbed
in a curious cork-like fashion to the sea.  Except for
one or two of them the men crawled away below, and
the lads, who were wet through, were glad to climb
down into the stuffy warmth beneath the hatch.

It was dark down there now save for the flickering
radiance of the lamp which shone upon the wet brown
faces and the smears of smoke.  The dusky hold reeked
with the smell of steaming clothes, but the lads had
grown used to odours which would have sickened them
before they went to sea.  Niven shook off the oilskins
Jordan had given him, and as usual commenced his
questions.

"The sea looked nasty before we brought her up,"
he said.  "How was it we scarcely shipped any of it?"

"It was," said Stickine dryly.  "Still, Ned Jordan
knows his business, sonny."

Niven did not care for the epithet, or the grin which
usually accompanied it, but he had discovered that one
has to put up with a good deal that one does not like
at sea.

"Of course!" he said.  "But why couldn't we have
gone on running?"

Montreal, the man who sat nearest the stove, laughed
softly as he raised his head.  "Listen to it.  That's
why!" he said.

There was a moment's silence, and while the
*Champlain* rolled to leeward, and the floorings slanted
under them until no man could have kept his footing,
all could hear the scream of the rigging ring through
the roar of the wind.  It was a significant answer, but
it left a little that was not quite plain yet, and Stickine
nodded when Appleby glanced at him.

"It works out like this.  A time comes when she'll
run no longer—and then it's too late to heave her to,"
he said.

"Yes," said Appleby reflectively.  "Of course if the
sea was too bad to run before it would be too big to
bring her up in, because while she was swinging round
she'd catch it on her beam.  Still, if you had run too
long what could you do?"

"Just nothing," said Stickine gravely.  "Wait until
she ran under and took you down."

He stopped, and there was a thud that sent a little
shiver through two of the listeners as the *Champlain*
plunged into a sea, for they had been taught sufficient
to see the picture the brief words called up.  In the
silence that followed Brulée leaned forward with a
curious intentness in his eyes.

"*Comme ça!*" he said, swinging down a brown hand
with suggestive suddenness.  "I have seen it.  We
come down from Labrador in the *Acadie* brig, and it
is blow the grand ouragan."

He drew in his breath, and gazed into the dimness
as though he saw none of those about him, and then
with a little shake of his shoulders stretched out a
finger and pointed to Niven.  "I was as young as
him, and it was in the clear of the moon when the
*Acadie* was hove to, one brought me to the rail to see
the *Madeleine*.  She was topsail schooner which load
with us, and we had all the friend on board her.
Whether she will not heave to, or the captain he is
dare too much, I do not know, but she comes up from
the spray and pass close, so close.  I see the topsails
black in the moon, and the jib she lift high.  Then
she is over run the sea, and I shut tight my eye.  It
is in a moment I look again—and there is no more
*Madeleine*."

Again there was silence, and Donegal nodded
sympathetically when the French-Canadian turned away his
head.  "*Ave!*" he said.  "For their good rest."

It was a minute or two before Niven, who had shivered
a little at the tale, spoke again.  "He told us the
captain dared too much," he said.

"Sure!" said Donegal.  "Is that perplexing ye,
an' am I to stuff ye with wisdom so ye can spill it
out av ye?  Still, that wan's easy.  'Tis the daring
ye want at sea, but ye must dare just so far, an'
when it's necessary, for the man who does not know
when the conthract is too big for him is going to
have it shown him what he is.  Ye can follow me?"

Niven was not quite sure that he did, but Stickine
smiled grimly as he nodded.  "It's quite plain figuring.
He's a blame fool," he said.

Appleby stared at the speaker with a faint perplexity,
for while there were occasions when Donegal the sealer
and his comrades talked arrant rubbish they now and
then brought truths the lad had scarcely realized home
to him in a fashion that carried conviction as well as
astonishment with it.  He wondered whether the sea
had taught them, or there was something that opened
the eyes of the thoughtful in the simple life they led.
It was one which at least demanded qualities that were
an ornament to any man, and more often than not the
primitive virtues which humanity cannot rise beyond
showed through what some would have deemed his
comrades' coarseness.  Once or twice as he listened it
was dimly borne in upon the lad that while manhood
was a greater thing than culture or refinement all that
was most worthy in it was founded on a few eternal
verities.

Niven, however, could not be serious long, and
presently he laughed at Donegal as he turned over
to dry his other side before the little stove.  He felt
luxuriously contented to lie there in the stuffy warmth,
and listen to the growling of the seas.

"There was something Stickine was to tell us—about
a fifty-year-old schooner, and a crew of starving men,"
he said.

Donegal nodded.  "That ate the rats?  Get up on
the hind legs av ye, now, an' talk, Stickine."

There was a little murmur from the rest, and the
big, lean-faced Canadian looked uneasy.  "Pshaw!
You've heard that tale before," he said.

"Some av us," said Donegal.  "An thim would hear
it again.  The others has not, and they're waiting on ye
anxiously!"

The men murmured approval, and Stickine shook
out his pipe with a little deprecatory gesture.  "I'll
make you very tired, boys, but if you will have it this
is how it was," he said.  "It was 'bout through with
the afternoon watch when the fog shut down on the
four of them in the whaler in Russian water.  They
heard the schooner's bell, but it's kind of difficult to fix
a sound in a fog, and when it let up sudden they allowed
they'd lost her."

"Sure!" said Donegal.  "Mainsail Haul could tell
ye that in a fog ye hear the sounds in front of ye behind
ye.  It is digressing ye are, Stickine, but the boys is
wondhering what four sealermen were squandhering
their time luxurious for in a whaler."

Appleby understood the comment, for he had seen a
couple of whale boats on the beach at Port Parry, and
they were costly examples of the boat-builder's skill.
Stickine, however, laughed silently.

"Old man Corliss got her for nothing—and she was
built for the Government with flooring gratings fore
and aft, but we needn't worry 'bout how he did it now.
Well, there they were, with a big lump of a sea running,
shut in by the fog, and they had to keep her head-to
with the oars when the wind came down."

"Fog—and a breeze!" said Niven, and Donegal
shook his fist at him.

"'Tis bethraying the ignorance av ye, ye are again,"
he said.  "Up there 'tis fog for ever except when 'tis a
gale, an' before it's through with that the fog crawls in
again.  Ye will not heed the lad, Stickine."

"Well," said the sealer, "they held her head to wind,
until just before sun up a gunboat came along, and she
come that sudden they'd no time to heave the seals
they'd with them over before she was going hard astern
close alongside of them.  The first look at her kind of
sickened them.  She was a Russian."

"There was fog—and they stopped there?" said
Montreal.

"They did.  There was quick-firer turned right down
on the boat," said Stickine dryly.  "Well, it was all
fixed up inside five minutes.  The whaler was hove up,
and a guard with side-arms marched them before a
Russian officer, and he was quite anxious to know
where they'd last seen the schooner.  Now, it was
kind of curious there wasn't one of the boys could
remember."

"Had they been sealing inside the limits?" asked
Appleby.

"No, sir," said Stickine.  "Not that time, anyway.
When they last saw the land they were well off shore."

"Then the Russians had no right to seize them, and
the Canadian Government could have made them pay
up thousands of dollars," said Niven.

A little, grim smile crept into the faces of the men.
"That," said one of them, "is where you're wrong.
They had all the right they wanted when they had
the men and guns, and who's going to believe a poaching
sealer when an officer in kid-gloves tells quite a
different story?"

"And have British subjects no redress?" asked
Appleby with a little flush in his face, and Montreal
grinned at him with grim approval.

"Oh, yes, when they can get it—and they do now
and then, though they don't usually worry the Government
folks at Ottawa," he said.  "They took them to
Peter Paul, Stickine?"

"They did," said Stickine.  "And they kept them
most of eight months there cooped up in a loghouse
with a little dried fish to eat, and 'bout half enough
sour black bread.  They wouldn't tell the officer where
that schooner was, you see, and when they're not put
down on the papers men in prison get kind of forgotten
in that country."

"And you believe it has happened—to Canadians?"
asked Niven with a little gasp of anger.

The veins swelled up on Montreal's forehead.  "Well,
there are sealer's boats, British and American, that get
lost, and nobody but the partners of the men who pulled
in them and a woman or two away down south worries
very much," he said.  "I had a brother in one of them."

There was silence for almost a minute before Stickine
went on again.  "Two of them got very sick, and they
all got thin, until when the spring came they were
walked out every day with a guard to take care of them.
Perhaps the officer figured it would be kind of awkward
if they died on his hands and then somebody remembered
them.  Well, one day nigh sundown the mate and a
sick man were sitting on the beach looking at the sea,
and wondering if their folks in Canada would ever hear
of them again.  They were to be sent away from that
place in a day or two.

"Now, there was an old schooner that must have
been getting shaky when the Russians seized her years
before moored in front of them.  The oakum was
spewing from her seams, her bulwarks were worn and
weather-cracked so you could put your fingers in the rents
in them, and it wasn't much use telling a sealerman
what kind of canvas she would have after lying there
since the Russians took her in the rain and wind.  Still,
she looked kind of homely, and they sat there watching
her until they heard the boom of gun and there was a
Russian soldier signing to them.  Now, some of those
folks were kind enough, but this was a bad man, and
when the sealer who was sick couldn't get along fast
enough he kicked him hard, and where it would hurt him."

Montreal drew his breath, and a little grey patch
showed in his cheeks.

"But," he said hoarsely, "he didn't do it again!"

Stickine laughed a curious little laugh.  "No," he
said.  "He meant to, but the man who wasn't sick
was too quick for him, and the soldier wasn't handy
getting his side arm out.  The sealer took the point
in his arm, and it ripped it to the wrist, but he got
his right fist on that soldier's chin, and when he went
down he made no great show of getting up again.  Then
the other two left him, and went back to the prison
where a soldier locked them in, and when the rest heard
what had happened they did some talking.  They didn't
take long about it, for the mate had a notion the soldier
looked very sick when he left him, and it was quite
plain that anything they did must be put through
before they were marched away from sea.

"'We've got to light out of this right now,' says one.

"'Well,' says another, 'where are we going to?'

"'That,' says the mate, 'is quite easy.  There's a
schooner handy and we're going straight to sea.'

"Nobody said any more for a little, and the boys
looked kind of solemn.  It was a long way to British
Columbia, and they knew what that schooner was
like because they'd see her.  Then one of them gets up.

"'I'd sooner drown out yonder than work in the
mines,' says he.

"In 'bout five minutes they'd fixed up the thing,
and there was one of them waiting behind the door
when a soldier came in.  Before he got started talking
the man had his arms about him.  Then there was a
circus that didn't last very long, and the soldier was
lying tied up quite snug with his tunic round his head
when they slipped out one by one.  The moon was
getting up, but it was hazy with a little breeze blowing
out to sea when two of them lit out for the place where
the schooner was lying while the rest went for the
beach where it was nearest them.  There was a boat
or two handy, but they were big, and you can't get a
vessel that's been lying by for years off in a minute.
When the two stopped abreast of her the water was
very cold, and it isn't quite easy swimming in your
clothes, but they knew if they took them off they
would have to go home naked, and made the best of
it they could, though one of them was played out when
they fetched the vessel.  They couldn't get a holt of her,
and the tide swung them along bobbing and clawing
at her side, until the mate got his fingers in a crack
the sun had made.  Then he got up, though he was
never quite sure how it was done, and pulled the other
one after him, but they fell down on deck and lay there
a minute, anyway.

"After that one crawls to the foremast, and it was
while he made shift to get the foresail on to her he
found out what prison and hunger had done for him.
It wasn't a big sail, but he sat down faint and choking
when he'd got it up.  Then he found where the shackle
was on the chain, and smashed his fingers as he pounded
it, for the pin was rusted in.  He couldn't quite see
straight and his hands were bleeding, but he figured
they'd got to light out quick, for there was a dog
howling and he could hear a boat coming.  At last,
when he knew another blow would knock out the pin,
he let up and he and the other man tried to get the
mainsail up, and stopped because they'd 'bout the
strength of Mainsail Haul between them.  Then while
they stood there gasping a boat comes banging alongside,
and the rest was crawling over the rail when the
mate hears another splash of oars behind.

"'They're coming along with rifles,' says somebody.

"Well, there was nobody wanting to waste any time,
and they got the mainsail up with a split you could
have ridden a horse through in the middle of it, and
'bout half the staysail to swing her with.  When they'd
done that much they saw there wasn't much use in
hoisting the rest of it, and they pulled the head right
out of one of her jibs.  The boat was coming up
tolerably fast, and somebody hailing them, but they
didn't stop to answer, and getting the staysail aback
knocked out the shackle-pin.  The cable ran out all
right, and then they stood still, very quiet and feeling
sick, for most a minute, for they could see the boat now,
and the schooner wouldn't fall off handy.  One or two
of them will remember that minute while they live.
There was so much in front of them, and, so far as they
could see, more behind—and the old schooner was just
hanging there with her mainsail peak swung down.

"At last she fell off slowly, but there wasn't one of
them fit to howl when she started off before the wind.
The mate had a kind of fancy somebody was shooting,
but nobody was quite sure then or after, because they
were too busy swaying the mainsail peak up and looking
for a sound place to bend the halliards to the jibs.
They got them up in pieces, but she was off the wind,
and when the boat dropped back into the haze behind
her the mate fell over on the hatch and lay there until
somebody poured water on to him.  It was sun up next
morning before he remembered very much more, and
then that schooner scared him.  You could have clawed
out pieces from her masts with your nails, and there
were more holes than canvas in her sails.  No compass,
no water, not a handful of grub, and the Pacific to cross.

"They ran down the coast that day, and came to
with the kedge-anchor off a village the next one.  The
folks came off, and brought them dried fish and water
for all the odds and ends of rope and ironwork they
could spare off the schooner.  Then they cleared for sea
again, and hung out for two weeks starving on a
handful of grub each morning for every man, with
only the sun, that wasn't always there, and the stars to
guide them."

Stickine stopped a moment, and his face grew very
grim while there was silence in the *Champlain's* hold,
and Appleby shivered as he pictured the crazy schooner
crawling as it were at random across the face of the
Pacific with her crew of starving men.

"It must have been horrible," he said.  "Did they
lose any of them?"

Stickine shook his head.  "Not a man," he said.
"Still, two of them were on their backs and the others
just ready to lie down when a steamer came along, and
they ran slap for the bows of her when they saw the
flag she was flying.  She stopped, and they felt kind
of shaky when she lay there rolling with white men
hailing them and a boat swinging out, while when a man
came on board they couldn't quite talk to him sensible,
and he stared at them and the masts a minute without
a word.  Then he sized up what they were wanting,
and there was grub and coal and water in the schooner
besides a compass when the steamer went on.  After
that it was easier.  Somehow they nursed her through
two gales, and drove her south-east when they could,
and then one morning there was the snow shining high,
up in the sky and they knew they were through with
their troubles.  That's 'bout all there is to it, and I've
done quite enough talking!"

"Did the Government get them any compensation,
and what became of the schooner?" asked Appleby.

Stickine laughed dryly.  "No, sir," he said.  "They
didn't.  Nobody asked them to, and that schooner isn't
sailing now."

"But you knew the mate?" said Appleby.  "Of
course it was he who brought them through."

Stickine did not answer, and Donegal reached out
suddenly and grabbed his arm.  Taken unawares he
could not extricate it, and next moment his sleeve was
drawn back and the lads saw a long white scar that ran
down to the wrist.  Then Stickine's face flushed a
trifle, and Donegal grinned.  "Ye have heard where
he got it—and he swum off to her that night," he
said.

The flush faded from Stickine's face, which grew
grim again.  "I'm owing the folks who did it more
than that and the hunger," he said.  "We were set down,
all of us, as lost at sea, and while I was lying in that
prison things had gone wrong.  When I got back to
Canada I knew they could never be straightened out
again."

Appleby noticed how Stickine's big hands trembled,
and surmised that some great sorrow he would not
speak about had darkened the home-coming of the man
who had risen as it were from the dead.  He, however,
sat still with the rest until Montreal slowly clenched a
big brown fist.

"And," he said with a curious quietness, "it's a
brother they're owing me."

Then there was a silence that was intensified by the
roar of the sea.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AMONG THE HOLLISCHACKIE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium bold

   AMONG THE HOLLISCHACKIE

.. vspace:: 2

The bitter gale they had run before for two days had
fallen suddenly, and it was a hazy afternoon when the
lads saw St. George of the Pribyloffs lying a faint blur
on the rim of the Behring Sea.  In between swung long
slopes of grey water, that flickered here and there into
green, where a pale ray of sunlight shone down.  They
did not, however, see it long, because the sun went in,
and a smear of vapour crawled up from the horizon, for
where the warmer waters of the Pacific meet the icy
currents from the Pole, the clammy fog follows close
upon the gale.

They had still short sail upon the schooner, and she
rolled distressfully with a great rattle of blocks and
banging of booms, but Jordan stood poised on the house
with glasses levelled, and white men and Indians
clustered aft and beneath him.

"No smoke anywhere, but we'll have the wind back
before night," he said.  "How far do you make us off
the land?"

"Six miles, anyway," said Stickine, and Jordan nodded.

"I'd have put another half-mile on to that," he said.
"Well, you can get the boats over and look for the
holluschackie."

Stickine raised his hand, and the men fell to work.
He scarcely gave an order, and there was no shouting
or confusion, for every one knew what to do and did it
with a silent swiftness which the lads had never seen on
board the *Aldebaran*.  The hurrying figures seemed
everywhere at once, and before Appleby could decide
whom to help, the first boat was swinging from a tackle
between the masts.  Then there was a splash, and
when he gained the bulwarks, a copper-faced Indian
was crouching in the bows and the oars were out.  It
was quick work.  Boat after boat was hove up,
thwarts fitted, rifles put on board, and while the
*Champlain* rolled so that no landsman could have kept
his footing, swung into the sea.

Finally when the deck was almost empty Stickine
glanced at Jordan.  The skipper said nothing for a
minute, but once more swept his glasses round the
horizon, and his face was a trifle dubious when at last
he laid them down.

"You can take Donovitch and Donegal and try what
the lads can do," he said.  "That leaves two of us to
work the schooner, but I don't figure we'll have any
wind to speak of for an hour or two."

Stickine nodded as he moved forward, and thrust a
rope into Appleby's hands.  "Lay hold and heave," he
said.  "You're not going to be quite so keen on sealing
by the time you pull her back again."

The lads gasped and panted as they hauled upon the
tackle, but the boat was swung high before they had
lifted her stern a foot, and they began to understand that
even in such an apparently simple thing it would take
them years to attain the dexterity of the men who had
preceded them.

Still, they did what they could, while their faces
grew red and the veins on their foreheads swelled,
and at last the boat fell almost level, when at a sign
from Stickine they let her go with a run.  Then they
dropped from the rail, and, though Niven fell over
Appleby, got the oars out and the boat away before the
*Champlain* rolled down on that side heavily.  Appleby
had lost his cap and his face was flushed, but he kept
stroke with Donegal, who pulled on the thwart in front
of him, and saw a little twinkle in the eyes of the
skipper who looked down from the rail.

"I'd remember the kind of crew you've got, Stickine,
though I've seen raw hands make a worse show," he said.

They were well clear of the schooner when Donegal
spoke.  "'Twas a compliment Ned Jordan paid ye, an'
it he had the thraining av ye for ten years I'd have
some hopes av ye."

"Ten years!" said Niven with a little laugh that hid
the pride he felt.  "Well, I fancy I'd have been made
into a merchant in less than that time if I'd stayed at
home."

"An' who would be afther throwing the likes av
you away on a merchant's business?" said Donegal dryly.

Niven said nothing further, and they had pulled for
another half-hour when Appleby asked, "Why was the
skipper looking for smoke?"

Donegal laughed.  "'Tis a diction'ry wid pictures in
it to tell ye the meaning av all things ye want to know.
Sure now, but what would be afther making a smoke?"

"A gunboat," said Appleby.  "But we're a good deal
more than three miles off the land."

"An' what av it?" said Donegal.  "'Tis not easy to
fix your distance at sea without a four point bearing,
an' when 'tis a matter of opinion 'tis not the pelagic
sealerman that folks will listen to, or where would
be the use av the men in uniform who're a credit
to their nation an' the prothectors of the American
company?"

"Well, now, I've known quite a few sealers who
couldn't tell the difference between one mile and three,"
said Stickine dryly.

As he spoke the Indian grunted in the bows, and
Stickine, who bade them stop pulling, stood up for a few
minutes while the lads gathered breath and looked
about them.  When the boat swung upwards they could
see the schooner roll with slanted spars down the side of
the sea about two miles away.  Then they saw nothing
but a dark slope of water, until they rose again, and a
few little dots that swung into sight and sank became
visible scattered here and there along the horizon.  A
puff of whiteness curled about one of them, and that
was all which served to show they were boats sealing.
St. George had faded into a bank of vapour, and when
the boat was hove aloft again Appleby noticed that the
horizon was closer in upon them.  Then as a filmy streak
of whiteness slid across the sea a few hundred yards
away, she seemed to become suddenly very small, and
the cold grey water very near them.  Stickine did not
apparently notice it, and Appleby, glancing over his
shoulder, saw the Indian still crouching motionless, rifle
in hand, in the bow.

.. _`"GLANCING OVER HIS SHOULDER, SAW THE INDIAN STILL CROUCHING MOTIONLESS, RIFLE IN HAND"`:

.. figure:: images/img-159.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: "GLANCING OVER HIS SHOULDER, SAW THE INDIAN STILL CROUCHING MOTIONLESS, RIFLE IN HAND."

   "GLANCING OVER HIS SHOULDER, SAW THE INDIAN STILL CROUCHING MOTIONLESS, RIFLE IN HAND."

Suddenly he spoke, and Stickine moved his oar.
"Pull," he said quietly.  "Steady and easy."

Appleby had seen nothing move on the long slope of
sea, but he felt his heart beat, and his blood pulse faster
as he dipped his oar; for the crouching figure in the
bows had risen a trifle and the rifle was pitched forward
now.

Then he looked aft again watching Stickine, who
stood up, swaying with the boat, but otherwise very
still, with his eyes fixed forward and a little glint in
them.  Presently he moved his head, Donegal stopped
rowing, and while the lads rested on their oars there
was a bang, and a wisp of acrid smoke curled about them.

"All you're worth!" said Stickine sharply, swaying
with his oar, and the lads bent their backs with a will.
The boat seemed to lift with every stroke, Donegal
made a little hissing with his breath, and Niven gasped
from strenuous effort and excitement as he heard the
swish of water that swirled past them, and strove to
keep stroke.  He felt that another minute or two
would see him beaten, when Stickine flung up one hand,
and there was a curious quietness, until something
brushed softly against the sliding boat.

"Get hold!" said Donegal, leaning over, and a clumsy,
almost shapeless, object came in with a roll.

It was not what they expected, but both Niven and
Appleby long remembered the killing of their first seal,
and while they sat flushed and breathless, with the
salt brine trickling from their oars, the surroundings
were of a kind likely to impress themselves on any
lad's memory.

In front of them a long slope of grey water rolled up
against the hazy sky, and another big undulation that
shut out the schooner hove itself high behind.  A little,
thin, blue smoke still curled from the muzzle of the
Indian's rifle as he stood up in the bows with his
impassive bronze face cut sharp against the sea, and
Stickine was stooping over the hump-shouldered object
that lay quivering on the floorings astern, in a fashion
that suggested a shaken jelly.  It was a dingy grey
colour, and covered with long, coarse hair which did not
bear the slightest resemblance to the beautiful glossy
fur they had been accustomed to in England, and the
lads' hands were sticky with the grease of it.

"And that's a seal!" said Niven, glancing disgustedly
at his fingers.  "I'd sooner claw a dog that hadn't been
washed for years.  They make ladies' jackets out of that
beastly stuff?"

Stickine nodded, and touched the object, which
quivered again, with his foot.  "Oh, yes," he said,
with a little laugh.  "That's just a holluschack.  The
under-hair's quite fine enough, and—you see him
shaking—he's got two or three inches of blubber under
that."

"What's a holluschack?" asked Appleby.

"Riches," said Donegal.  "If ye can catch wan often
enough, and, by the token, the Americans who leased
those islands yonder made more out av them than
their Government paid the Russians for them and the
whole of Alaska.  How many years was they doing it,
Stickine?"

"'Bout two years," said the Canadian.  "There was
more seals crawling round there then, but they got kind
of tired of being clubbed and shot at."

"We don't know what a holluschack is yet," said
Appleby.

"Well," said Stickine, "it's just a bachelor seal, so
young that the bulls don't have no use for it hanging
around, and that's why you find the holluschackie by
themselves, which is fortunate, anyway, because it's only
them one wants to catch.  The cows go free—that is,
mostly—and the bulls are that chewed up they're not
worth killing."

"What with?" asked Appleby.

"Fighting," said Stickine.  "The bull he comes up
first and crawls out on St. George there, to look for a
nice place for his cows to lie down in.  Just as soon as
he finds it another bull comes along and wants to take
it from him.  If he's got grit enough he hangs on to it,
and when the cows crawl out of the sea the circus
begins.  Every bull has to fight for those that belong
to him, and for six weeks anyway you can hear them
roaring."

"I can't fancy that thing roaring," said Niven,
pointing to the holluschack.

Stickine laughed softly.

"Well," he said, "when the bull stiffens up he can
do most anything but sing, and you can hear him
quite as far as a steamer's whistle.  Time we were
getting a move on, Donovitch."

The Indian said something the lads did not
understand in the Chinook idiom, and they clipped the
oars again.  For an hour they pulled shorewards, and
now and then the sound of a rifle reached them faintly,
but the boats were seldom visible, for a filmy greyness
was crawling across the sea.  Once Appleby had a
momentary glimpse of the schooner, a blur of slanted
canvas against a patch of hazy sky, but she faded next
moment and was not seen again.

Then the Indian spoke softly, and when they stopped
pulling at a sign from Stickine, Appleby, twisting
himself round, saw something that was a little darker
than the water swing with a grey slope of sea.  The
Indian was now lying huddled in the bows, and the
rifle-barrel poked forward over them, while the copper cheek
was down on the stock of it.  It, however, seemed almost
impossible that, as the boat swung up and down, any
man could hit the dim moving thing which showed
above the water with a single bullet, but while Appleby
waited breathless the muzzle jerked upwards, and there
was a thin flash.  Then stinging smoke curled about
him, and the jar of the report was flung back by the
heaving slopes of sea.  The Indian grunted as the
cartridge rattled at his feet, and Stickine grabbed his oar.

"I'm not sure he got him, and a wounded seal
generally goes right down," he said.  "Still, he might
give us another show, and we'll pull ahead somewhat,
my lads."

They rowed for what seemed to the lads, who could
see nothing but water, a considerable time, twisting now
and then to left and right, until the rifle flashed again,
and Stickine roared at them.  Then for three or four
minutes they pulled breathlessly, until there was another
shout, and they flung the oars in and grabbed at
something that slid past them.  It took the whole of
them to roll it in, and then there was a little laugh from
Donegal, while Stickine stood looking down on the
victim disgustedly.  It was nearly twice the size of the
other, but its fur was loose and thin, and there were big
patches where it had been apparently torn away and had
not grown again.

"It would take any man all his time to find a dollar's
worth of sound hide on him," said Donegal, with a
chuckle.  "'Tis spectacles ye and Donovitch are wanting,
Stickine."

"Well," said Stickine dryly, "a dollar's a kind of
handy thing, but we needn't have pulled so far to
leeward after a blame old bull."

None of them had apparently had much thought of the
weather during the past half-hour, but now when they
sat breathless resting on the dripping oars a cold wind
chilled their flushed faces, and they saw that there was
sliding vapour everywhere.

"She was lying 'bout south and dodging with staysail
to windward when we had the last sight av her," said
Donegal.  "Is it any way likely Ned Jordan would get
way on her?"

Stickine shook his head.  "If it was clear he might
have done, but once the haze shut down he'd stop right
where he was so the boys would know where to look for
him.  We'll try south, anyway."

They bent their backs, for Stickine took his place
again, but as they swung up with a sea Appleby
wondered how any one could tell where the south
might be.

There was no sign of either boat or schooner, only
a heaving stretch of water across which the fleecy
vapours rolled more thickly.  They had pulled for
about twenty minutes when it seemed to the lads that
the splashes at the bows grew louder and the work
harder, while there was no doubt at all that the wind
was colder.  Then little puffs of spray commenced to fly
over their shoulders, and at times there was a white
splash on the top of a sea.  Appleby could hear Niven
panting, and began to envy Donegal, who swung back
and forwards with tireless regularity.  His own oar was
getting unpleasantly heavy.

"Stiffen up," said Stickine.  "We've got to get there
quick.  Wind's coming along right now."

He had scarcely spoken when the splash from Niven's
oar blew over Appleby's shoulder and wetted his face,
while the slope of the next sea was lined with ripples
curiously.  Then one frothed angrily on its top, and
when the boat plunged over the next one a cloud of
spray whirled up.  She seemed to stop a trifle, while as
the oars went down again Appleby gasped, for Donegal
and Stickine were swinging a trifle faster, and he found
it almost impossible to keep stroke.  He had also a
shrewd suspicion that they could, if it was necessary,
row as they were doing all through the night, while it
was evident that another half-hour would exhaust the
last of his strength.  Still, he set his lips and tugged
at his oar, while as the lurches grew sharper it
became more difficult to keep the blade out of the
water.

At last when the bows were flung high he missed his
stroke and fell backwards upon Niven, while as he
scrambled to his feet again Stickine stopped rowing,
and twisting round, looked at them over his shoulder.
It is more than possible he saw distress in the young
faces, for that was a bigger and heavier boat than those
generally used for sealing, and Appleby noticed that he
shook his head as he glanced at Donegal.

"The schooner's 'bout a mile to windward still," he
said.  "You've got to wake right up and pull."

His voice was sterner than usual, and the lads, who
recognized the difference, shook themselves together and
fell to again.  They were very tired, but they had
discovered on board the *Aldebaran* that there are times
when the overtaxed body must be kept to its task by
sheer force of mind, and that worn out, ill or well, men
must work at sea.  Still, Stickine's stroke was a trifle
slower when they went on again, and gasping and
panting, while their arms grew powerless and their
temples throbbed, they kept time to it.  The spray was
flying freely, and there was nothing to be seen but dim
slopes of water tipped with froth, for the right was
smothered in the fog and the dusk which replaces night
at that season closing in.  Niven was groaning audibly
now and then, and Appleby pulled in torment with a
horrible pain in his side, when at last the crash of a gun
came out of the dimness.

"Over our starboard bow!" said Donegal; and as
he swung into faster stroke, the task became grimmer yet.

Now, Niven had been one of the best hares the
Sandycombe Harriers had ever known, and Appleby
had brought the school boat home first in the local
regatta, but they had never taxed their uttermost
endurance of mind and body as they did in the wild ten
minutes that followed.  It was one thing to race for
honour or a silver cup, and a very different one to row
for their lives, as they felt unpleasantly certain they
were doing now.  All round them seatops came frothing
whitely out of the darkness, but the sound they
made was lost in the scream of wind.

At last, however, and with relief unspeakable, Appleby
saw the schooner's canvas grow out of the mist.  They
were close upon her before they could see her hull, and
then it was only the dripping bows swung high with a
jib hauled to windward above them.  She crawled out
of the vapour, rolling to leeward, with the streaky
backwash streaming down her sides, and while Niven
wondered whether it would by any means be possible to
get on board her, the boat slid in under her bulwarks
as they came swinging down, and Stickine clutched the
rope that was flung him.

Niven did not know whether he crawled up or
Stickine pulled him, but in another moment he was on
board the *Champlain* with Appleby beside him and a
row of men floundering aft along the deck.  Then the
boat swung in between the masts, and when she
dropped upon the hatch he saw that Jordan was talking
to Stickine a yard or two away.

"One good one," said the latter.  "And a bull.
We'll do if we get two dollars for him.  Two of the
boats away yet?"

"Charley's," said Jordan with a little laugh.  "No
need to worry over him.  He'd fetch her through a gale
of wind when he got hungry, but I'm kind of anxious
about Montreal and the other one.  You and the lads
had to row?"

"They're played out, but they pulled quite handy,"
said Stickine.

Jordan swung round and glanced at Appleby, who
leaned against the mast with flushed face and heaving
chest, while Niven sat close by on the hatch still
gasping heavily.

"I don't know that we've any use for you just now,"
he said.  "You can get your tea from Brulée and
crawl down below."

The lads did not want telling twice, and when they
sat down with a steaming can of tea before them in the
stuffy, curiously-smelling hold Appleby's face relaxed
and Niven laughed.

"I'd never have believed I could be glad to get back
to a place like this once, but I am," he said.  "In fact,
I scarcely fancy I was ever so glad to see anything in
my life as I was when we got the first glimpse of the
*Champlain*."

Appleby nodded with his mouth full.  "I wasn't
sorry myself," he said.  "Now, it seems to me it isn't
the ship but the men you sail with that makes all the
difference when you go to sea."

He turned and saw Donegal grinning at him.  "An'
that's thrue," said he.  "Ye will not as a rule make
men glad to work for ye by kicking them."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`PICKING UP THE BOATS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   PICKING UP THE BOATS

.. vspace:: 2

Warm and snug as it was in the *Champlain's* hold
neither of the lads cared to stay below.  They could
tell it was blowing hard by the humming of the rigging
and the way the deck sloped under them, and their
thoughts were with the two boats still out in the fog.
The cold struck through them when they crawled out
on deck, and little showers of brine blew in from the
rail shining in the light that blinked forward through
the filmy whiteness.  Somebody beneath it was ringing
a bell, and its dismal jangle seemed to intensify the
doleful wail of wind.  Now and then they caught a
pale glimmer as a white-topped sea went by, and then
for a space there was only a blank wall of sliding fog,
until finding the desolation of it all creep in upon them
they went aft along the sloppy deck.

A silent man stood almost motionless at the wheel,
for the *Champlain* was lying to under her trysail and
jib, making no way through the water, but bobbing
with her bow to the sea.  Jordan paced up and down
behind the house, stopping now and then to gaze into
the fog, and the rest were clustered under the lee of
it.  A lantern flickered above them, and they had
evidently been busy over something, for two of them
were wiping their knives and there was a horrible
sickly smell.  Then a man went by carrying a bundle
of furs which reeked with the same odour, and Stickine,
who saw them, called to the lads.

"Get the bucket and swab up," he said.

It was not easy to fill the bucket, and when at last
Niven stood swaying with most of the contents splashing
about him he sniffed disgustedly as he glanced at
the deck, which was slippery with grease and blood.

"Essence of roses is nothing to this.  What is it?"
he said.

"Holluschackie blubber," said a grinning man.
"You'd have smelt stronger than a scent store if we'd
waited until you came up to heave the corpuses over.
Hadn't you better start in before you sit down in it?"

Niven swilled on water, Appleby plied the swab, but
though they got the deck clean the smell would not
wash out, and when they crawled under the shelter of
the deckhouse among the rest, Appleby gasped as he
flung away his swab.  "Does it always smell like
that?" he said.

Jordan looked down from the house.  "It generally
does, but dollars don't lie around in the Vancouver
streets," he said.  "Dry that swab right out now and
hang it up."

"Yes, sir," said Appleby, but his face was a trifle pale
in the light from the lantern when he came back.  "It
about turned me sick—and it's going to take some time
to get used to this," he said.

"Well," said a man, glancing at Niven, "it's the more
smell the bigger profits when you go sealing.  It's
different from the things you were taught to do in
the old country?"

Niven laughed a little, for the man's tone was
ironical, and he had discovered that the less he talked
about what he had been used to in England the
better it was for him.  "We don't have any seals to
catch over there," he said.  "Still, however do they
clean up those things and make them into ladies'
jackets?  They have to get the smell off them."

"It's done back there in your country, in London,"
said another man.  "Most beasts have two coats on
them, anyway, and somebody once told me they pulled
the outside half off with little pincers.  Then I guess
they shave them down and dye them.  They're smart
people there in London, and they don't let up when
the holluschackie can't be had.  No, sir.  They'll make
you a seal-skin jacket out of most anything.  It's all in
the dressing."

"But do the Americans send their seals to London?"
asked Niven.

"Yes," said Stickine.  "That's just what they do.
Bring them back again dressed, paying a heavy duty,
too, and one way or other those seals fetch the States a
tolerable big revenue.  That's why it galls them to see
any other folk catching them."

Just then Jordan sprang up on the house with a
flare in his hand, and the lurid wind-blown blaze that
streamed above them showed the same look in the faces
of the men.  It suggested confidence in their skipper
and their comrades out at sea, and yet grimly-suppressed
expectancy.  Then the darkness was intensified as the
light went out.

"It's 'bout time you fired the gun again," he said.

A man floundered forward, and presently a long red
flash blazed out over the rail, but the thud of the
report was probably plainer a mile to leeward than it
was on the deck of the *Champlain*.  Then for five
minutes nobody spoke and the bell tinkled dolefully,
but no answer came out of the sliding fog.

"Thicker than ever!" said Jordan.  "Try her again."

Three times at five minutes' intervals the red flash
blazed out, and then while they listened a man sprang
into the shrouds.  "Here's one of them!" he said.

There followed a few moments of tense expectancy
until a roar of voices went up as a faint cry came out
of the fog.  Then there was another silence, even worse
to bear, until the man in the shrouds swung up an arm.

"Stand by," he shouted.  "Here they come!"

Appleby running forward saw a dim black shape
hove up on a sea that swept past the bows, and for a
moment the light from the forestay shone down upon
the boat.  She was lapped about in foam, and while
the men, with wet, grim faces, bent their backs as the
oars swung through it, a dark ridge with froth about its
top rolled up out of the night behind her.  Then all
was dark again, for she swept in beneath the bulwarks
and the schooner rolled viciously.  Out of the darkness
came a thud and a shouting, black figures fell in over
the rail, and while blocks rattled the boat swung
dripping high above the bulwarks, until they dropped her
neatly inside the other ones.  Appleby surmised that
the operation would have been almost impossible on
board the *Aldebaran*, and he had heard that it not
infrequently takes an hour to get a boat out on board a
steamer.  Then the men came aft with the water
running from them, and Jordan, who once more paced
up and down, stopped a moment.

"Where's Montreal?" he asked.

The foremost sealer turned and pointed to the sliding
whiteness over the rail.  "I don't know," he said.
"One couldn't make out much of anything in that."

Jordan nodded.  "What have you got?"

"Three holluschackie," said the sealer.  "I guess
we'll get the boat cleaned up and the hides off them."

Jordan said nothing but paced up and down again,
and while a few dark objects moved about the boat the
men floundered back into the partial shelter of the
house.  They did not express their fears in speech, but
all of them knew the chances were against Montreal
and his crew finding the schooner.  If he failed the
prospect of his boat living through the gale that was
evidently rising appeared very small.  To leeward lay
St. Paul and St. George, but the sea foams and seethes
about them, and any sealer who might make a landing
in the dark, which very few men could do, would in
all probability find himself a prisoner.  Still the men
of the *Champlain* faced such risks almost daily in the
misty seas, and when the boat was stripped they and
the Indians quietly set about flaying the seals.  The
fog whirled past them, their knives twinkled in the
flickering lantern light, and now and then a brighter
beam fell on their impassive brown faces and
blubber-smeared hands.  Then it would swing away as the
schooner rolled, and the lads who stood about with
swab and bucket could only see them dimly until it
blinked into brilliancy again.  The rigging screamed,
the bell jangled on, and now and then through the
confused sounds rose the thud of the gun.

How long they worked Appleby did not know, but
he forgot the smell of the blubber and the horrible
sliminess of the swab as he pictured the worn-out
men grimly swinging the oars in the fog.  Each time
the schooner swung her bows aloft the black shape of
a man crouching forward in the spray became visible,
and now and then Jordan tramped along the deck to
speak to him.  The lads could guess what his question
was, but there was no answer to either bell or gun,
until at last the skipper stood still suddenly, and
every man who saw him turned and stared across the
rail.  For a minute nobody moved or spoke, and there
was nothing to hear but the wail of the wind in the
rigging.

Then Jordan swung himself into the shrouds, and the
men went forward with a rush.  Clinging to the rail
Appleby looked down, and as the flicker of the light fell
upon the sea something went by, and he had a glimpse
of part of a dripping boat with two men whose faces
showed white and set straining at the oars.  One of the
others had apparently fallen forward, and a fourth was
standing erect astern.  The attitude of all of them
expressed exhaustion.  Then as the boat swung round a
trifle a sea that rolled up caught her on the bow and
the men at the oars made a last effort as she swept
astern.  Next moment she had passed out of the light,
and there was only foam beneath him.

"We've lost them.  They'll never pull her up," he gasped.

Jordan sprang down from the shrouds, and his voice
rang out, "Down trysail.  Sheet your staysail to weather
and run it up."

He said nothing to Stickine, who now held the wheel,
but Appleby saw him bending over it, and there was a
banging and thrashing of canvas as the staysail went up
and the trysail came down.  Then the schooner slowly
swung round, until a shout rose again, "Let draw, and
sing out forward if we're running over them!"

The *Champlain* had her stern to the wind now, and
was running before it after the boat which had blown
away to lee, while the men stood silent here and there
along her rail, until one of them forward shouted, and as
Stickine swung with the wheel something half-seen
went by.  It was lost in a moment as the schooner drove
ahead, and Appleby recognized the horror he felt in
Niven's voice.

"He can't be going to leave them!" he said.

Donegal, who was standing close by, dropped a heavy
hand on his shoulder and held it in a painful grip.  "Is
it a head or a shroud deadeye ye have that ye do not
know Ned Jordan yet?" he said.  "Away with ye to
the trysail halliards.  They'll be wanted presently."

For about a minute the *Champlain* lurched on
before the seas, and then from where Jordan stood in
the shrouds a great blue blaze flared out and Stickine
pulled round the wheel.  Men whose faces showed
intent in the streaming radiance floundered towards the
mast, and as the *Champlain* came round the trysail
went up.  In another moment or two Appleby and
Niven were hauling at its sheet among the rest, and
presently the schooner lay rolling almost head to the
sea.  Then there was a brief space of breathless waiting
while every man stared over the rail, and Appleby
knew that the schooner would lie there scarcely moving
through the water until the boat came up with her.  He
could feel his heart beating as he strained his ears and
eyes.

"Here they come!" shouted somebody, and while
the blue radiance streamed out across the waters the
boat swung into sight.

It was evident that the worn-out men knew they
could take no chance of driving down to lee this time,
and the lads held their breath as they saw the boat
whirl towards them on the top of a sea.  One could
almost have fancied she would be flung on board over
the rail.

"Down helm!" said Jordan.  "Luff, if you can.
Handy with the tackles there.  Make sure of them."

The schooner swung round a trifle, the boat slewed,
there was a crash, and she was lost in the shadow below
the rail, while black darkness followed as the light went
out.  Hoarse shouts came out of it, men scurried here
and there, and fell from the rail, then there was a rattle
of blocks, and Appleby found himself floundering along
the deck with panting men behind him and a rope in
his hand.  The boat they hove up was dropped into
her nest, a seal or two flung out, and Jordan, who came
forward with a lantern, shook his head as he glanced
at her.

"Coming alongside that way is kind of expensive,
but I guess you hadn't much choice just then," he said.

"No," said a man who stood, gasping still, with
half-closed eyes in the lantern light.  "We just had to fetch
you the best way we could, and we'd have missed you
sure while we tried to round her up to lee.  She was
'bout half-swamped and all of us used up considerable."

In another few minutes the lads and most of the
others went back into the hold and sat watching the
last comers, who wasted no time in talking as they
attacked the meal Brulée set before them.  One of
them, however, sat somewhat limply, and his face, which
was tinged with grey, seemed drawn together.  He ate
nothing and only drank a little tea.  Then as the others
stretched out their long limbs towards the stove Donegal
looked at Montreal.

"And what was it kept ye so long?" he said.

Montreal laughed softly, though the stamp of
exhaustion was on his face.  "Just the wind!" he said.
"We was well away to leeward, and when we'd pulled
'bout a mile Tom there got a kind of kink inside him
and had to let up.  Then Siwash Bob sprung his oar,
and we lost all we'd made the last hour while Tom got
his wind again and I was fixing it.  After that the boat
began to take it in heavy and we had to stop to bale.
There wasn't much left in us, and Tom was groaning
awful when we heard the gun."

Niven stared at the speaker with a little wonder, and
Appleby smiled, for the story was a singularly
unimpressive narration of what they knew had been a grim
struggle for life.  Then Niven saw that Donegal was
watching him, and became sensible of a faint embarrassment,
for the sealer had an unpleasant habit of guessing
what he was thinking.

"You and me could have told it better, Mainsail
Haul," said he.

Niven flushed a trifle.  He knew he could have
made the story a good deal more effective, for there had
been times when he had held the dormitory silent and
expectant as he narrated some small feat of his at
Sandycombe, but he had an unpleasant suspicion that
this gift was apt to win its possessor derision rather
than respect at sea, where the men who did things that
would have formed a theme for an epic poem seemed
reluctant to talk about them.  Montreal, the sealer who
under Providence owed his life to his splendid strength
and valour, said nothing about the effort and almost
superhuman strain, but only mentioned that they had
sprung an oar and his comrade suffered from what he
termed a kink inside him.

"Well," said Niven awkwardly, "it's a good while now
since I told you anything at all."

"Sure," said Donegal, grinning.  "'Tis since I've had
the teaching av ye.  But ye do not seem quite easy,
Tom.  Sit up while me and Mainsail Haul pull the
clothes off ye."

The man grumbled and protested that there was
nothing wrong with him, but Donegal worked on
unheeding and shoved him by main force into his bunk.

"Now, you lie right there till I get something from
Jordan that will fix you," said Stickine.  "If he tries
to get up, boys, one of you will sit on him!"

He came back presently with something in a can,
and the man, who gulped down the contents, grinned.

"I guess it would take a kink with considerable grit
in it to face another dose of that," he said, and turned
his face, which was beaded with the damp of pain, from
the light.

The others, however, seemed to know what he was
suffering from and went on with their talk, while
presently Appleby asked a question.

"What would have happened if we'd been blown
ashore?" he said.

Stickine laughed a little.  "Well," he said, "I
don't quite know, but it's kind of likely the Indians
would have taken their clubs to us.  Anyway, it
would have been a long while before we did any more
sealing."

It took Appleby several more questions before he
elicited much information, and what he got was not
very plain to him.  It, however, appeared that the seals
which bred on the lonely beaches of the misty seas had
been growing scarcer, and that one or two of the
commanders of the gunboats sent to watch them had
now and then exceeded their rights.  Three miles to
sea is the limit placed to a nation's authority, but it
seemed from stories told in the *Champlain's* hold, boats
had been chased when farther than that from land.
The men were not very explicit, but Appleby surmised
that reprisals were made now and then when a
schooner's crew landed on forbidden beaches.

"Still," he said, "if you lose a day or two's
sealing when a gunboat's about it means a good many
dollars."

A little twinkle crept into Montreal's eyes.  "It
don't always," said he.  "Here you are with the boats
all out raking in the holluschackie, and a gunboat
comes along.  'Clear out of this or I'll make you,' says
her skipper.  'All right,' says you.  It's so many
seals he's doing me out of now, when he has no right
to, and I'm going in to get them where it's easiest when
he steams away."

Niven seemed a trifle astonished.  "That's here,"
he said.  "Do they do things the same way everywhere?"

There was a little grim laughter, and Montreal
pointed towards the west.  "No, sir," he said.  "When
you go where the Russian seals live there's no use for
talking of any kind, because you can't understand each
other, and you use the clubs.  There's men I know
have seen other things come in quite handy too.  Now
old man Harper of the Golden Horn——"

Donegal stopped him.  "'Tis talking too much ye
are, and, as everybody knows, Ned Jordan is a quiet
man," he said.  "'Tis curious tales Mainsail Haul will
be telling the earl about us when he goes home."

"Let up!" said Niven.  "I'm a sealer now, and I
only want to know if any one tried to arrest the skipper
wrongfully, what would he do?"

Donegal's eyes twinkled.  "He would run away like
a sensible man, or hide in the fog," he said.

"But if he couldn't, or there wasn't any fog?"

Donegal shook his head.  "'Tis persistent ye are," he
said.  "Peace is a thing Ned Jordan's fond of, but if
folks will not let him have it his fist is as big as most."

Nobody said anything further, but there was a curious
little smile in the men's bronzed faces, and while
Appleby endeavoured to kick his comrade in warning
that it would not be desirable to ask any more questions
there was a crash above.

"There," said Donegal, grabbing Brulée's shoulder.
"'Tis your galley tore up by the roots."

"No," said Stickine.  "I figure it's the water tank
got adrift.  We want a lashing on her before she goes
right out through the bulwarks, boys."

They were out of the scuttle in another minute, and
when he got on deck Appleby saw a big, black object
drive against the mast.  Before any one could seize it
it had rolled aside again, and in another few moments
struck the bulwarks with a heavy thud, for the
*Champlain* was still lying hove to and lurching wildly.
How they at last secured it the lads could not quite
make out, for the big tank would have crushed the man
who got between it and anything, but it was done, and
as they were relashing it Jordan came up with a lantern.

"Heave her over, boys.  She has started the rivets,
and that's going to make trouble for us," he said.

They hove the tank the other side up, and Appleby
saw that the skipper's face was grave as he lifted the
cover off, but there was apparently no more to be done,
and he went below with the other men.

"What did Jordan mean?" he said to one of them.
"Of course it would be awkward to run short of water
if we were far from land, but there is plenty within a
few miles of us."

"Oh, yes," said the man dryly.  "But it wouldn't
be much use telling the folks ashore you'd only come
for water and didn't want no seals.  They'd be quite
glad to get their hands on us, whatever brought us
there!"

"But we can't do without it," said Niven.

"No," said the sealer.  "Still, I wouldn't worry.
When Ned Jordan's short of water it's quite likely he'll
get it if there's any handy."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ON THE BEACH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   ON THE BEACH

.. vspace:: 2

It blew hard that night, and seeing there was no
hope of sealing next day Jordan beat the *Champlain*
slowly out to sea.  He said nothing to any one until
when noon came he called the men together.

"We want water, and there's plenty yonder," he said,
pointing vaguely across the sea-tops that swung up
under the rain.  "Still, I don't know that we mightn't
have some trouble getting it."

"When you tell us you're ready for it we'll bring that
water off," said somebody.

Jordan nodded.  "There'll be a big surf on the
beaches, but you might do it unless somebody stopped
you," he said.  "They have a crowd of Aleuts on
St. George, and I figure there's a gunboat hanging round
somewhere handy.  Well, now, if we went east to the
Aleutians we could get all the water we wanted with
less worry, but it would take us a while getting there,
and every day means dollars."

"We'll take our chances at St. George," said Montreal.

"So long as you're willing!" said the skipper.
"You've all got a stake in this deal, and I don't know
that I'd like to help Mrs. Jordan keep house on nothing
if I bring the schooner home without the skins.  Still,
if the Aleuts got you it's very few dollars you'd make
sealing the next year or two."

He spoke slowly, and there was nothing to show that
he was asking the men to do a perilous thing.  Nor
was there anything unusual in their answer returned by
Montreal.  "We're not sailing around here for pleasure.
As soon as it's dusk you can run her in."

The rest of the day passed slowly with Appleby and
Niven, but it came to an end at last, and when dusk was
closing in the *Champlain*, under trysail and jib only,
crept in towards the land.  The sea ran behind her
heaving, white-topped out of the gloom, for though there
is no actual darkness up there at that season the haze
that slid by before a nipping wind was thickened by the
rain.

There was nothing now to be seen but the filmy
vapours that whirled about them or heard but the
splash of the sea, and Appleby wondered at the
skipper's daring in running in for the land.  At last,
however, when the obscurity had grown almost
impenetrable the lads heard a deep rumbling sound that came
off to them faintly in long reverberations.  They
surmised it was the roar of surf on a rocky shore, but it
was to windward instead of under their lee.

"We were to weather of the island, Stickine," said
Appleby.

"Oh, yes," said the Canadian.  "But there wouldn't
be much left of the man who tried to land on that
side of it, and Jordan's running under the lee of it
now."

"But it's beastly thick, and we've scarcely seen the
land since morning," said Niven.

Stickine laughed.  "It's about six hours since I had
a glimpse of it myself, but that don't count for much,"
he said.  "Ned Jordan got a bearing, and he'd tell you
right off what the schooner had made every tack.  Tie
him up with a sack round his head, and she'd be just
where he wanted her when he brought her up.  I
guess we've 'bout got there now."

Almost as he spoke Jordan's voice rose up.  "Jib to
windward, and get the boats over soon as she loses way.
Don't hang around a minute after you're through with
the water."

"Will we take the rifles?" asked Stickine.

"One," said Jordan dryly.  "If you fire quick twice
I'll send off another boat to you, but you've got to
remember I don't want to.  We've nothing against the
Americans just now, and I'm not going round looking
for trouble with anybody."

They swung two boats over, and Appleby managed
to slip on board one before he was noticed by anybody
except Niven, who sprang into the last one as the men
got the oars out.

The skipper's dark figure showed up for a moment
as he looked down from the bulwarks of the rolling
schooner.

"You're going for water, boys, and if you bring one
holluschack along you'll take it right back ashore," he
said.  "That's quite plain?"

There was a murmur which did not suggest
altogether willing obedience, but no one could mistake
the little ring in Jordan's voice, and Stickine signed to
the men.

"You heard him, boys?  Now, stretch your backs,"
he said.

They had pulled a few strokes, and the schooner
was melting into the haze astern when one of the men
looked round.

"Who've we got there in the bows?" he asked.

Appleby, who had hoped to escape their notice for a
while, told him.  "I fancied my place was in this boat,"
he said.

"Well," said Stickine dryly, "if I'd seen you before
you'd have gone right back with a run.  Hello! have
you got the other lad, Montreal?"

"Sure!" came back the answer, and Donegal laughed.

"There was no keeping them out," he said.  "It would
not take a minute to pitch them over."

"We'll try it next time," said Stickine.  "Pull in
along our wake, Montreal.  It's not a nice beach to
land on."

After that nobody said anything for a while, and
only the splash of oars marked the passage of the
boats.  Appleby crouched aft on the floorings where he
could see the men sway through the dimness above
him, while another sound grew louder than the hoarse
growl of the seas that seethed about the reefs.  It was
scarcely like anything he had heard before, though once
it faintly resembled the whistling of scores of engines
and then swelled into a roar.  He surmised it was
made by the seals.

"The rookery's just thick with the bulls," said
somebody.

"Hold on," said Stickine.  "I guess you're here to
row, and any talking that's wanted will be done by me."

They lurched on, seeing nothing, into the haze, but
Stickine appeared to know where he was heading for,
and by the easier rise and fall Appleby guessed they
were pulling closer in under the sheltered side of the
island.

Still, it was evident by the dull booming sound
which grew louder that the swell lapped round to
leeward too, and there would be a difficulty in making
a landing.

Suddenly, however, the men stopped rowing, and the
splash and thud ceased astern, while Stickine sharply
turned his head as another sound that none of them
had expected to hear came out of the haze.  It was a
dull grind and a rattle that jarred through the roar
of the surf, and then stopped again.  Appleby
recognized it, and surmised that it meant peril to all
of them.

"A gunboat," said Stickine half-aloud.  "They're
giving her more chain."

They lay on their oars a minute, staring about them
and breathing hard, but could only see the sliding haze,
and no sound that suggested man's presence in those
misty waters reached them now.

"She's to windward.  They wouldn't have heard us,
boys," said Stickine quietly.

They went on, the oars splashing softly, while they
strained their eyes, knowing that it was quite possible
the gunboat's officers had gone ashore, and they might
blunder upon her cutter.  Still, there was no sound
but that the seals made and the swelling roar of surf,
until a wavy strip of whiteness heaved against the mist
in front of them.  Then Stickine laughed curiously as
he turned his head and stared at the haze.

"I don't know if we'll find a cutter on the beach,
but we have got to get the water, and we are going in,"
he said.

He gave no instructions, and they were apparently
not needed, for the men knew their work, and while
they bent to their oars a sea that frothed a little
swung them high and carried them inshore.  When
they sank down on the back of it the one behind grew
steeper and the boat seemed driven forward by an
unseen force as she swept up on its crest.  This
happened several times, and then a great rattling of
pebbles came out of the spray ahead and the last rush
was almost bewildering.  Then there was a crash, and
the foam that seethed about her lapped into the boat,
but the men sprang over knee-deep in water, and
whipped her out, while almost before they realized that
they had got there the lads found themselves standing
on dry land.  The men who had pulled the boats
up were, however, already shouldering little wooden
kegs.

"You'll stop right here with the lads," said Stickine,
turning to two of them.  "Get the boats down as far
as you can if you hear us coming back in a hurry.
Now, boys, we'll get a move on."

In another minute the men had started, and the lads
watched them flounder over the shingle and up a misty
slope, until they faded into the dim background and the
patter of their footsteps was lost in the growling of the
seas.  Then they sat down beside Donegal in the
shelter of the boat, though the other man stood upright
at her bows.  There was a chilly wind, and now and
then the uproar the seals made, rolled about them.  It
was also very lonely, and Niven shivered as he crawled
closer beneath the boat and wished he was back in the
snug hold of the schooner.

"How will they know where to find the water?" he
asked at last.

Charley, the man who stood up, laughed.  "That,"
he said, "is quite easy.  You see, Stickine has been
here before."

"But you don't always damage your water tank,
and Jordan wouldn't let them kill the seals," said
Appleby.

Donegal nodded.  "'Tis as inquisitive as Mainsail
Haul ye are," he said.  "Now, Ned Jordan never took
a dollar that didn't belong to him from any one, and
he's carrying no score against the Americans just now."

"Still, you or Montreal told me they'd tried to stop
him sealing," said Niven.

"Oh, yes," said Charley.  "That's just what they did,
but you've heard Donegal.  Ned Jordan don't let his
debts run on, and he don't like anybody else to owe him
anything."

"But from his way of looking at it the Americans
owed him a good deal," persisted Appleby.

Donegal laughed.  "They don't now, and when Ned
Jordan has got what was owing him he don't want any
more," he said.  "'Tis the man that's never contented
who gets into throuble."

This was not very clear, but Appleby fancied he
understood, because there was only one way in which
Jordan could have paid himself.  Appleby was,
however, by no means sure that what Jordan had done was
altogether warranted, but that was for him to decide,
and the lad had already surmised that a man must
relinquish his rights or enforce them by the means that
came handiest in the misty seas.  In the meanwhile,
the skipper had been kind to him, and the excitement
of the life they led appealed to him.  Turning to Niven
he laughed a little.

"I wonder what your father would think if he heard
we were taken to Alaska in handcuffs for seal poaching,
Chriss," he said.

"Well," said Niven dryly, "I hope we're not going to
be, and I don't quite think he'd find it so amusing as
you seem to fancy.  There's not much use in talking
that kind of rot!"

They said no more for a little, and Appleby felt
inclined to regret his speech.  It called up unpleasant
reflections, for he had more than a suspicion that
the thing he had mentioned might very readily come
about.

There were, he had been told, well-armed Aleut Indians
on the island, and not far away a gunboat lay hidden in
the haze.  If Jordan grew impatient and fired his gun
the prospect of escape seemed very small for any of
them.  By and by he turned to Donegal as the din the
seals made vibrated about them.

"Do they make that uproar always, and what do
they do it for?" he said.

"They'll go on another month, and this is the way av
it," said Donegal.  "The seals are lying as thick as
herrings in the rookery, and 'tis more room every bull is
wanting to bring up his family in, while the place that
seems nicest to him is just the one his neighbour is
lying in.  Sure, they're just like men, and when ye hear
one roaring he's looking savage at the big fellow that's
crowding too near and wondering if he's able to tear the
hide off him."

Niven laughed a little.  "I never heard of a man
wondering if he could do that," he said.

"Then," said Donegal dryly, "'tis a curiosity that is
not unknown in Ireland.  Is it lambs ye are at the
English schools, my son?—Ye do not see them, Charley?"

"No," said the other man, and while they waited
the roar of the sea seemed to grow louder and the
wind colder, and unpleasant misgivings began to creep
upon the lads as they wondered what was happening
behind them in the mist.  It seemed quite possible
that Stickine had blundered into the Aleuts' clutches
or that a body of the gunboat's bluejackets had been
sent ashore.  Charley, however, laughed when Appleby
mentioned it.

"It kind of strikes me we'd have heard them," he
said.  "There would be a circus before they corralled
Stickine."

At last the sound of footsteps became faintly audible,
and a line of men came out of the haze.  They were
panting as they floundered down hill under their
burdens, and a few moments later Stickine gasped as
he laid the breaker he carried into the boat.

"It's 'bout time we were out of this, boys.  Heave
her off," he said.

They went down the beach at a floundering run
as a sea seethed in, splashed knee-deep with the
pebbles ringing and rattling under them, and sprang
on board just in time to get the oars out before
another white-topped slope of water came hissing
out of the mist.

"Shove her through!" roared Stickine.  "Pull the
buttons off you, boys!"

The oars bent as the men swung backwards, there
was a plunge and a thud, and seething froth swept
about the boat.  It splashed into her to their ankles,
and then, while Appleby plied the baler, swept away
behind, and the boat flung her bows high to meet
another comber.  They went over this one more dryly,
and drawing out from the surf pulled as noiselessly as
possible, straining eyes and ears for any sign of the
gunboat.  There was none, however, and at last, tired
with the long pull over the steep heave of sea, they
came up with the schooner.  It appeared astonishing
to Appleby that they had found her, and while he
watched the dark hull reel on the long slopes of water
he wondered how they would ever get the breakers on
board her.  The sealers, however, were used to doing
even more difficult things, and it was accomplished
while the boats swung in towards the schooner, and
then off into the fog again.  As soon as they were on
board Stickine drew the skipper aside.

"There was a gunboat lying 'bout abreast of the head
when we were pulling in," he said.

"Then do you figure she isn't there now?" said
Jordan.

"I don't know," said Stickine.  "Any way, we
couldn't see her, and it wasn't quite thick all the time."

Jordan nodded as he said, "We'll have the mainsail
on her and the boom foresail, boys."

In five minutes the trysail was below, and though it
was blowing tolerably fresh the *Champlain* was
thrashing out to windward under all her lower sail.  Two
men stood forward in the whirling spray, and Jordan
staring to windward through his glasses on the house,
but for at least half-an-hour there was nothing visible
but the whirling fog and long tumbling seas.  Then a
man swung up his arm, and Appleby gasped as something
blacker than the vapours slid out of the fog.  It
was not far away to windward and coming on swiftly,
for as he watched it the white froth about the shadowy
hull grew into visibility, and he held his breath a
minute as he made out a funnel and two slanted spars.
Black and dark, with no light about her and ominous
in her silence, the gunboat lay across their course.

There was, however, no sign of either confusion or
consternation, and Jordan's voice was quieter than
usual.

"Up helm.  Off with the mainboom, boys," he said.

Stickine pulled over the wheel, the long mainboom
swung out amidst a rattle of blocks, and the
*Champlain* came round, until instead of sailing close
hauled to it she was running before the wind.

"Topsails," said Jordan.  "Yard-headers.  He hasn't
got us yet."

There was no controverting that, but while Appleby
knew the pace the *Champlain* could make when hard
pressed it seemed almost impossible that she could
out-sail a steamer.  Still, the skipper's quiet voice was
curiously reassuring, and he remembered that Stickine
had told him there were two ways of winning a race.  In
the meanwhile the gaff topsails went up banging, and
the foam was flying white when they were sheeted
home.  Then the men stood still about the rail, each
busy with the unasked question—Had the commander
of the gunboat seen them?  The *Champlain's* stern was
towards him now, and her mainsail alone would be
visible with her masts in line.

They had not, however, long to wait for an answer,
for suddenly a blaze of light drove through the haze
and smote the straining canvas.  Then it sank a little,
forcing up the men's set faces and lighting all the
deck.

For a moment or two the lads could see every one of
them sharp and clear in the dazzling brilliancy, and
then there was a bewildering darkness again, for the
light went out.  The gunboat had also gone with it,
and they were once more alone in the fog.

"Seen us sure!" said Stickine.

Jordan laughed softly.  "Running!" he said.
"She'll not come round with him as we did.  Let her
come up.  Boys, we'll have all sheets in."

In came the mainboom, the foresail and jibs were
hauled in too, and the schooner's lee rail was swept by
the frothing brine when she came up once more
close-hauled to the wind.  Still, Appleby wondered, for the
gunboat was to windward of them, and Niven, who
stood close by him, turned to one of the men to ask a
question.

"We're going back straight towards the American?"
he said.

The sailor seemed to chuckle.  "We're going where
she was, but she'll be somewhere else just now," he
said.  "When they've brought her round they'll steam
after us the way they saw us going before the wind,
and we're pinched right up within 'bout three and a
half points of it.  It would take a very smart man to
get in ahead of Ned Jordan."

Niven laughed excitedly, for, remembering Lawson's
lesson on board the *Aldebaran* and what he had been
taught since, the manoeuvre was now plain to him.  If
the gunboat steamed away before the wind it was
evident that as they were heading at a very small angle
to it the vessels would be sailing in almost opposite
directions, and there only remained the unpleasant
uncertainty whether the pursuer would find them with
her light again.  Still, the *Champlain* was driving to
windward very fast and the haze was thick.

"What did he switch his light off for?" asked
Appleby.

"Well," said the sealer, "I don't figure he did.
Seems more likely that something went wrong with it."

Others were doubtless wondering over the same
point, for the men were still looking astern, and at last
a faint silvery beam moved athwart the fog and then
swept back again.  Appleby fancied Jordan laughed
as he came down from the house and stood by the
wheel.

"That fellow's easily fooled.  He's going right away
to leeward as fast as they can shove her along, and the
only thing that's worrying me is the mainmast head,"
he said.  "'Pears to me we wrung it a little in the race
with the *Belle*."

Almost as he spoke the *Champlain* put her bows in,
and the deck was flooded ankle-deep with icy brine,
while the lads could understand the skipper's misgivings
as they glanced up at the big topsail and long
gaff that stretched out the great mainsail's head.  It
was not difficult to see that the strain they put upon
the mast must be considerable.

Stickine nodded from the wheel.  "We've got to
carry on and take our chances now," he said.

"Oh, yes," said Jordan.  "Anyway, for another hour
or so."

The time, however, had not passed when as the
*Champlain* swung her bows out of a sea there was a
sharp crack overhead, and almost simultaneously
Jordan's voice followed it.

"Drop your gaff topsail and get the mainsail off her
quick," he said.

Nobody lost any time, and there were many willing
hands.  In a few minutes the long boom was lying on
the quarter and the *Champlain* jogging slowly to
windward with the trysail only on her mainmast.  Jordan
did not appear by any means disturbed.

"I don't figure that fellow will find us again to-night,
and we'll see what's wrong up there when daylight
comes," he said.  "You'll find me below, Stickine, if
you're wanting me."

Then, except those who were needed for the watch, the
men crawled below, and the *Champlain* rolled on into a
thicker wisp of fog.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`GOOD WORK`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   GOOD WORK

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning Montreal, who had been a carpenter,
went aloft, and remained a while sitting on a little
board the others hoisted up the mast.  When he came
down he followed Jordan and Stickine into the cabin,
and all hands were curious when one of the Indians
was sent for, too.  Still, nothing transpired beyond
that Brulée, who made an excuse for visiting the cabin,
informed the rest that they were doing a deal of talking,
until when breakfast was brought in Stickine and
Montreal joined their comrades.  Donegal quietly
placed the can of coffee between his feet and signed to
Niven to remove the eatables.

"Ye will have something to tell us, and breakfast
will come on just as soon as ye have done it," he said.

Stickine laughed.  "I don't talk when I'm hungry,
and I want that can," he said.  "When I've got a holt
of it Montreal will start in."

"Well," said the carpenter, "my lot's just this.  She's
wrung her masthead, and I could splice a new one in
with the lump of redwood forward and the irons Jordan
found me, but it's a contract one could only put through
in smooth water."

"What does he mean by wrung?" asked Niven.

"'Tis a complete 'cyclopedia with pictorial illusthrations
ye will be when ye go home," said Donegal.  "Just
wrung, same as ye would twist a towel, by the strain on
the halliard bolts!  Ye will feed him on mustard,
Brulée, if he talks again.  Well now, Stickine?"

"We're making for a snug berth under one of the
Aleutians," said Stickine.  "Montreal figures he'll want
three days there, but the Indian has a kind of notion
we might find a sea otter."

"We wouldn't be very much better off if we did,"
said Niven.  "Will anybody give me twenty-five cents
for my share in one sea otter?"

Charley fumbled in his pockets, and apparently finding
nothing there gravely laid a beautifully-made knife
upon his knees.  "If you'll take that for it we'll make
the deal," he said.

Niven looked at the speaker in astonishment, and
was about to take the knife when Donegal laid his hand
upon it.

"'Twould serve ye right if I let ye.  Is it shaming
me with the ignorance av ye will be doing always?" he
said.  "What's a sea otter?  Sure, 'tis the same thing as
pearls and rubies, and what Mandarins and Emperors
wear.  Sorrow on the beast that would get himself
exthinct."

Niven chuckled.  "That's his usual rot, and I'll take
the knife," he said.  "What's the use of hunting any
beast when it's extinct?"

"Give it him," said Donegal.  "Thim as can't take
telling ye must teach wid a stick."

Charley's eyes twinkled as he held out the knife, but
Appleby broke in, "I fancy you had better wait a little,"
he said.  "There are sea otters, Stickine?"

Stickine laughed a little.  "They're getting scarce,
and it takes a rich man to buy one now.  If I had a
few of them and silver foxes I would not go to sea.  No,
sir, I'd sit still ashore telling yarns in luxury.  You're
still open to make the deal?"

Niven saw that the eyes of all of them were upon
him.  "Of course!" he said.  "I've made the offer, and
I've been an ass again.  Give me the knife, Charley."

Then somewhat to his astonishment the sealer slipped
the knife back into its sheath, and Donegal thumped
him on the back.  "'Tis the makings av a man ye have in
ye," he said.  "A little sense is all ye need, but 'tis very
hard to teach it ye."

Niven was not sorry that one of the others asked a
question about the mast, and he was allowed to finish
his breakfast in silence.  Before it was over he heard a
rattle of blocks, and when he went up on deck the
*Champlain* was heading towards the east.  Some time
had passed, however, before she reached an anchorage
under a rocky island hemmed in by smoking reefs.  It
was not an inspiriting place, and when they crept
slowly in under shortened sail with the long swell
heaving after them and the Indian standing impassive
as a bronze statue at the wheel, the lads felt its
desolation.  There was no sign of life on the low shore
that showed up dimly through the mist and rain.  The
grey rocks ran water, and the whiteness of the surf that
seethed upon the beaches of rattling pebbles was the
only brightness in all the sombre colouring.  Here and
there to seaward a stony barrier hove its black fangs
out of the spouting foam and the growl of the sea rose
from every side.

Still, they had little time to contemplate the dreary
picture, for the cable had scarcely rattled out when the
work commenced.  The swell worked into the anchorage,
and the schooner rolled with it lazily, but one of
the big masts that swayed above her must be lifted out,
and that was an operation usually accomplished in
smooth water by the help of two great poles raised on
end and lashed so that with the mast they formed a
tripod.  Jordan, however, had only his mainboom, and
a few other very small spars to make them with, and
while the others helped him Montreal spent the rest of
the day lashing them together and wedging the
fastenings before he fancied he could trust them to lift
the heavy mast.  It rained all the time.

Even then he appeared to have misgivings, and the
light was growing dim before they had jammed one end
of them fast and hove the other up with the end of the
mainboom lashed to it.  Then he and Jordan talked for
some time together, and the men went below to rest
and wait for morning.  They were all of them tired, for
the rolling of the vessel had rendered the task of getting
the big spars on end and fastening them a very arduous
one, and the two lads, who had done what they could
among the rest, were aching in every limb.  When they
had stripped off their wet clothes they were glad to
crawl into their bunks and lie there almost too tired
and drowsy to ask any questions of the men who sat
smoking below.  Still, it took a good deal to overcome
Niven's curiosity, and presently he reached out and
tapped Montreal on the shoulder.

"Once or twice I fancied the whole affair was coming
down on us," he said.  "Can you lift the mast with it
to-morrow?"

Montreal grinned.  "Well," he said dryly, "I don't
quite know, but I guess I can.  Isn't that the kind of
thing you could leave to me and Jordan?"

"Oh, yes, but I am a little curious.  You see, I
might be under it," said Niven.  "What's going to
happen if you make a mess of it?"

"A funeral if you don't get out from under handy,"
said the sealer.  "What's more important to the rest
of us, it might tear out half the decks.  When she gets
loose and swinging you can't fool with that size of
mast."

"Then why can't you let it stay where it is?" asked
Niven.  "It would set the trysail, and that's about all
the sail we seem to carry on the mainmast."

"And how fast will she go under trysail?" asked Charley.

"That depends upon how much wind there is," said
Niven.

Donegal looked at him a moment and solemnly shook
his head.  "'Tis no credit ye are to me, and I've tried
to do my duty by ye," he said.  "The question is how
fast ye would want to go when there were two cutters
stuffed wid men and cutlasses pulling after ye.  Then
'twould be sailing nice and quiet under trysail would
content ye?"

"We haven't seen any of those cutters yet," said Niven.

Donegal laughed softly, and a little grim smile crept
into the faces of the rest.  "There's a good many
things ye have not seen, but ye may have the
opportunity of observing one or two av them yet, and I
don't know that it would please ye then," he said.

Niven was about to answer when Stickine, who
crawled into his bunk, flung a wet fur cap at him.
"It's about time you were sleeping, sonny, and you'll
want all the breath you've got to-morrow," he said.

When morning came Niven found this was correct
enough, for as soon as it was light the work commenced,
and when Brulée called them for breakfast the mainmast
was ready for lifting, while the men were unusually
quiet as they went back on deck.  The mast looked very
big and heavy, and the *Champlain* was rolling more than
she had done as yet.  It was also raining hard, and a
cold wind blew the drizzle into their eyes, while the
tackles were stiff and swollen, but when Jordan raised
his hand they bent their backs, and for five minutes
the mast rose inch by inch.  Then it stuck, and
Appleby fancied he could feel the deck quiver beneath
him under the strain as one of the beams it was
fastened to took part of the weight.

The men, finding they could not move it, stood still a
moment, their faces showing set and drawn with the
fierceness of their effort, some with hands clenched
above their heads upon the rigid ropes and one or two
with bent backs, while their eyes were fixed on Jordan
who stood impassive and motionless on the house.

"Hold on to it," he said quietly.  "Montreal, see
what's jamming her."

Montreal was, however, below already, and presently
his voice rose muffled from the hatch.  "Heave," he
said, and then more hoarsely, "Heave!"

Appleby was gasping, while the veins swelled on his
forehead as he clutched a rope, and he wondered
whether the men who had borne that intense strain
could make another effort, for already the faces of some
were purple.

"Now.  Up she comes!" said somebody.

Then the sinewy bodies rose and sank again, the
blocks rattled, and the mast rose slowly, stopped a
moment, and rose again.

"You've got to do it this time, boys," said Jordan
very quietly.

Their foreheads were drawn together, their breath
was spent in an intensity of effort, but they succeeded,
and there was a half-articulate yell when the foot of
the mast rose out of the hole.  Then a man sprang
wildly across the deck, and in another moment mast
and shears were tottering as the former swung towards
the rail when the schooner rolled.

"Check her.  Give him a hand, Charley," said
Jordan, and Appleby wondered that his voice was even.
Then there was a bang as something yielded under
the strain, and the mast swayed out-board while the
frayed ends of a rope whistled past the lad who for
several seconds held the little breath that was left in
him.  The great spar swung up and down above the
vessel, and the shears it hung from were rocking with
it, while it was not difficult to see that unless something
were done at once they would come down together,
smashing the men beneath.  Still, it also appeared that
Jordan had provided for similar accidents and not
trusted to any single rope.

"Catch her with the preventer, Charley, when she
comes in," he said.

Charley nodded, for he was bent double hauling at a
rope, and for a horrible moment or two, while everything
that held it groaned, the mast swayed above their heads.
Appleby could feel his heart thumping and a curious
coldness under his belt as he watched it.  Then the
strain slackened a moment when the *Champlain's*
foremast swung upright, and Jordan's voice broke harshly
through the silence—"Down with her!"

Blocks rattled, men panted, the end of the mast hung
lower over them, there was a great clatter and a thud, and
Appleby stood up gasping and drenched with perspiration.
The mast was down on the deck, the men
apparently blinking at it, and there was a horrible
tingling in one of his hands.  Still, it was a little while
before he glanced at it and saw that the rope had chafed
the skin away and left his fingers raw and bleeding.
That, however, scarcely troubled him just then, for he
felt the keen and wholesome joy which comes to those
who by the strenuous toil of their bodies have done an
arduous and perilous thing.

Rude as it might have seemed to those who knew no
better it was a man's work he had done, and the pride
of accomplishment stirred him.  It was a significant
victory they had won, not by brute strength alone, for
that would have been useless unless guided by the nerve
and intelligence which gives man dominion over all
the beasts as well as inanimate matter.  The sealers
also seemed to feel it, for there was something in their
eyes which had not been there a few minutes earlier,
and Jordan laughed softly as he turned to them.

"You fixed it quite handy, boys, though she was very
near getting away from you," he said.

They laid the mast where Montreal wanted it, and
that finished their task, but in the afternoon two boats
went out to look for a sea otter.  It was, however,
blowing fresh, and when they met the long seas outside
the reefs they were driven back again, and the water
was ankle-deep in them when they returned to the
*Champlain*.  Jordan laughed when he looked down
at the dripping men from the rail of the rolling
schooner.

"I figured you'd find it too much for you," he said.
"We'll try again to-morrow, and you can lazy round
any way that pleases you till then."

Nobody seemed to want to go ashore, and even the
lads did not find the appearance of the foam-fringed
beaches and desolate grey rocks that showed through
the haze and rain inviting.  So while the chunk, chunk
of Montreal's axe rose muffled through the doleful wail
of wind they sat snug about the stove listening to stories
of the sea and bush.  Some of them were astonishing,
for the sealer sees more than the merchant seaman does,
and at one time or other most of the crew of the
*Champlain* had marched with survey expeditions
through, or wandered alone prospecting far up in, the
great shadowy forests of British Columbia.  Now and
then the lads' eyes grew wide with wonder, but the
faces of the men showed gravely intent through the
drifting tobacco smoke, and it was evident they
believed the tales they listened to.  They were simple
men, but they had seen many things beyond the knowledge
of those who dwell in the cities, and even Niven
sat silent, lost in the glamour of the real romance as he
wandered with them in fancy over misty seas and amidst
the awful desolation of ice-ribbed ranges.

At last when one of them lighted the lamp Montreal
came down, and flinging off his dripping jacket stretched
himself wearily.

"Can't see any more, but I'll have the contract
through before I let up next time," he said.  "If you
want that sea otter, boys, you've got to get him
to-morrow."

It may have been because of what he had helped to
do that morning, but Appleby, glancing at the wet face
of the tired man, realized there was a greatness in all
craftsmanship which had never occurred to him before.
There was, of course, very much that Montreal did not
know, but if one gave him the top of a redwood tree it
would under his sinewy hands become a spar that
would transmit the stress and strain of the *Champlain's*
canvas into useful effort that would drive her safely
through screaming gale and over icy seas.  He could
also build a boat or bridge, and Appleby had realized
already that among all the things man has ever made
nothing more nearly approaches the simplicity of
perfection than the former, a frail shell evolved very
slowly before the knowledge of them came in wonderful
compliance with the great laws that uphold the universe.
It was, of course, but dimly the lad grasped this, but
he understood in part that now, as it was when the
world was young, it was after all the toil of the
craftsmen that human progress was built upon.  The world,
it seemed, could dispense with the artist and orator and
a good many more, but it could not well get on without
the smith and carpenter.

Still, reflections of this kind did not usually occupy
Appleby very long, and he might have brushed them
aside but that he presently heard something which gave
him an insight into the responsibility that is attached
to all skilled labour.

"'Tis you that's the fine carpenter, Montreal," said
Donegal.  "But I've been wondering what was after
bringing a man who could earn his three dollars every
day ashore to sea."

Montreal sat down steaming by the stove, and
laughed as he took out his pipe.  Then he seemed to
remember something and his face grew grave again.

"That's quite simple," he said.  "I was working on a
big railroad trestle back there in the ranges when one
morning the contractor's foreman comes along.  The
bridge wasn't quite ready for the metals, and I was
sitting on the girder with the river a hundred feet under
me, anyway.  They'd lost a man or two on that trestle
already, and I was getting my five dollars a day.

"'You can drop those stringer ends into the notches
without the tenon, and you'll do 'bout twice as many in
the time,' says he.

"'I'm not doing them that way.  It's not a good joint
under a big load,' says I.

"'And what has that got to do with you?' says he.

"It wasn't quite easy explaining, but I knew just a
little about what bridge ties can do, and the river was a
hundred feet under the trestle.

"'Well, so long as I'm notching these things in I'll do
them so they'll stand,' says I.

"The foreman he didn't say any more, but I knew
what he would do, and when we were through with the
trestle he comes to me.  'Here's your pay ticket and
you can light out of this right now,' says he.

"I went, and trade was bad everywhere in the
province that year.  Nobody was taking on carpenters,
and when I'd 'bout half-a-dollar left I went up on a
steamboat that wanted patching up to Alaska.  It was
there I fell in with the sealers."

Montreal slowly lighted his pipe and looked at the
stove, while Donegal smiled.  "Ye do not tell a story
well, and 'tis after leaving the point av it out ye are,"
he said.  "There would be no big freight locomotive
going through that trestle into the river, which is a
disthressful accident that is not quite uncommon in the
country ye and Stickine come from.  But bad thrade
mends again, and ye have not told us what is keeping
ye at sea."

Montreal sighed a little and did not turn his head.
"My brother was raised a sealer, and he's up here or in
Siberia still," he said.  "I don't know that he's living,
but I seem to feel it in me that if I can wait long
enough I shall find him."

Donegal slowly closed one big hand, and Appleby saw
the glint which showed in his eyes creep into those of
the other men.

"Dead or living he's not alone," he said with a
hoarseness that expressed more than sympathy.  "May
them that watch above send him back to ye!"

Then he turned to the others and his laugh had a
little ominous ring as he pointed towards the west.
"He's finding the time long, but wan day you and me
or better men than us will call on them folks down
there with clubs and rifles, and ask them what they've
done with the men who sailed with us."

Nobody spoke, but Niven, glancing round at the stern
brown faces, felt that whether they were right or wrong
he would not care to be the man of whom the sealers
asked that grim question.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN PERIL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   IN PERIL

.. vspace:: 2

Early next morning the lads took their places in
Stickine's boat, and the chunk of Montreal's axe followed
them as they pulled towards the opening in the reef.
He had not spoken to any one since he finished his
story the previous night, and when they last saw him
he was chipping grimly at the mast.  The lads, however,
forgot him as they watched the long, grey seas crumble
on the reef, and once they reeled out and met the swell
the rowing occupied all their attention, for it was
needful to watch every stroke and check the boat
now and then when the top of the heave frothed a little.

There was no wind, but the sea still rolled rumbling
on the reefs, and the grey shadow which apparently
never lifted there lay heavily upon the waters.  Appleby
did not remember how long they had rowed, but the
schooner had faded into the haze, when the Indian
pointed to a blurred line of rocks that showed here and
there amidst a white upheaval.  The lads fancied there
was land behind them, but the smoky vapours were
rolled in thicker belts in that direction, and they could
see nothing but dim seas and foam as they pulled
slowly under the lee of the reef.  Now and then they
crept close in with a rock, where long streamers of
weed swayed about them as the sea that poured in
frothy cataracts down the stone rolled in and out.  It
did not, however, only float off from the rock, but swung
up with the heave from what appeared to be deep
water, and Appleby had never seen any seaweed that
would compare with this.  The stems of it were
apparently as thick as a man's arm, and the leaves a
good deal longer than the boat.  It gave him a curious,
unpleasant sensation while he watched it writhe and
twist as if alive, as far as he could see down into the
icy brine.

"Is it growing loose on the top?" he asked.

"No," said Stickine.  "It comes right up from the
bottom forty or fifty feet, and if there's a sea otter
anywhere around you're likely to find him crawling in
and out among it.  Seen anything yet, Charley?"

A man in a boat astern of them shook his head.  "I
guess the Aleuts have them all corralled now, though
there's no sign of any Indians here," he said.  "Anyway,
if there is one left this is the kind of place we should
find him in."

Besting now and then upon their oars while the boat
swung up and clown on the heave that lapped frothing
about the reef, they pulled on, until at last the Indian
in the bows raised his hand, and for five long minutes
after that crouched motionless.  No man moved or
asked a question, and there was nothing visible but
swaying weed and foam, or to be heard but the growling
of the sea.  Then the Indian signed again, and with
oars dipping softly they crept nearer in, the man with
the brown face crouching still and impassive with his
hands clenched on the rifle barrel, though Appleby,
glancing over his shoulder, could see nothing on the
face of the froth-swept stone.  He, however, knew that
no one born in the cities could hope to equal the
Indian's powers of vision, for it is the artificial life of
an incomplete civilization that dulls the white man's
physical faculties, and there were few things in which
Donovitch, who lived in close touch with nature, was
not a match for the beasts.

Suddenly the rifle went up, moved as the boat
swung, and grew still again, while the crouching object
in the bows stiffened rigidly.  Nobody was rowing
now, and the lads, glancing over their shoulders, could
see the side of the Indian's face pressed down on the
butt, and it and the brown fingers on the barrel
were still and lifeless as copper.  Then there was a
flash, the muzzle jerked upwards, and the smoke was in
their eyes, but so intent were they that the report
scarcely reached them, and what they heard most
plainly was a soft splash in the sea.  As Appleby
looked down something that left a train of bubbles
behind it seemed to flash beneath the boat, and passed
beyond his vision into the waving weed.

"Did you get him?" a voice rose from the other boat.

"No.  Pull in between him and the second rock," said
Stickine, and there was a splash of oars as Charley's
boat slid away.

Then the Indian stood upright in the bows staring
at the sea, and for a time the boats swung with the
lift of swell, while the water trickled from the oars.
Every eye was fixed on the long heave, but no more
bubbles rose up, and there was nothing to be seen
save when a great streamer of weed whirled and
swayed beneath them as though it were an animate
thing.  How long this lasted the lads did not know, but
the intent bronzed faces, smears of froth, grey sea, and
drifting haze had all grown hazy before their straining
eyes, when a rifle flashed in Charley's boat, and
there was a shout, "Heading your way, played out!"

"Pull," said Stickine.  "In towards the rock a stroke
or two."

The boat slid forward and stopped.  Once more the
Indian's rifle flashed, and a hazy shape showed for a
moment beneath them in the water.  Then there was
a shout from Charley, "Stop right where you are.  One
of us will get out on the rock."

His boat slid in towards the froth-swept stone, and
when she swung up with the swell two men sprang out
of her and floundered along a perilous ledge over the
slimy weed.  Then the boats pulled out, and for what
seemed a very long time moved one way and another,
while every now and then a rifle flashed.  The lads,
however, could see nothing but the weed streaming in
the water, and surmised by Stickine's face that he saw
little more, for it was the Indians who took command now.

At last a grey patch showed for a moment amidst
the froth that swirled about the rock, and sank from
sight as suddenly when a man floundered towards it
swinging up a club.  Then as they dipped the oars the
Indian stood up and with a hoarse shout launched
himself from the boat.  Appleby saw his tense figure
for a second, and then held his breath as he plunged
down, a dim shadow, into the waving weed.  He felt a
little shivery, for it seemed scarcely possible that the
swimmer could evade the horrible embrace of those
whirling sterns.  Then a head rose from the surface,
there was a muffled shout, and when the man went
down again Stickine stood up on a thwart.

"A white man's as good as an Indian, anyway," he
said.  "We'll head him in to you on the rock, boys."

The boat rocked as he plunged down with hollowed
back and stiffened arms, and Appleby shivered again.
He could swim, but he felt that only the direst necessity
would have sent him down amidst that clinging weed.
Now they pulled in to the rock, and now back again,
while between times the men beat the water with their
oars and for a moment or two an arm or face rose up.
Twice the boats drove together, and there was a
shouting while a man thrust down a long-shafted
weapon which resembled both a hook and a spear.
Still, the lads could see no sign of the otter, until at
last, when they were quivering with excitement, there
was a shout from the rock, and a man clinging to it
swung up his club, and then dropped it into the water.
Next moment both boats had driven against the stone,
and Appleby grabbed Stickine, who clung panting to
the stern, while when somebody had helped him to
drag him in, the Indian flung a limp object into the
boat.  Its head was flattened in apparently by a club,
and the lads found it somewhat difficult to believe that
it would reward them for their exertions in capturing
it.  There was, however, no mistaking the content in
the faces of the men, and presently Stickine, who spoke
to the Indian, pulled off his jacket.

"I guess we'll head for the schooner, boys.  It's quite
likely it would take us a week to find another otter, if
we did it then, and that water's kind of cold," he said.

They turned back towards the *Champlain* while
Charley's boat went on, and when Stickine had shaken
off the chill by pulling and they had rested a few moments
on their oars, Appleby said to him, "I fancied these
Indians could shoot well, but it took them a long while
to hit the otter."

Stickine laughed.  "They didn't want to unless they
could get him in the head.  Nobody wants to drill big
holes in a skin that's worth a bagful of dollars," he said.

Niven nodded, and turning round grinned at his
comrade.  "Of course, if you hadn't been so thick you'd
have seen that, Tom," he said.

"Well," said Appleby dryly.  "No doubt this is
different, but I once went shooting with a friend at
Sandycombe who gave a farmer's lad half-a-crown to
meet him with a gun, and he would creep up so close
to the first thing he fired at that all he could find
afterwards was a few pieces."

Stickine's eyes twinkled.  "Now, I knew a man down
in British Columbia who found a fur seal on a reef, and
got out his axe to catch him with," he said.  "He'd
never been sealing, and he wanted to make quite sure
of him.  I guess he did it, for when we went into that
place for water the skipper laughed when he asked him
to buy the skin.

"'One dollar for a seal?' says the man.

"'Yes,' says the skipper, solemn.  'You've chopped
the rest of them right out of him.  Nobody has much
use for a pelt that's made of holes instead of skin.'"

It was noon when they reached the *Champlain*, and
they spent the rest of the day helping Montreal to drive
the iron bands Brulée whipped out of the galley fire on
to the patched mast, so that they would shrink and bind
the joint together, and refitting the rigging, while it
was dusk when Charley came back without having seen
another otter.  Jordan, however, did not appear
surprised at this.

"I've heard of the Indians prowling round for three
months and getting nothing," he said.

The next day was spent in arduous and anxious toil
replacing the mast, but worn out as everybody was,
Jordan slipped out to sea when they hove the last shroud
taut in the dusk, and they were busy afterwards
reeving halliards and bending on the mainsail half the
night.

"Every hour means dollars, boys," he said.

It was, however, fortunate they finished the work, for
on the next evening the *Champlain* had need of all her
speed.  They had crept along slowly through the drizzle
all day, but towards sundown the breeze suddenly
freshened, and a dull red glare flickered for a few
minutes on the horizon.  It smote a coppery track
across the heaving waters as they sailed westwards into
it, but the smoky vapours came rolling up astern, and a
low island along which the surf beat white showed up
blurred and grey to the south of them.  The sea rolled
out of the north foam-flecked here and there, and the
*Champlain* swung with the heave of it, hurling the
spray from her bows as she drove along with a fresh
beam wind.

The ominous red glare was, however, fading rapidly,
and the lads, who sought shelter from the cold wind
under the lee of the galley, knew that in half-an-hour
or so the dimness that was creeping up from the east
and south would close about them.  There is no night
in the north at that season, but for a few hours the light
almost dies away, and times, when the skies are veiled
by haze and rain, there is very little day.

It was very cold and clammy, and the lads' faces
smarted from the stinging of the spray, while as the
coppery streaks grew dimmer, the seas turned grey, and
the wet rocks to the south of them became dim and
shadowy.  The surf was to leeward so they could not
hear it, and the splashing at the bows and shrill moan
of wind seemed to intensify the silence that descended
on the sea.  Then just before the last paling rays
flickered out in the north, something showed up black
and sharp against it.  In another moment the *Champlain*
had slid down a sea and the thing had gone, but Niven
stared at Appleby because the form of it had been
curiously familiar.

Appleby nodded.  "Yes," he said.  "I believe it was
the gunboat, but wait until she lifts again."

In another minute the *Champlain* was hove up with
the brine frothing about her, and there was no mistaking
the object that moved out into the dying light from the
contracting horizon.  A smear of smoke hung about it,
and for a second or two the dim slanted shape was
outlined against a flicker of saffron.  Then it and the
radiance faded out together, and the lads stared at the
empty waters wondering if they had been a prey to
a disordered fancy.  Others had seen it, however, for
already a man hung out from the hoops half-way up
the mainmast.

"The American, sure!" he said.

Jordan, who signed to him to go higher, sat down
on the house, and his face was anxious as he glanced at
the men who gathered about him.

"I don't know quite whether he's on his way to St. Michael's
or looking for us, but I figure he can't have
seen us yet," he said.  "She was steaming fast?"

"'Bout as hard as they could shove her along, by the
drift of her smoke," said the man, who now stood on the
jaws of the gaff.

"Well," said Jordan, "we'll see what he's after when
she heaves in sight again.  Let her fall off a point or
two.  Slack up your sheets."

The *Champlain* swung off a little towards the land,
and Appleby fancied he understood the manoeuvre
because it is one thing to see a vessel against the horizon,
and quite another to make her out when grey rocks,
round which vapours crawl, lie close behind her.  Still,
that reef-girt shore swept by the filmy whiteness of the
surf did not look inviting.

For ten minutes or thereabouts they waited in silence,
Stickine looking straight before him with his hands upon
the wheel, Jordan sitting apparently quite unconcerned
upon the house, while the men hung about the rail.
Then the low, black shape of the gunboat crept out of
the haze again, and the smoke cloud at her funnel
showed she was steaming her fastest.  Jordan turned
his head and watched her in silence for several minutes.

"She's coming up with us fast, and we're going along,"
he said.  "I guess we'll have the topsails on her as soon
as you can get them.  Tell Donovitch I want him.
Stickine, you can give Charley the wheel."

In a minute or two the topsails were aloft and the
*Champlain* sailing very fast, swinging her lee-rail down
into the swirling froth when she rolled.  The steamer,
however, was closing with her rapidly, while there was
only a desolation of reefs and foam under their lee.  It
seemed there was no escape for them, but Jordan was
still sitting quietly on the house tracing something upon
it with his finger, while the Indian nodded as he
watched him, and now and then a grim smile crept into
the face of Stickine.  Appleby, however, found the
silence was growing almost insupportable and walked
up to Montreal.

"She's evidently coming after us, but they couldn't
stop us when we're doing nothing wrong," he said.

Montreal laughed a little.  "I don't quite know
'bout the sea otter, but we were right in abreast of the
seal beaches when he last saw us," he said.  "That
with the pelts on board, would be quite enough for him."

"But we didn't get the skins there," said Appleby.

"Well," said Montreal dryly, "you'd find it hard to
make any one believe it.  When you catch a dog with a
mutton chop in a butchery store nobody's going to ask
him where he found it."

"Still, with the land to leeward, the skipper can't get
away unless he runs her on the reefs," said Appleby.

"He'd do that before he let those fellows have her,
but that land's an island.  They've most of them more
than one shore," said Montreal.

Appleby asked no more questions.  He was by this
time quivering with suppressed excitement, and fancied
the others were quite as anxious too, though there was
little in their appearance to show it.  They were quietly
watching the gunboat rise higher out of the dimness,
though they knew that a good many unpleasant things
would follow their capture.  One or two of them, however,
glanced towards the land, which was very blurred and
hazy now, and then turned to watch the skipper, who
was still talking half-aloud with Stickine.  At last he
moved a little.

"We've got to take our chances, but I wish I knew
just what water he draws in cruising trim," he said.
"We're 'bout level with the passage.  Donovitch will
take her in."

Stickine said something, the mainboom swung further
outboard, and as the schooner fell off towards the land,
the lads, looking forward anxiously, could only see the
dim face of a crag, and the whiteness of tumbling foam.
Then they saw the man on the main-gaff nod as the
skipper glanced up at him.

"Coming right in after us," he said.

Jordan laughed softly.  "Well," he said, "I guess
he'll feel kind of sorry he did before very long."

As he spoke there was a flash astern of them, and
while yellow vapour whirled about the steamer the lads
heard the roar of a gun.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`STICKINE MAKES A DEAL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   STICKINE MAKES A DEAL

.. vspace:: 2

Nobody on board the *Champlain* showed that they
had heard the gunboat's warning shot, and the sound
was lost in the roar of the surf which was now spouting
white close in front of her.  The shadowy crags were,
however, falling away, and Jordan still sat on the house
unconcernedly, though there were apparently only
foam-swept reefs before him, and the war-vessel was coming
up rapidly behind.

"I've been worrying about her draught when I've
got it all the time," he said.  "Bring me the handy
book up, Stickine."

Stickine disappeared, and when he returned with a
battered volume in which Appleby had once or twice
seen the skipper writing, the two men's faces showed up
sharp against the dimness as they bent over it in the
faint radiance that came up through the skylights of
the house.  Jordan's was quietly contemplative as he
turned over the pages.

"Here she is," he said at last.  "Four-expansion
engines; still that's not what we want.  Now we're
coming to it.  Small displacement vessel for coast-wise
service.  Depth moulded.  Here it is.  Draught in
seagoing trim!"

Stickine followed the skipper's pointing finger, and
then laughed softly as he looked up.  "Two feet more
than the *Champlain*, and he's coming in," he said.
"Well, he's not going to find it so easy to take her out
again.  We'll have the haze down thick as a blanket
before we're through."

Appleby who heard them understood but little of this,
though its meaning became apparent later, and his
attention was too occupied for him to wonder much about
it just then.  The reefs were unpleasantly close to them,
and the gunboat coming on, though the vapours that
drove past the schooner left very little of her visible.
The men were silent, and Donovitch held the wheel,
while another Indian stood forward calling out to him.

Ahead the sea frothed horribly, and several times the
schooner swung round a trifle as a cloud of spray rushed
up from a big, white upheaval.  Then a grey rock buried
almost in the wash of a sea slid past, and the combers'
tops subsided.  Only a confused swell heaved behind
them, but the stream seemed to be running with them,
and the lads surmised that one of the reefs they had
passed behind partly sheltered them from the sea.
They were sailing through a tortuous strait apparently.
The vapours were, however, closing in, and presently
they could make out nothing ahead, though they could
still occasionally see the masts of the gunboat or her
smoke rolling blackly through the fog, while the wind
seemed to be freshening, for the deck slanted further as
the *Champlain* tore along.  Twice again a rock that
rose suddenly out of the grey heave went by, and once a
beam of brightness flickered past the schooner and faded
in the fog.  Jordan laughed as he glanced astern.

"He's not going to see much of anything in about
two minutes," he said.  "Down topsails, and get the
mainsail off her, boys."

It was done, though the lads who helped wondered,
for the gunboat was coming on, until it occurred to them
that with the little sail she still carried it would be very
difficult to distinguish the *Champlain* in the haze.
Once again the blaze that whirled up dimly behind
them went past, and then grey and clammy the fog
rolled down.

Jordan nodded with evident content.  "We've shown
that fellow the way in, and that's about all we'll do for
nothing, boys," he said.  "You'll be handy with your
sheets because it's going to take a little contriving to
wriggle out of this."

The men stood about with the ropes in their hands,
and swung the boom foresail over when Donovitch
spoke to them.  They did it more than once, hauled the
sheets in and let them run again while the schooner
apparently twisted like an eel, and here and there a
dim line of foam crept by.  Once or twice the lads held
their breath as they watched it, and they could see that
their strained anxiety was shared by the men, for the
roar of the surf rose from every side, and it was
evident that all the helmsman's nerve was needed
to thread that labyrinth of reefs.  Indeed, Appleby
fancied that nobody but a sealer would ever have
attempted that perilous passage.  There was no sign of
the gunboat now, and he could picture the consternation
of her Commander who had, he surmised, no Indian to
take him through.

That, however, was the Commander's affair, and did
not lessen the lads' anxiety, while now the thrill of the
chase had gone they stood expectant and silent among
the rest, listening to the clamour of the surf and
staring at the sliding fog.  At last there was a
slackening of the strain, and Niven laughed excitedly while
Appleby drew his breath in when Jordan's voice rose up.

"We've clear water before us now, and we'll have
the trysail on her," he said.  "Then we'll let her come
up with staysail to weather.  The Commander will be
wanting us by and by."

They went about the decks at a floundering run, and
the *Champlain* soon lay almost stationary with her
head to the wind.  Then they stood still to listen.
No unusual sound the lads could catch came out of the
vapours, but one of the men fancied he heard the
American's cable.  The roar of running chain carries a
long distance, and Jordan seemed inclined to agree
with him.

"That fellow's had 'bout enough, and he'll be feeling
kind of sick when he sees his anchor coming home," he
said.  "We'll give him an hour to find out the fix he's
in, and then some of you will go off and talk to him.
Boys, there's dollars in the thing."

Most of the men went below, and the lads with
them.  There was nothing to be done on deck, and it
was considerably warmer in the hold, while it was
plain that the gunboat had given up the chase.  When
they sat down under the swinging lamp there was a
little bewilderment in some of the faces, and Stickine
watched them with a quiet chuckle.

"Ye will be permitted to reshume the intherrogation,
Mainsail Haul.  There's things one or two av us would
like to know," said Donegal.

Niven was not unwilling to avail himself of the
opportunity.  "Then," he said, "what sort of a place
was it we were running through, and what is keeping
the American?"

Stickine laughed softly.  "The fog and his nerves;
but I wouldn't blame the man," he said, placing a can
or two upon the floor, and pointing to them.

"Now, you'll see the island's there, and this can is
one reef and that one another.  More of them yonder.
Says you, 'It's a nasty place to crawl through even in
clear weather,' but the Indian knows it just as he
knows the back of his hand.  He was round here for
most a year once, before they killed off the sea otter.
Still, there's no charts that show these places quite
complete, and the American came in because he'd have
a man aloft to watch us and another taking bearings
each time we swung round.  He done it very well.
Says he, 'Where that schooner goes there's water
enough for me.'"

There was a murmur of somewhat impatient
comprehension, for the men at least understood most of
this already, and Stickine proceeded, "When we got
the mainsail off her he lost us, and I'm figuring he felt
kind of sorry for himself.  Still, like a sensible man
he brings up with his anchor."

"What will he do now?" asked Appleby.

Stickine looked at the rest, and grinned.  "First
thing, he'll find that anchor's not going to hold him.
There's a big stream going through, and it's not the
kind of bottom you can get a grip in.  Then he'll get
his boats out to look for the passage, and when they
come back to tell him they've only been finding reefs
he'll feel sicker than ever."

"Still, he could stop where he is with his engines
just turning to take the weight off the chain until the
fog lifted," said Niven.

There was a general chuckle, and Montreal said, "It
mightn't lift for a week, and I've known it last a month,
while the breeze that shifts it will bring the sea right in."

"Then," said Appleby, "what are we going to do?"

Stickine laughed again.  "Wait till the Commander's
shaking in his boots, and then get a boat over and go
in and assist him.  I'm figuring it will pay us better
than sealing."

There was grim humour in the faces of the men, and
Charley grinned.  "It's a head Ned Jordan has," he said.

The lads joined in the laughter, for they could realize
that the skipper had with no small ability turned what
had looked very like disaster into victory.  He had also
done no wrong, and was, so far as they could see,
justified in exacting some compensation from the men who
would in all probability at least have seized all the
skins and prevented him sealing any more that season.
They had not, however, long to consider the question,
for presently Jordan sent for Stickine, and a few
minutes later Appleby, to his great delight, was told
to help to swing out a boat.  He did not ask for any
further instructions, and but once she was over the rail
sprang down into her, and in a few more minutes the
fog was blowing into his face as they drove her lurching
over the long swell.  It was not, however, very thick,
which was possibly fortunate, because they could see the
foam upon the reefs before they came too close to them.

Still, the lad found the shadowy dimness that was
not night curiously impressive, as he did the reverberations
of the seas that swung in smooth, black slopes
out of the haze and crumbled into smoke upon the
unseen barriers.  Now and then the blurred outline of
a crag upon the island loomed up and was lost again,
while the wind moaned dolefully, though at times it
sank awhile and the vapours rolled down upon the sea
like a great, grey curtain.  At last, however, they made
out a light, and the men pulled a trifle faster.  More
lights blinked at them presently through the haze,
and when a hoarse shout came down they stopped
pulling close under the side of the gunboat.  She
swung up and down above them looking very big and
black, while now and then when her bows went up
there was a horrible grind of cable.

"Boat ahoy!" said somebody.  "What are you wanting?"

"A talk with your Commander," said Stickine.
"We're sealers from the schooner."

"Pull her in," said the unseen man.  "We'll give
you a rope."

"That's not going to do for me," said Stickine, with
his soft, almost silent laugh.  "I want the ladder."

Appleby chuckled, for he could understand how this
demand from one of the men he had almost made
prisoners of would exasperate the Commander, while
he also knew that it takes some time to get a steamer's
accommodation ladder over.  So far as he could make
out by the voices above him, some of the officers were
conferring together, and he managed to catch the words,
"Concerned insolence!"

"We don't feel like waiting here all night," said
Stickine; "unless you get a move on we'll pull away."

"You wouldn't pull far," said somebody.  "We've
got a quick-firer trained on to you.  Now then, up with
you!"

"No, sir," said Stickine, grinning.  "I'm expecting
some show of civility as an officer of the sealer, and if
you turned that gun loose on us there'd be nobody to
take you out of here."

There was a growl on the deck above them, and
somebody said, "Oh, give it him!  We want to get
through with the thing."

It was probably ten minutes before the ladder was
hung over, and leaving one man in the boat the others
went up, while Appleby stared about him with interest
when he reached the deck.  The gunboat looked very
big after the *Champlain*, and even in the haze he could
see that she was very trim.  Lights blinked about him,
there was a simmering of steam, and the long wet deck,
tall spars, swaying funnel, spotless paint, and the
neatness of everything gave him a sense of security and
comfort which he had not been used to on board the
schooner.  He had, however, little time to look round,
for as the sealers stepped in through the gangway a
cluster of bluejackets closed in about them, and one of
them laid his hand on Stickine's shoulder.  The sealer
shook his grasp off, and swung round, doubling up a
great fist.

"Hello!  Are you wanting anything?" he said.

An officer stepped out into the light.  "You're
under arrest!  The Commander is waiting aft," he
said.

Appleby was almost surprised into a little gasp of
consternation, but he saw that Stickine was smiling
dryly and checked it.  Then they tramped aft along
the deck, and finally stopped outside a cabin in the
poop.

"I'll bring the leader in first, sir?" said their
conductor.

"That's what I am wanting," said Stickine.  "Still,
as somebody has got to hear what he has to tell me, this
lad's coming along."

He grasped Appleby's arm and shoved him into the
cabin, and for a moment or two the lad stood blinking
about him.  At first, being still a trifle dazzled by the
light, he only noticed that the little cabin with its
snowy paint, varnished panelling, and curtains on the
brass-ringed ports, seemed very luxurious after the hold
of the *Champlain*.  Then he saw that a young officer sat
at a table, while another stood behind him.  His face
was not unpleasant, though just then he looked angry,
and in his trim uniform he formed a striking contrast
to Stickine, who stood, bronzed and lean, in curiously
fashioned garments of fur and canvas, smiling at him.

"It's a kind of thick night," said the latter with a
little nod.  "Now, as I'm going to talk to you neighbourly,
I've no use for the boys outside there.  Because
it wouldn't have been quite square to you as Commander
I didn't object to them before."

There was something very like a grin in the face of
the officer who still stood in the doorway, and the
Commander's cheeks flushed a trifle.  Stickine, however,
met his gaze with complete unconcern, and finally he
raised his hand and a patter of feet on deck showed
that the guard was retiring.

"You don't seem to understand that unless you give
me a very good reason for not doing it I'm going to take
you prisoners to Alaska," he said.

Stickine laughed a little.  "Well," he said dryly, "I
don't figure you will.  In the first place, you can't take
us anywhere until you get out of here, and unless you
and me agree it's when you try to the trouble will begin.
She's not holding with you now, and we'll have it
thicker still until the wind piles the sea in to-morrow.
When you've got a holt on that we'll go on."

The other officer leaned over the Commander's
shoulder, and said something Appleby did not hear.
Then the Commander sat silent a while as he watched
Stickine.  "Well?" he said at last.

Stickine's eyes twinkled a little.  "First time you've
been up here after the sealers?  You don't know us
yet.  Now, I was wondering when you were going to
offer us something to eat and drink."

The Commander stared at him, while the other man,
who appeared divided between anger and laughter,
turned away his head.  Then, as if it were in spite of
him, a little smile crept into the former's face.

"Sit down.  You deserve anything we can give you
for your assurance," he said.  "Well, have you any
especial fancy?"

Stickine appeared to reflect, "Champagne would be
good enough for me," he said.  "The last time I had
any a Russian officer I did something for gave it me.
The lad will have coffee.  That is, if the cook has any
fire in his galley."

The Commander touched a bell, and the other officer
flung himself, laughing, into the chair.  "I guess you'll
get on with him better that way, sir," he said.  "I've
had a good deal to do with these fellows, and generally
found them difficult to bluff."

In a few minutes a man brought in a big cup of very
good coffee, and set some glasses and a box of biscuits
upon the table, but while Appleby fell to when the
Commander nodded to him, Stickine did not touch his
glass.

"Now I'm going to talk," he said.  "In the first
place, I've shown you where you are.  Next, the
schooner's waiting outside the reefs, and unless the
boat's back inside an hour with a note from me to the
skipper he'll get sail on her, and you can take us and
your ship to Alaska, if you can get her out of here.  To
put it quite plain, we've got the best end of the stick,
and we know enough to keep a holt on it."

Somewhat, to Appleby's surprise, the Commander
laughed.  "I almost believe you have," he said.

Stickine nodded, and once more Appleby wondered.
A few months earlier it would have appeared incomprehensible
to him that a rough schooner sailor should so
quietly enforce his right to be treated as an equal by a
naval officer, and prove a match for him.  The
Commander now appeared quite willing to recognize it.

"Well," said Stickine, "we'll take you out to-morrow
for——" and he asked a sum that astonished Appleby.

"No, sir," said the Commander.  "I'll have the boats
over at sun up and find my own way out."

"I guess not," said the sealer.  "You've been looking
round and coming right upon a fresh reef at every turn
already, while there's a sunk ledge in one of the
openings, and before you're through you'd have the gale
in on you."

The two officers conferred together half-aloud, and
finally the Commander said, "I couldn't pay more than
half what you're asking."

"Well," said Stickine dryly, "it strikes me it would
be a long way cheaper than losing your ship.  The
dollars would come in quite handy to us but they
wouldn't count for very much with the U.S. Treasury."

The Commander drummed on the table with his
fingers.  "The trouble is I don't know I could send a
bill of that kind to the Treasury," he said.  "I'm not a
rich man, and the dollars would take a good deal of
raising if I had to find them myself."

Stickine nodded sympathetically.  "Then I'll come
down a hundred, but we can't take less.  I've got to do
the square thing by the boys."

The Commander sat still again, and Appleby could
not quite understand the expression of his face.  Then
he said, "I should be taking a risk.  You're not fond of
us, anyway, and even you mightn't know all the reefs."

Stickine stood up very straight and grim.  "You've
just got to trust me, as we'll trust you for the pay.  We
wouldn't have made that deal with you unless we knew
we could put it through."

"Sit down," said the Commander with a little smile.
"We'll make it a deal.  Take us out, and you'll get
your dollars.  Put us ashore and we'll shoot you.  It's
quite plain you're taking a few risks too.  And now if
you will join me in a glass of wine."

Stickine nodded, and laughed silently as he held up
his glass.  "I'm taking those dollars from you, as you'd
have taken the pelts or the schooner from us, if you
had the chance, and that makes us square," he said.
"Every man to his own business, but that's no reason
he should hate the folks who are now and then too
much for him."

Ten minutes later and Appleby and the rest were in
the boat pulling for the *Champlain* with a note asking
Jordan to send the Indian across to the steamer.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PLEDGE REDEEMED`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PLEDGE REDEEMED

.. vspace:: 2

The light was slowly creeping through the mist when
Appleby, who had returned with two of the Indians, sat
with Stickine in the gunboat's cabin.  It was very
early in the morning, and though there is no actual
darkness in those seas at that season, the haze
provided a very good substitute, and now it was sliding
past as thickly as ever.  Appleby also felt clammy all
through, for they had had a hard pull from the
schooner against a freshening wind, and nobody is
very vigorous at four o'clock on a very cold morning.
He shivered a little as he sat with a steaming cup of
coffee before him watching his companions.  Their
faces showed curiously pallid in the dim light, and
Stickine's was grave, while the two Americans appeared
more than a little anxious.  Outside the wind was
wailing through the rigging, and every now and then
there was a jarring grind of cable as the gunboat swung
up her bows.

"You believe we had better make a start right now,
and you can pick up the passage?" asked the
Commander.

Stickine nodded.  "The haze is not going to lift
to-day, and you'd find it hard work to hold her here when
the sea rolls in.  There's a nasty reef close astern of
you too.  Now, before we start we'll go over the deal
again and see if you've got it straight.  Our skipper
has your cheque, and I'm to take you out.  You're to
take our word we've killed no seals in American waters,
and leave us to go just where we're wanting once
you're free of the reefs."

"Yes," said the Commander.  "I pledge myself to
that, but you've overlooked one thing, and that's the
one that's going to happen to you if you make a
blunder."

There was a moment's silence, and during it the
naval officer pulled his belt round a trifle and rubbed a
speck of dust off his pistol-holster.  The hint was plain
enough, but the sealer only smiled.

"That's all right, but I want the lad up on
your bridge with me," he said.  "If there was any
trouble he could tell folks I did the square thing by
you!"

The Commander signified agreement.  "Who is the
lad, anyway?" he said.  "He hasn't the hard look of
the rest of you."

Stickine glanced at Appleby.  "I don't quite know.
We picked him up, and his partner told a kind of curious
story.  Allowed his father was a big man back there in
the old country."

A little smile crept into the Commander's eyes.
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was the right one, but
that don't concern us now.  Would you like more
coffee before you begin?"

"No," said Stickine.  "You can tell them to start
the windlass when you're ready."

The windlass was rattling and the chain grinding in
when they crossed the sloppy deck and climbed to the
bridge.  A jet of steam roared away into the haze from
beside the funnel, and the tinkle of iron came up from
the gratings, while Appleby noticed that every boat
was swung out ready for lowering at a moment's notice.
Except for one or two men forward the bluejackets
were drawn up in little groups about the deck and
stood motionless, apparently watching the sealers' boat
that heaved in the haze ahead.  Then the windlass
stopped rattling and there was for a moment or two a
curious silence while the steamer rolling lazily slid
sideways with the stream.

"Keep your anchor at the bows," said Stickine.
"Back her until she comes round under a starboard helm."

The Commander touched a handle, there was a tinkle
below, the bridge commenced to tremble, and with a
thud-thud of engines the steamer crawled astern.
Then when her bows had swung round Stickine raised
his hand.

"Ahead slow!" he said.  "Just keep her going."

The engines thudded once more, and then commenced
a monotonous rumbling as they crept on into the haze,
while with every man pulling hard the sealers' boat
slid towards them.  Donovitch the Indian was standing
in the bows, and Appleby, glancing round a moment,
saw that the faces of the two officers on the bridge
were grim and set.  Neither of them or the men below,
however, moved an inch, and the stillness and the
silence through which he seemed to hear his heart
thumping affected Appleby curiously.  He felt cold
beneath the old fur waistcoat Jordan had given him, for
he had more than a suspicion that Stickine would only
have the one chance of blundering now, and that if he
did it a good many of the gunboat's company would
never get ashore.  A long swell heaved through the
passage, roaring ominously as it seethed upon the reefs.

Then the Indian in the bows swung up an arm, and
while Stickine signed to the helmsman who stood
rigidly still gripping his wheel the sea was rent ahead
and there rushed upwards a great cloud of spray and
foam.  It whirled high and a deep rumbling followed it,
while another hoarse roar rang through the haze in
front of them, and Appleby saw the officers glance at
one another.  He knew, as they did, what would
happen if lifted by the swell they struck that
froth-swept stone, and he felt that swift death was very near
them all just then.

Still, Stickine only nodded to the helmsman, and
the bows swung slowly round, while when the long
swell foamed again the reef lay a score of yards away
from them, and the growl of another grew louder.
Appleby could faintly see the filmy cloud that whirled
about it, and held his breath as he realized that the
stream was carrying them towards it, and wondered if
the helmsman could swing the ship clear in time.  Then
he gathered a little comfort from a glance at Stickine,
whose face was unconcerned.

"Give her steam," he said.

For a moment the Commander stood quite still with
his fingers motionless on the handle that would quicken
the engines, and Appleby could guess his thoughts.  If
they drove the steamer faster now, and she would not
swing, in less than another minute her bows would be
crumpled in.

"You're taking your chances with us," he said.

"Oh, yes," said Stickine.  "Unless you're quick with
that telegraph I'm not going to have any.  Give her steam."

The Commander thrust down the handle, there was
a tinkle below, and while the engines beat faster
Stickine turned his hand round as he glanced at the
helmsman.  Then Appleby saw nothing but the spray
ahead, and heard a hollow rumbling sound that sent a
shiver through him as once more a white cloud whirled
up.  His eyes grew dazed as he watched it blow away
until the foam about the reef beneath it was blotted
out by the steamer's bows.  Next he became dimly
conscious that the helmsman was spinning his wheel,
and noticed nothing further until the horrible white
confusion was sliding away behind them.  There was
only the haze before them now, and it seemed to be
growing thinner.

"Slow!" said Stickine signing with his hand, and
while the rumble of engines slackened a faint cry
came out of the dimness.

Then the sealer turned to the officer, and his bronzed
face was as unconcerned as ever, though his hands
seemed to tremble a little.  The Commander was
standing very rigid, but there were beads of moisture
on his forehead.

"We've left your boat astern," he said.

"Well," said Stickine gravely, "we're not going to
want her.  I guess I've put this contract through, and
you can whistle for the schooner."

Then the tension suddenly slackened, and there was
a half-audible murmur from the men below when the
scream of the whistle was flung into the fog.  It screamed
twice before the thin tinkle of a bell rose up in answer.

"That will be your schooner.  She's not far away,"
said the Commander.

Five minutes later the steamer stopped her engines,
and while the boat crept up again the *Champlain*,
rolling under her jibs and trysail, grew out of the haze.
Stickine touched Appleby's shoulder, and turning
towards the Commander held out his hand.

"It's about time we were going now.  A deal's a
deal, and I've kept my part of it," he said.

There was a little grim smile in the Commander's
eyes, but he shook hands gravely with the sealer.
"And I'll do mine," he said to Stickine as he went
down the ladder.  "Still, you can tell your skipper that
if I ever find his schooner inside our limits again, I'll
have much pleasure in sinking her."

Stickine made no answer, but he grinned.

In another minute they were pulling towards the
*Champlain*, and when with the froth streaming away
across the sea behind her the steamer forged ahead, a
red flag with a beaver and maple-leaf in a corner
fluttered aloft to the *Champlain's* masthead.  Appleby
smiled as he watched it stream out and sink again, for
there was, it seemed to him, something almost ludicrous
in this assertion of equality between the little rolling
schooner and the big war-vessel, and he waited to see if
the Commander would return the salutation or steam
past in contemptuous silence.  As he watched, a figure
on the gunboat's bridge raised a hand, and the scream
of her whistle vibrated across the waters.  Again
it hurled out its greeting while the schooner's flag
rose and fell, and then with a last great volume of
sound ringing above the clamour of the surf the
gunboat steaming at full speed swept into the haze.

Next minute the boat was under the *Champlain's*
rail, and Jordan looking down on them with a little,
dry smile.

"I've no use for riling folks when it can be helped,
and that fellow took his licking well," he said.

They climbed on board and hove the boat in, and
Stickine followed Jordan into the cabin while Appleby
sat down to tell the story to every unoccupied man of the
*Champlain's* company.  There was a broad grin on the
listener's faces when he had finished, and one of them
said, "There's not many men who could come out to
windward of Ned Jordan."

Montreal nodded solemnly.  "No," he said.  "I guess
you'd get tired considerably before you found one of
them."

By and by Stickine came out of the cabin.  "We'll
have the reefed mainsail on her, boys," he said.  "Now
we're here and the wind's hauling westerly so we can't
get back, we're going to run a little further east to a
place where we might pick up a few pelts cheap from
the Indians."

It blew hard presently, but the haze still followed
them, and towards the close of the afternoon they hove
the *Champlain* to, and lay with the stinging drift whirling
about her plunging to a sea that frothed white as snow.
Most of the men were sleeping or sitting snug in the
hold when Stickine came below, and shook his head at
Niven and Appleby.  "The skipper's wanting you," he said.

Both lads felt a trifle uneasy as they went out on
deck.  They could not recollect any offences they had
committed, but there was an unfortunate resemblance
between Stickine's intimation and others they had
received at Sandycombe when unpleasant things had
followed the headmaster's request to see them in his
study.

"I wonder if he means to put us ashore when we get
to the place we're going to," said Niven.

"Wouldn't that please you?" asked Appleby with a
little smile.

Niven appeared thoughtful.  "No," he said, "it
wouldn't, or you either.  That is, if it meant we had
to go back to the *Aldebaran*.  Still, by this time she
should be half-way to China, or somewhere else as far."

They had, however, reached the house now, and
when they went in Jordan was sitting by the little
stove, with a big lead-bottomed ink-pot standing on
some papers on the table beside him.  The lads stood
still a moment, and waited somewhat anxiously for him
to speak.

"You've folks in the old country who would worry
about what had become of you?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Niven.  "It has troubled me a good
deal now and then."

Jordan nodded.  "You can write and tell them where
you are," he said.  "Sit down right here and do it now.
If we've better weather we'll run for the harbour I'm
making for to-morrow, and now and then a boat from
St. Michael's looks in there.  She would take any letters
I left to Vancouver."

Niven sat down at the table, and Appleby felt very
lonely as he watched the smile creep into his face, and
the rusty pen scratch across the paper.  He knew that
other eyes would brighten when they read that letter,
but there was nobody to grieve or rejoice over him,
and once he coughed for no reason that was apparent
to Jordan, who was watching him.

"And you.  Haven't you got anybody?  There's
another pen," said the latter.

Appleby was never quite sure what prompted him,
but the skipper's tone was kindly, and fumbling in an
inner pocket he pulled out a little leather case and
took from it a picture of a sandy mound with palm
fronds drooping over the wooden cross at one end
of it.

"That is all I have, sir," he said.

Jordan took the photograph, and his eyes grew softer
as he returned it with a little nod of sympathy.  "It's
rough when you're young, but a lonely man's not always
the worst off, my lad," he said.

Niven, however, looked round with a flush on his
face.  "That's not straight talk, Tom," he said.  "You
know my mother would do almost anything for you,
and there's the rest of them.  Even Nettie, and she has
the faddiest notions, took to you."

"Hadn't you better get on with your writing, sonny?"
said Jordan dryly.  "She's your mother, and not his,
anyway."

Niven made another dab at the inkpot, and though
it was difficult to keep his feet at the table as the
schooner rose and fell he finished his letter.  He was
about to fold it up when Jordan glanced at him.
"You've put something 'bout me and the *Champlain*
in?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Niven.

"Well," said Jordan, "I'd like to hear that part
of it."

Niven flushed a trifle, and sat still a moment twisting
round his pen before he said, "It isn't worth listening to."

"Still," said Jordan grimly, "I'm waiting to hear it.
Start in."

Niven looked round at Appleby, but Appleby only
grinned, and then with the colour showing plainer in
his face read a line or two.  "The skipper has, taking
it all round, been very good to us.  He's——"  The
lad stopped for a moment.  "This piece isn't of any
moment.  I'll leave it out, sir."

"I can tell better when you've read it," said Jordan.

Niven made a little half-conscious gesture of dismay,
but he had reasons for remembering that when Jordan
asked for anything it was wise to give it him, and he
continued hastily, "He's quite a clever man in his own
way, though nobody would fancy it from his appearance."

Appleby could not quite restrain a chuckle, and saw
a twinkle in Jordan's eyes.  He nodded as he said, "I
can't find fault with that, anyway.  Go on with the rest
of it."

"If you saw him in his usual rig you would take him
for something between a stuffed sealskin and a navvy
on the tramp," said Niven.

"Now, I don't know what a navvy is," said Jordan.

Niven looked at his comrade again, and Appleby tried
not to laugh.  "He's a man who digs drains and makes
railways in our country, sir," he said.

"Well," said Jordan dryly.  "It can't be tougher work
than sealing.  Go on."

"Still," said Niven, turning again to the letter, "he
has been quite decent, and treated us a good deal better
than they did on board the *Aldebaran*, and I fancy it
would be a nice thing if——"

He stopped again.  "I can't read any more of it, sir,"
he said, growing very flushed in the face.

"Then," said Jordan, "I figure your partner can, and
one of you is going to."

Niven set his lips a moment, and then went on with
a little groan, "It would be a nice thing if you wrote
one of your Canadian friends to give him a cheque.
There can't be much profit in sealing and——"

"I guess that will do," said Jordan, whose face grew
suddenly grim.  "Get hold of your pen, and knock the
last piece out of it.  You've done it?  Then you can
put this in.  'Don't worry 'bout me.  Skipper Jordan
will see I earn every dollar's worth of anything I get
from him, and before I get home he and Donegal have
hopes of licking a little sense into me.'  Got that
down—all of it?"

"Yes, sir," said Niven, who was apparently almost
suffocated, hoarsely.

"Well," said Jordan with a little, dry smile, "that
will set your folks' minds at rest, and I guess your
father will be grateful to me.  Now you can tell the
rest of them to get any letters they want sent home
ready."

They went out together, and Niven kicked at the
first thing that lay in his way savagely.  As it
happened, it was one of the iron pump fastenings, and it
hurt his toe, while as he hopped about the deck Appleby
laughed uproariously.  Then almost before he knew it
Niven was laughing, too, and when they climbed down
into the hold there was water in both their eyes.

.. _`"AS HE HOPPED ABOUT THE DECK, APPLEBY LAUGHED UPROARIOUSLY"`:

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   :alt: "AS HE HOPPED ABOUT THE DECK APPLEBY LAUGHED UPROARIOUSLY."

   "AS HE HOPPED ABOUT THE DECK APPLEBY LAUGHED UPROARIOUSLY."

"Have ye been after hearing anything funny in the
cabin?" asked Donegal.

"Well," said Niven with a little chuckle, "I can't help
fancying the skipper did, since you want to know.
Sure, now, Donegal, 'tis a testhimonial he's been after
giving you."

"Tell me," said Donegal, seizing him by the neck and
nipping it while the lad struggled fruitlessly.

"It's no use.  I wouldn't tell any one a word of it if
you strangled me," he said.

They made sail again early nest morning, but in the
forenoon the wind fell away, and it was late on the
following day when they crept into sight of a grey
blurr that lifted itself out of the misty horizon.  They
could just make out that it was land, but Jordan, who
went up the mast hoops with his glasses, saw something
more.

"No chance of a deal now we've got here, boys," he
said.  "There's a steamer coming in.  She'll be heading
south at this season, and it's not going to take them
long to heave a few bundles of furs on board her, so if
you've any letters to go along with mine you'd better
be handy getting the boat over."

They had her out in about two minutes, and as it
was Stickine's boat the lads who sprang down refused
to come out of her.  She was also the biggest boat they
had, and had in all probability seldom travelled faster
than she did for the first mile or so.  There was
scarcely a breath of wind now, and the long swell ran
with them, while Niven remembered what the letter
he had written would mean to those who had long
waited for news of him at home as he put all his
strength into the oar.  Appleby also recollected the
tenderness he had now and then seen in Mrs. Niven's
eyes as she looked at her son, and her kindness to him,
and strained every muscle, for now at least it seemed
he could do a little to repay her.

So they sent the boat foaming over the long swell,
but each time she rose the land seemed very little
nearer, and when at last a smear of smoke rose out of
the greyness that hung about it, Stickine spoke.

"The steamer's firing up!  You've got to stretch out,
boys."

Panting and gasping they swayed up and down, the
oars thudding, and the grey sea frothing under them
when the boat surged forward quivering at every stroke.
Still, when the veins on Appleby's forehead felt swollen
to the bursting and Appleby's eyes were dim the land
was at least a mile from them, and a jarring rattle came
off across the water.

"Windlass going!  She'll be off soon as they heave
her anchor.  Stiffen up," said Stickine.

The lads did what they could, for they knew it was
a good deal they were rowing for.  The letter they
carried would bring relief from torturing anxiety to
those who loved them, and tranquillity to a mother's
mind, while Niven, half-choked as he was, nerved his
aching arms as he remembered how in all his follies his
father had borne with him.  Appleby was aiding him
loyally, his lips set, his face almost purple, and still,
though Stickine and Donegal made the oars creak and
groan, the land was only crawling towards them.

"You've got to do it, boys!  There's folks back
south worrying 'bout most of us," said Stickine when
the scream of a whistle came off to them.

Neither of the lads had more than a hazy recollection
of the last ten minutes.  They had no breath left,
every joint was aching, but their arms still moved
almost without their will, and they were dimly sensible
of the thud of oars, gurgle of water, and lurch of the
quivering boat beneath them.  They felt they could
not be beaten now.  At last while the whistle screamed
again something big and black bore down on them, and
they heard the thudding of engines and the flap-flap
of a slowly-turning propeller.

"Stop pulling.  Hang on to her," gasped Stickine,
and then while the oars rested in their palms the lads
could see that the bows of a steamer hung almost over
them.  Next moment there was a crash, and they were
being hauled along with the froth splashing about them
and Donegal holding on to something desperately.
A man was shouting above them, and while the foam
that was piled about her bows sluiced into the boat
Stickine roared out hoarsely, "Letters!"

"Give us a grip of them.  Let go before she goes
over with you," shouted somebody, and a man swinging
himself over the rail clutched at the packet held
out to him.  Then Donegal loosed his grasp, and they
were rocking on the white wake as the steamer went on.

"Just 'bout did it," said Stickine.  "I guess it was
worth a pull."

Neither of the lads said anything, for they were
dazed and dripping, and had no breath to waste, but
they forgot their pains in a supreme content.  It had
been a good race, perhaps the best they would ever
make, for they knew as they watched her roll away into
the mist that the letters the steamer was bearing
south would lift a dark cloud from an English home.





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.. _`TREACHERY`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   TREACHERY

.. vspace:: 2

Here and there a streak of ripples crept across the
water as they returned to the schooner, and when they
stopped rowing, Jordan called to them.

"You can pull her head round before you come on board."

They pulled hard before they swung the schooner
round, and when they had hoisted the boat in Stickine
glanced at the skipper.

"We're going back west?" he said.

Jordan nodded.  "Right now," he said.  "We've lost
two weeks already and the season's getting through."

They close hauled the schooner, and the lads went
below when she slowly crawled away.  They had
questions to ask, and it was Donegal who answered them.

"And what would be the use av going on when
Jordan knew the steamer had got all the skins there
was?" he said.  "'Tis a week this journey will be
costing him, and ye will observe 'tis not sitting still and
complaining that 'tis hard on him the skipper would be
doing.  ''Tis the best av it, we've got to make and get
back at wance, or sooner,' sez he, and there's folks as
don't know better call him a—fortunit—man."

Niven made a little grimace, and swung himself out
of reach of the sealer's hand.  "Sure 'tis a priest or a
schoolmaster ye should have been," said he.

It was some time before they worked their way back
to the sealing ground, and then, although the boats
were out all day, they got very few skins.  The
holluschackie had, it seemed, all crawled out on the beaches,
and the men grew gloomy as they saw the prospect of
returning home with dollars to draw growing rapidly
smaller, until at last one morning Stickine came forward
after a talk with Jordan.

"There's just 'bout nothing to be done here, boys,
and we're going west to see what we can find," he
said.

There was a murmur of approval, and Appleby
fancied he understood the curious expression in the
men's bronzed faces, for it was Russian waters they
were making for.  It was, however, some time before
they reached them, and then they found few seals,
while the men were growing anxious again, when at
last one wild evening they beat in to an anchorage
under an island.  Like the others the lads had seen in
those misty seas it was a desolation of wet rocks and
foam-licked beaches; but worn out by a week's bitter
gale, they were glad when the *Champlain* ceased her
wild plunging at last and swung to her anchor on the
long, smooth heave.

Nobody wasted much time in stowing the canvas,
and when they sat listening to the swish of the rain
and the growling of the surf in the stuffy hold, Appleby
turned to Stickine.

"What have we come in here for?" he asked.

"You can't always catch seals, but you can buy them
now and then when you know where to go," said
Stickine.  "The further it is from the market the more
likely you are to get a bargain."

"Then there is somebody living here?" asked Niven.

"Sure!" said Donegal.  "There's no place that
forlorn a man can't somehow raise a living out av it,
but the one Ned Jordan's after visiting is not what ye
would considher a favourable specimen."

Charley looked up and laughed.  "Meaner than a
shark.  There's nothing too low down for that man to
do."

Donegal evidently saw the curiosity in Niven's eyes
and nodded gravely.  "'Tis Charley that's speaking
thrue.  Now, some men are bad on occasion, and ye
will now and then find sailors and sealers doing things
that are no credit to them by way av diversion, but
they work, and that and the lashing of the bitther seas
is the saving av them.  Still, there's things no man
may do continual."

Stickine smiled dryly.  "That's quite right," he said.
"The sea, and just the sea—that sets Donegal talking
like one of those patent medicine books—and if we had
a thousand dollars which of us wouldn't be glad to leave
it?  Still, I've no use for a man who goes back on his
own country, and if it's solid meanness and wickedness
you're wanting, you'll find them and Motter quite close
together."

"He must work if he catches seals," said Niven.

Charley grinned ironically.  "I guess you've found
that out, but when Motter has any pelts to sell it's
tolerably plain figuring he stole them.  Tricked the
Indians out of them—though they're not Indians on
this side either—and they didn't belong to them, anyway."

"Then why don't the Russians run him out?" asked
Appleby.

Stickine laughed softly.  "I guess the ones who
would do don't know," he said.  "This is a kind of
curious country."

Just then Jordan flung back the scuttle.  "Get your
boat over, Stickine.  I'm going ashore," he said.

Stickine rose, and Montreal, who had been sitting
gloomily silent, looked up.  "If you've any use for me
I'd like to come along," he said.

Jordan shook his head.  "It 'pears to me you're
better where you are," he said.

Montreal sighed, but said nothing, and in a few
minutes Niven and Appleby were pulling the skipper
ashore.  It was raining when they stepped out on the
beach, and saw for the first time a ramshackle wooden
house that seemed falling to pieces beneath a dripping
crag.  Two great dogs growled at them as they picked
their way towards it amidst a litter of fish-bones and
offal that had been apparently flung out of the windows.
Then somebody beat off the dogs, and when they went
in a man who lay in a skin chair by the stove nodded
to them.  A smoky lamp hung above him, and the lads
felt a curious disgust as they glanced at him.  His
eyes were red and bleary, though there was a blink of
evil cunning in them, and his puffy cheeks overhung
his chin.  He seemed horribly flabby, and wore greasy
canvas garments which looked as though nobody had
ever washed them.  Appleby realized as he watched
him that loneliness is not good for a white man unless
he has work to do.

"How are you, Motter?" said Jordan.  "This place
hasn't made you tired yet?  It's kind of forlorn for a
Britisher."

Appleby fancied there was a little half-scornful inflection
in the skipper's voice, which was not altogether
astonishing, for the building had a horrible smell, and
here and there the rain dripped in, but Motter laughed.

"Well," he said, "I was an American too, and I
guess I'm a Russian now.  Up here it pays one
better—but it's business you came after?"

Jordan nodded, and the contrast between his lean,
bronzed face and steady eyes and that of the other
man did not escape the lads' attention.  "Got anything
to sell?" he asked.

"I might have," said Motter.  "Still, I'm in no way
anxious, because by and by there's a steamer coming
along, and I've no great use for dry talking."

He thrust a bottle towards the skipper, but Jordan
shook his head.  "That's a stuff I'm not used to, and I
don't like the smell," he said.  "Well, now, let me hear
what you've got and I'll make you a bid.  This place
is a little too open to leave the schooner long."

Appleby fancied Motter was not pleased at this, but
he helped himself freely to the liquor, and for
half-an-hour he and the skipper were busy bargaining.  Neither
of the lads quite understood all they said, and they sat
vacantly listening to the rumble of the surf, until at
last Motter raised his hand.

"Well," he said with a curious little laugh that
jarred upon the lads unpleasantly, "you're too keen for
me, and it will save worry if I let you have the skins.
I want one hundred dollars down for the bundle I've
got here, and you can take them with you or leave them
until you come back again.  The rest are lying at
Peter's Bay, but I'll be there to hand them over or
send one of my people along the beach, and across by
the skin boat.  It's going to take you some time to get
there with the wind ahead."

"It's a deal," said Jordan, counting out the dollar
bills.  "We should fetch the beach by to-morrow
evening.  You haven't seen any gunboat round here
lately?"

"No, sir," said Motter.  "There's none nearer than
Peter Paul, and I'm going to be a richer man if they'll
keep away.  By the way, I heard they had a Canadian
at the sealing post."

"Are you sure of that?" asked Jordan.  "What
would he be doing there?"

Motter fumbled at his glass.  "Well, I don't quite
know," he said.  "Still, I scarcely figure he was there
because he liked it.  Anyway, the folks could tell you
more about him at Peter's Bay."

Somebody was waving a lantern on the schooner and
the roar of the surf had grown louder when they
returned to the beach, while it was with difficulty the
lads got the boat afloat.  Jordan did not seem pleased
at something, and bade them pull their hardest, for the
wind had gone round and the sea was working in.

"It's kind of unfortunate Motter didn't remember
he'd lost his store key before he got my dollars," he said
reflectively.  "Still, it's no great risk, because he knows
we could pull the place down for him when we come back."

The schooner was plunging viciously when they
reached her, and while they swung the boat in Jordan
said, "Get the trysail and foresail on her, and we'll let
her lie to when we're round the head."  Then he
signed to Appleby.  "You'll not tell them anything
about that Canadian."

They beat out of the bay they had only a few hours
earlier beaten into, and, for the sun was going back to
the south now, it was quite dark when on the next
night they crept into an inlet hemmed in by smoking
reefs.  The wind was fresh and astern of them,
but when they brought the schooner to off the first of
the reefs Jordan stopped Stickine who was about to
lower her forward sails.

"It's not going to take us long to bring off a boatload
of skins, and you'll keep the canvas on her," he said.
"I've no use for taking chances with a man like Motter."

Appleby, of course, understood that as there was
evidently a seal rookery not far away it would be
perilous for Jordan to be discovered within Russian
limits, but he could not see how he would run any risk
since there was no gun-boat in the vicinity.  He had
seen that Jordan could be daring, but he fancied he was
almost needlessly cautious when, although only one was
wanted for the skins, he had two boats swung out.  He
also sent back Montreal, who would have gone in one of
them, and bade the men bring their sealing-clubs with
them, which seemed curious, since if they fell in
with any Russians, it would be a proof that they were
prepared to kill seals ashore.

It was dark save for the light of a half-moon when
they started, and when they landed with difficulty
through the smoking surf the beach was wrapped in
shadow.  Here and there a boat of some kind was
drawn up, but nobody could see them clearly, and the
only light was the blink from the windows of a tottering
wooden house.

"You lads will come with me," said Jordan.
"Donegal and Charley too.  The rest of you will stand
by the boats and keep your eyes open."

Then they turned towards the house, and when
Appleby afterwards recalled that night he could
remember the pungent smell of the weed, and the curious
shrinking he felt when he set his foot on a fish head or
some of the slimy offal that lay everywhere around.
He could just see the schooner, flitting a dim shape
across the long heave that rolled into the bay and
frothed upon the roaring beaches.  It was some minutes
before they reached the house, which seemed horribly
damp and foul, and found Motter sitting at a table.
His eyes had, Appleby fancied, a little cunning gleam,
and his hand seemed to tremble slightly.

"Excuse me coming down to meet you.  This place
is rough on one's legs," he said.  "Well, you have come
to put the deal through and brought the dollars?"

"Yes," said Jordan.  "As I'm anxious to be off I
want it done right now."

"That will suit me," said Motter.  "If you don't want
to be sociable you can come along and count the skins."

He limped before them into an adjoining room, which
was littered with bundled furs, and Appleby noticed
that while these were no doubt of value, and there was
a shutter to the window, it was not closed.  Motter
also turned the lamp up a little, though it was
apparently burning well, when he set it on a table.  Then
Jordan opened several bundles of the furs, and when the
two other men took up a load Motter laughed a little
as he said, "Haven't you forgot the dollars?"

Jordan looked at him steadily.  "You'll get them all
right when we're through.  This lot 'bout squares up
the others I didn't get from you."

Motter smiled again.  "Well," he said dryly, "a
man would have to get up tolerably early if he wanted
to come in ahead of you."

Then Donegal and Charley went back to the boat
with their bundles, and Motter sat down watching
Jordan sort out and count the furs.

"Quite sure you've got them all?" he said ironically
when the skipper stopped at last.  "Then we'll go back
to the stove.  It's kind of shivery here."

"Shall I bring the lamp along?" asked Jordan.

"Leave it there.  We've another in the room," said
Motter, and fumbled about some time striking a good
many matches before he lighted it, while Appleby
became sensible of a curious uneasiness as he watched
him.  There was no apparent reason for this, but he
fancied the man could have been quicker had he wanted.
At last the lamp was lighted, and Motter sat down at
the table with his face towards the door.

"You've seen the furs are there?" he said.

Jordan took out his wallet, and laid a roll of dollar
bills on the table.  He had another in his hand when
Donegal stood in the doorway signing to him.

"You're wanted out here," he said.

Jordan asked no questions but rose at once, and
Appleby, fancying there had been a change of wind,
followed him.  When they stood outside Donegal laid
his hand on the skipper's arm, and Appleby saw that he
and Charley both carried their clubs.

"'Tis a trap the beast has laid for us.  Will I tell
them to shove off?" he said.

"Go on," said Jordan quietly.

"'Tis like this," said Donegal.  "When he went in
with the light he opened the shutter, and what was he
after doing that for?  Then he would leave it so any
wan could see there was two lights where there was wan
before."

Jordan nodded.  "The rest—out with it."

"Well," said Charley dryly, "there was somebody
running a boat down way back along the beach.  They
did it kind of quietly, but we could hear them.  'Pears
to me it's 'bout time we were getting out of this."

"Somebody coming down the gully," shouted a man
below, and there was a faint patter of running feet in a
dusky hollow that wound amidst the rocks behind the
house.

Jordan swung round.  "Motter has sold us to the
Russians, boys," he said.  "Still, if there's time yet
we'll take him along."

They were back in the room the next moment, but
Motter had gone, and when another shout came from
outside Jordan swung round again with his face showing
very grim.

"He'd have had all my dollars in another minute,"
he said.  "Well, we'll be going."

Charley, however, stopped a moment, and taking
down the big lamp swung it round his head, while a
great blaze sprang up when he hurled it on the floor.

"I guess it will take them all they know to put that
out," he said.

Then they blundered down the stairway, and in
another moment were floundering across the beach.  It
was rough and strewn with boulders, while the boats
lay some little distance away, and as they tripped and
stumbled a hoarse shout rose out of the darkness.
Nobody stopped to answer, and a rifle flashed, while a
patter of feet became audible behind them.

"They're tolerably close," said Jordan.  "We've got
to run, boys."

There was for some reason no more firing, but the
men behind were evidently used to the boulders and
gaining on them.  Once Appleby fell heavily, but he
lost no time in picking himself up again, and went on
with a horrible pain in his side, gasping as he watched
the white wash of the surf that seemed to grow nearer
so slowly.  Just before they reached it Niven went
down, and groaned when Appleby seized his shoulder
and jerked him to his feet.

"Don't give in, Chriss.  You must hold out," he
said, and floundered on again, dragging his comrade
after him.

"I'm hurt.  Only one foot to run with," gasped Niven.

Stumbling and blundering they reached the boats,
but the men behind were almost upon them when
Appleby, taking his hand from Niven's arm, grasped
the nearest.  Then there was a breathless shout, and
they were floundering down the beach waist-deep in
froth as a sea rolled in, while dusky objects came
clattering over the shingle a few paces behind them.
Two men sprang in over the gunwale, and Jordan's
voice rose up.

"Don't fool it by too much hurry, boys.  Wade right
in until she's clear afloat."

The next sea took them up to the shoulders, and
Appleby, gasping with the icy cold, and half-blinded by
the spray, saw that Niven was no longer with them.

"Chriss.  Hallo!  Where are you?" he shouted
breathlessly.

He fancied a half-stifled cry answered him, and
loosed his grasp on the boat.  He did not remember
whether he shouted again, or not, for he was only
sensible that his comrade had been left behind, but
next moment another shout rang out, and he felt his
heart throb, as struggling shorewards he recognized the
voice.

"Boys, will ye be leaving Mainsail Haul?" it said.

There was a growl in answer, and the boat came
surging in almost on top of Appleby.  Then men were
apparently splashing through the water all about him,
and one ran several yards in front of them howling
gleefully and swinging a great club.  After that
Appleby was not quite sure what happened, but there
were shouts and blows and a pistol shot, and they were
floundering back again, Donegal dragging Niven through
the water after him, and most of the men swinging
their clubs.  The boat lay half-swamped on her side
when they reached her, and Appleby wondered afterwards
how they got her through the surf, but he knew
Niven lay on the floorings, and straining every muscle
and sinew he tugged at his oar.  Donegal was apparently
yelling gleefully still.  Then, as they drew out
from the shore there was another red flash, and Jordan's
voice rose up from the next boat.

"If he can't be quiet, boys, you'd better heave him
over.  I've no use for letting them know just where to
shoot."

"That's sense," said Charley.  "Reach out and
put some weight on, Appleby.  Your partner's all
right."

Appleby did as he was bidden, though the spray
that whirled about them rendered the boat almost
invisible as she lurched over the swell, while his
contentment increased when Niven assured him that it
was only his foot, that was hurting him.  Presently the
*Champlain* ran past the boat with canvas banging,
and while they hove her in Stickine drew the skipper
towards the rail.

"There's a boat on our bow.  Came off 'bout a mile
back down the beach," he said.  "They pull like
white men, so far as I make out."

"Heading straight to windward, too!" said Jordan,
quietly.  "Well, we'll have the main topsail on her."

The topsail was aloft in another minute, and the
*Champlain's* rail almost awash as she thrashed out to
sea, but it was only in short tacks she could work out
of the bay, and their pursuers seemed to know it, for
they had rowed to windward and could accordingly
chose their time for approaching her.

"'Pears to me they mean to come on board," said
Jordan dryly.  "Well, you'll pass up the clubs and lay
them handy on the house, but there'll be trouble for
any one who takes one up before he's told to.  Is it you,
Montreal, at the wheel?"

There was a growl in answer, and Jordan seemed to smile.

"Then," he said, "you'll keep her going and not too
high, until I tell you."

They swept on hurling the spray aloft, for though
the bay was slightly sheltered the swell worked in, and
it was blowing tolerably hard, while, so far as Appleby
could see, the boat meant to intercept them when they
went about close off a smoking reef.  He could just
make her out every now and then as she rose with a sea.

"That," said Jordan, "'pears to me uncommonly like
a gun-boat's cutter, and by the way they're pulling
they've a good many men in her."

They drove on, the boat growing nearer and larger,
until she came reeling towards them with oars thrashing
up the froth, and Jordan sprang up on the rail.
Appleby could see that if they went round now, the
boat pulling straight to windward would still close
with them when they came about to clear another reef
not far away, but Jordan, it seemed, had no intention
of coming round.

"It's not my fault I can't run away," he said quietly.
"Keep her going, Montreal."

The reef was close to leeward now, the boat nearer
still to weather, and already somebody was shouting
on board her.  She was pulling straight towards the
schooner's bows, and would be alongside in another few
moments.  Appleby felt his heart throbbing painfully.
Then the skipper raised his hand.

"Down helm—a spoke or two," he said.

There was another shout from the boat, for it seemed
that the schooner had yielded, but if that was its
meaning it was premature, for while her headsails
rattled she still drove ahead, and Montreal's harsh
laugh jarred through the crash and sound of smashing
oars below.

"Up again.  Fill on her!" roared Jordan, and
Appleby, running aft with the rest, saw the boat drive
away helpless astern.  Nobody was apparently pulling,
and he surmised that the rending oars had hurled the
men who held them one upon the other.

Then the *Champlain* came round, and a rifle flashed
harmlessly as she once more swept past the disabled
craft.  Ten minutes later there was no sign of the
boat, and they were thrashing out to sea alone.

"I don't quite know what they were, or that I want
to, but if they'd been sealers they'd have had us sure,"
said Jordan, with a little laugh.  "Well, we'll fix up
how we're going to square this thing off with Motter
to-morrow."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SEALERS' RECKONING`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE SEALERS' RECKONING

.. vspace:: 2

The wind fell light next morning, and the haze
closed in, but it became evident there were reefs not far
away when the *Champlain* fell in with a herd of
holluschackie.  The men were in an unpleasant temper,
and worked in eager haste when Jordan bade them get
the boats over, for to have gone back and swept every
seal off the island would have been a relief to them
then.  Jordan, however, seldom let his feelings
overcome his prudence, and he smiled dryly as he watched
the men.

"I don't quite know where the beach is, but there
are the seals," he said.  "If we run the flag up you'll
pull back just as quick as you can."

The boats had started in another minute, and with
rifles flashing every now and then they swung over the
long swell, until the men's arms and backs were aching.

Darkness was creeping in when they came back one
by one, and then by the flicker of blinking lanterns the
work went on.  The deck grew foul with grease and
blood, the knives slipped in the tired hands that held
them, and the lads would stop gasping a moment or two
each time a stripped carcase went over the side, and
wonder whether anything would ever free them from
the horrible smell.  At last it was over, and while the
*Champlain* crept on her way again they sat greasy and
slimy in the hold.  They were very tired, but there was
content in the sealers' bronzed faces, save for that of
Montreal, who sat gloomily silent away from the rest.

"You've not been talking much to-day.  Feeling
sick?" said somebody.

Montreal's brown fingers slowly clenched themselves.
"Not in the way you mean.  You know what I came
up here for, boys, and I've had 'bout enough of this," he
said.  "How'm I going to find out anything when
Jordan yanks me out of every boat that goes ashore?"

Donegal, whose forehead was wrapped in a crusted
bandage, shook his head.

"And Ned Jordan knows as well.  Can ye not be
trusting him?" he said.

Montreal appeared to find some difficulty in checking
a groan.  "I've waited a long while, boys, and I'm kind
of tired," he said.

There was silence for a minute, for the men knew it
was a brother their comrade had come to find, and
Niven, who lay upon the floorings with one foot tied
up, remembering what he had heard in Motter's house,
was about to speak when Appleby kicked him on the leg.

"Still," said somebody, "there's nothing you can do."

Montreal glanced round the shadowy hold as though
to make sure that Stickine was not there.  "Well," he
said slowly, "I guess the *Champlain* will be short of a
boat and a man short one morning—and there'll be
trouble for some folks yonder if it's dead that man's
brother is.  It's the not knowing—the knowing nothing,
that's killing me."

"One man couldn't do much alone," said Charley dryly.

Montreal laughed mirthlessly, and there was a curious
glint in his eyes.  "I guess he could," he said.  "That
is, if he had a rifle, and didn't worry 'bout anything so
long as he used up the magazine before they got him down."

Donegal's face lit up under the crusted bandage, and
his voice had a little gleeful ring.  "And two av them
would do just twice as much—and it's two, or more,
there'll be, but we'll give Ned Jordan a fair show first,"
said he.

A little growl of grim approval rose from the men,
but none of them said anything further, and they did
not seem quite at ease when Jordan and Stickine
came down the ladder.  The skipper sat down, and
looked at them gravely, but if he noticed anything
unusual he did not mention it.

"We've got to have a little talk, boys," he said.  "You
know the kind of trick Motter would have worked off
on me.  He'd have taken my dollars and then before I
got the furs turned the Russians loose on us.  He and
one of their officers fixed up the thing, and before I got
out of their grip I'd have left skins and schooner behind
me.  Now, I don't like being kicked that way by anybody."

The skipper may have been mistaken, but the men
believed him.

"We'll go back and pull his place down," said somebody.

Jordan smiled and shook his head.  "And find a
squad of bluejackets waiting for you?  That's just what
Motter would figure on, and there's a gunboat crawling
round," he said.

"Are we going to sit down and do nothing?" asked
Montreal.

"No," said Jordan with a little twinkle in his eyes.
"Now, it's kind of difficult for a gunboat to be in two
places at once, and while she's hanging round Motter's
watching for us there's nothing to stop us walking right
into the sealing post."

He stopped a moment, and looked straight at Montreal.
"Well, now, that isn't in the deal you made to
go sealing with me, but I heard they had a white man
there."

There was a murmur of astonishment, and Montreal
stood up quivering a little.  "And," he said hoarsely,
"you're going for him?"

Jordan nodded.  "Oh, yes," he said.  "If the boys are
willing."

The answer was not effusive, but Jordan, who saw the
little darker flush that crept into the bronzed faces and
the slow clenching of a brown hand here and there,
appeared contented.  He knew that he had but to lead
and the men would follow.

"Well," he said grimly, "if we've any kind of
fortune we'll be there to-morrow."

He nodded to them, and when he went up the ladder
Donegal gleefully thumped Montreal on the shoulder.

"It's you and me that's spoiling—just spoiling for
to-morrow," he said, and made a run at Appleby who was
grinning at him.  "And you knew it and never told.
Sure I saw ye kicking Mainsail Haul.  It's me that
would be caressing ye wid a rope end, me darling."

Appleby swung himself up the ladder.  "Sure, 'tis no
sensible man would go looking for a row when he could
run away," he said.

Donegal shook his fist at him.  "Ye will stop up
there where it's nice and fresh," he said.  "No man
can be sensible always.  'Twould not be good for him."

Next day they raised a gray blur above the horizon,
and Jordan, when he saw it, headed out to sea again.
Then he laid the *Champlain* to, and it was not until
dusk was creeping across the waters that they edged in
towards the land again.  The time passed very slowly,
and the men were for the most part unusually silent,
though there was a curious anticipation in their faces,
and Montreal sat very grim and quiet rubbing out a
rifle.  It occurred to the lads who watched him now and
then that it would not be nice to be the Russians who
had ill-used his brother if he came across them.

There was no moon, and the sky was dimmed by
driving haze when they pulled ashore, three boatloads
of them with rifles, clubs and knives, and no man spoke
when they sprang out waist-deep in the long white
wash that went seething up the beach.  Two stayed
behind to watch the boats, and with the stones rattling
beneath them the rest went on.  Appleby and Niven,
who limped painfully, followed too, because Jordan had
apparently been too much occupied to notice them.  It
seemed to the lads that anybody who might be listening
must hear the noise they made a mile away, but the sea
frothed and roared upon the beaches close behind, and
when they wound beneath the face of a crag another
sound grew louder.  It was the voice of the big bull
seals, and while they blundered over the slippery ledges
the lads could dimly see that every shelf of rock was
packed with curious shadowy objects.  Some of them
were shambling forward, some lying still with heads
held up, but all were roaring, piping, bleating at once,
and the din they made was indescribable.

Suddenly two of them flopped over a ledge and came
shambling towards the men, one of whom stepped aside,
while Appleby, starting a little at the sight of the
half-seen shapeless thing heading for him, swung up his club.
It looked very big as it came on through the
semi-darkness.  Somebody, however, laughed and grabbed
his arm.

"He's not going to hurt you, sonny, if you get out of
his way," a voice said.  "Just a bull seal they've
shoved out of the rookery.  He'll go back and pull one
of the rest of them out presently."

The seal flopped away into the shadow or into the
sea, and the men finding better footing went on more
rapidly, until when Jordan signed to them they stopped
breathless on the crest of a rise.  Beneath them in the
dimness the sea frothed whitely, and a swarm of
shadowy objects were apparently shuffling down the
slope between.

"Holluschackie!" said Jordan dryly.  "It's quite
likely we'll take a few of them along.  Get the lie of
the place into you, boys.  You might want to find the
boats handy when you come back again."

The lads looked round with the others, but there
was very little to see.  A low black rise ran up into
the haze in front of them, and here and there they
caught the glimmer of a patch of snow.  All round the
darkness seemed closing in, and out of it came the
boom of the sea on the beaches and a doleful wail of
wind, for the seals were almost quiet again.  Appleby
could feel his heart beating and his temples throbbing
as he wondered what that dimness hid.

"It reminds me of the night we stole Jimmy's duck,"
said Niven, but his voice was not quite the same as
usual.  "It will be something to look back upon."

"Oh, yes," said Appleby dryly.  "So long as we do it
on board the schooner.  It wouldn't be quite so nice to
remember it in Siberia."

"If I couldn't talk of anything more cheerful I'd
shut my mouth tight!" said Niven, who felt the chilly
darkness growing curiously unpleasant.

He fancied he could have made a dash at an armed
loghouse as well as the rest, but this slow crawling in
on an unknown enemy was a very different and much
more disconcerting affair.

Just then Jordan raised his hand, and they went on
again, blundering over a boulder here and there, and
now and then splashing through a little slushy snow,
but still there was only sliding haze about them and in
front grey obscurity, until the lads commenced to
wonder whether they would go tramping on the whole
night through.  At last, however, they stopped again
on the summit of another rise, and Appleby grasped
Niven's arm when he made out the dim blink of a
light in the fog.  The men murmured together, and
Jordan seemed to be speaking, but Appleby did not
hear what he said.  He could only watch the light,
while Niven afterwards admitted that he could recollect
very little but a feverish desire to get what they had to
do over.

Once more the men wont on, a little quicker now,
while the soft patter of their feet and the rattle of a
rifle as one of them stumbled seemed horribly distinct
in the stillness.  Nobody, however, appeared to hear
them, and at last when the dim outline of a house rose
blackly against the night the pace grew faster, until it
became a run, and the lads saw the line of shadowy
figures split up left and right.  Then they heard
Jordan's voice.

"In with you.  You know what you have to do!"

Appleby's fears seemed to fall from him, and it was
with a wild desire to shout that he followed the rest at
a breathless run, while Niven floundered along a few
paces behind him.  The house rose higher and blacker,
and still nobody seemed to hear them until a dog
commenced growling as they swept round to the rear of
it, and stood apart on either side when Montreal with
his rifle-butt beat upon the door.

There was a cry of surprise inside, a sound of voices,
and footsteps that stopped again, while a deep growl
made answer when Montreal once more beat upon the
door.  Then he stepped back and swung up his rifle.

"No time for fooling, boys," he said.  "In she goes."

Appleby saw the weapon whirl high, and another
shadowy man standing with the muzzle of his rifle
pointed at the door.  Then it came down crashing,
there was a rush of feet, and he went in with the rest
over the shattered door.

A glare of light shone into his eyes, there was a savage
growl and a flash as something sprang straight at the
foremost of them.  A smear of acrid smoke filled the
passage, but Appleby fancied he saw a big sealing-club
whirl up, and the dog went down, for next moment he
stumbled over something that felt soft beneath him.
Then with somebody running before them they burst
into a room, and the lads long remembered the picture
that met them.

Two men who had apparently fled along the passage
stood sullenly at the further end of it, and two more
who had evidently dragged a table into a corner behind
it.  They were less than half-dressed, but one who was
tall with blue eyes and straw-coloured hair had on a
partly buttoned naval uniform.  A pistol glinted in his
hand, and an inch or two of blue-grey steel shone at his
belt.  The other man's face was sallow, but he was
unarmed, and there was a curious glint in his little
dark eyes as he watched the sealers.

For a moment they stood looking at each other, and
then another door on the opposite side of the room was
driven open and Jordan, rifle in hand, came in.  Behind
him came Stickine and Donegal.  More sealers in
shaggy furs and greasy canvas trooped in, but still the
blue-eyed officer stood apparently unconcerned.  Then
Jordan dropped his rifle-butt and held up his hand.

"When I want a man to do anything I'll tell him,"
he said, and turned gravely to the officer.  "You can
put that thing down.  Nobody's going to hurt you.
Can you talk any English?"

The officer who, Appleby surmised, was from the
Baltic coast, made a sign of comprehension.  "A
little—but more easy the French," he said.

"Then," said Jordan dryly, "we'll get ahead.  Fetch
Brulée in, Stickine."

While Stickine went out the officer laid down his
pistol, and with a little deprecatory gesture straightened
his uniform and drew tight his belt.  Then, to Appleby's
astonishment, he took out a little silver box and shook
a few cigarettes out from it on to the table.  He did
not seem in any way disturbed, though the faces of the
big bronzed sealers who carried clubs and rifles were
very grim as they watched him.  This was almost a
shock to Appleby, who had hitherto half-instinctively
believed that quiet fearlessness and resolute composure
in times of stress and peril were only to be expected
from Englishmen.  Yet here was a Russian helpless in
the hands of men whom he knew had a bitter grievance
against him and his comrades, and if he felt the slightest
fear of them it was at least imperceptible.  Appleby
was, however, to discover later on that while some lands
are considerably more pleasant to live in than others the
fact that he was born in England or Russia, or
elsewhere, after all makes no great difference in the
qualities that become any man.

Then he saw that Stickine had returned, and the
officer was speaking.  "What you make here, Captain?"
he said, getting out the words with evident difficulty.

"He's too slow," said Jordan.  "Ask him if he has
more men anywhere around, Brulée."

"Two of them at the huts, and 'bout a dozen natives,"
was the answer.

Jordan nodded, and Montreal stepped forward, his face
grey and set, and his fingers trembling on his rifle.
"I guess it's 'bout time I did some talking too," he said
"Ask if he has seen my brother."

"Get right back until you're wanted.  It's me that's
running this show," said Jordan.  "Ask him if they've
got an Englishman there, Brulée."

The officer made a little gesture of assent.  "They
have one who works," he said.

"Send for him right now," said Jordan sternly.
"Four of my men will go along in case there's any
blundering."

The dark-skinned man slipped out from behind the
table, and when he went out with four of the sealers
behind him the blue-eyed officer held out the little box.

"You will do me the pleasure, Captain," he said in
French.

Jordan smiled dryly.  "No, thanks," he said.  "I've
no great use for these things, and I don't know that
I'm open to take anything of that kind from you just now."

The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed
a little.  "With permission," he said, and lighted
a cigarette.  "Now you can tell me what you come for,
Captain."

"You can tell him 'bout Motter, Brulée.  Two of
you will keep a look-out outside there," said Jordan, and
crossing over sat down on the table.

Then there followed a very anxious interval, and
Appleby fancied by the way the men glanced towards
the door that they were as expectant as he was himself.
Now and then one of them moved restlessly, and the
lads could hear the crackle of the stove and the moan
of the wind about the building.  They caught very
little of Brulée's narrative, but long afterwards the scene
returned to them, and they could see Jordan sitting
very still, with an impassive bronzed face beneath his
fur cap, on the table, and the blue-eyed officer languidly
watching him while the smoke of the cigarette drifted
between them.  It also seemed to both the lads that
if either of the men let his fear or anger master him
a much more deadly vapour would whirl in thicker
wreaths about the lonely building.  Brulée seemed
disposed to make the most of his opportunity, but he
stopped at last, and the officer nodded to Jordan
comprehendingly.

"*Lache*.  *Infame*!  It was not my affair," he said in
French.

After that there was silence, until a tramp of feet
grew nearer, and a murmur rose from the anxious men
when a voice came out of the darkness hoarse and
exultant, "We've got him."

Then, with Montreal and another man in front of
them, the sealers came in, and there was once more
a murmur when the first two stopped close by Jordan,
who held out his hand.

"And you're Tom Allardyce?" he said.

The man's hand seemed to shake as he grasped the
skipper's, and his eyes grew a trifle hazy when the rest
grinned at him encouragingly and Montreal patted his
shoulder.

"Yes," he said.  "I was cast away up here 'most two
years ago."

"Sit down," said Jordan quietly, with a glance at the
Russian officer.  "Tell us all about it.  Don't worry,
and go slow.  I've a reason for wanting to know."

The man sat down, and there was another little
murmur when the sealers saw his lined and haggard
face, for there was on it the stamp of hunger and
suffering.  His hands were clawlike, and there was
a great scar upon his forehead.

"It's good to see you, boys," he said, and his voice
died away hoarsely.  Then he turned to Jordan.
"You're going to take me back with you?"

Jordan laughed a little.  "Oh, yes," he said.  "Look
at the boys.  I guess they're not going to let me leave
you, if I wanted to."

The lurking fear died out of Allardyce's eyes.  "Well,"
he said, "I was cast away—me and an Indian and
Stetson, sealing from the old St. Michael.  'Twas back
there on the eastern reefs we came ashore, and when
I got him out Stetson's head was crushed in.  That
left me and the Indian, and the Russians sent us west
when the gun-boat came.  I don't know how long they
kept us yonder, but one night when they sent us down
the coast on a schooner me and the Indian got away
from her.  The boat was a good one, and, for it was
blowing fresh, we ran back north before the wind
I don't know where, and lived with the natives ashore
until the Indian got drowned in an ice crack while we
starved through that winter.  There's lots of things
I don't seem to remember, but I got blown off in a skin
boat at last, and when I'd lived most of a week on
nothing a schooner fetched me here."

It was a very disjointed story, but the sealers could
fill in the cold and hunger of those terrible wanderings
which Allardyce, whose face spoke more plainly for him,
left out.  Brulée rendered it into French, and Jordan
turned to the officer.

"Your people take away a white man's liberty and
leave him to rot without a hearing?" he said.

The Russian made a little deprecatory gesture.  "The
Department is slow—or perhaps it is occupied, and he
ran away too soon.  One waits the instructions, and if
the papers do not come—what would you?  Sometimes
a man is forgotten."

"Did you ever see this man before, Allardyce?"
asked Jordan.

"No," said the sealer.  "Not until he came here
with the gun-boat a week ago."

Jordan nodded, and pointed to the dark-skinned man.
"Have the folks here ill-treated you?"

"No," said Allardyce.  "I had to work for them, and
I was glad I had, but they never did no harm to me."

Jordan turned once more to the Russians.  "I guess,"
he said grimly, "that was quite fortunate for all of you.
Now, how long have you been working for them, Allardyce?"

"Since soon after the ice broke up.  When that was
I don't quite know."

"Well," said Jordan dryly, "we'll fix up the thing.
I've had to come here with my schooner for this man,
and I'll charge my time to you at forty dollars the day
besides what Motter stole from me.  We'll figure he
has been working here two months, anyway, and he'd
have got 'bout two dollars and a half for every day of it
in our country.  Then there's the months you kept him
on the other coast without giving him a show to make
out his innocence, and his damaged feelings.  That
will run to five hundred dollars, anyway, and it's very
moderate.  You can't do things of that kind to a
Canadian without it costing something.  Still, the
trading folks aren't going to lose anything, because
the Government's bound to pay them.  Now, have you
got any roubles with you?"

"Very few," said the dark-skinned man in French.
"We pay the natives in provisions."

Jordan nodded.  "Then I'll work it out in seals," he
said.  "Now I'm wanting that pistol and your sword
from you."

The blue-eyed officer laid his hand upon the blade.
"You can have my word—a six hour's truce—but this
only in one way."

"Well," said Jordan with a little laugh, "I guess
I can trust you, because we've got your men's rifles, and
I'll leave enough of the boys to take care of you.
Montreal, you'll stop with four of them, and the rest
will come along with me.  It's going to take a good
many holluschackie to square this deal."

The Russian nodded, and lighted another cigarette,
and the lads went out with the rest into the misty
night.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE NEXT MEETING`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE NEXT MEETING

.. vspace:: 2

The men stopped at last at the head of the slope to
the sea, and the lads discovered that the task before
them was a good deal less simple than they had fancied.
There were the seals—they could see them dimly lying
in groups on the shingle or shambling about—but it
became evident that their destruction could not be
undertaken in a haphazard fashion, for Jordan sent
two of the men to work round between them and
the sea.

"We'll give them 'bout ten minutes, boys, and then
start in.  I'm entitled to so many skins, but I've no
use for spoiling the whole herd," he said.

Here and there a man beat his hands while they
waited, for the night was cold, others lighted their
pipes, and Niven, who was glad to rest his wrenched
foot, sat down.

"Why don't we go straight in and club them?" he
asked Stickine.

"It wouldn't be the square thing," said the Canadian.
"A seal knows a good deal, and if we killed 'bout
half of them among the rest, those that got away would
tell the others, and it would be a long while before they
came back to this beach again."

"But seals only do things instinctively," said Niven.

Donegal, who was standing close by, laughed as he
asked, "And what is instinct, anyway?"

Niven appeared to have some difficulty in finding
an answer, and Appleby grinned at him.  "Better tell
him you don't know," he said.

Donegal nodded.  "Nor any one else, but the holluschackie
have brains in their heads, as ye will see before
this conthract's through.  And what were they
given brains for if 'twas not to make use av them?
'Tis the vanity of ignorance would have ye believe
there's no sense in the wondherful things in the sea.
Sure, Donovitch and his Indians could tell ye better."

This was a new point of view to Appleby, but being
aware that his sealer comrades had seen more of the
denizens of the waters than all the city men who
lectured and wrote about them put together he made
no answer.

"Then when are we going to club them?" asked Niven.

"When we've drawn out those we want and driven
them nice and slow to a handy place," said Stickine.

Before they had time for further questions Jordan
spoke to Stickine, and spreading out they floundered
down the slope and then closed in on the seals.  The
latter made no very great effort to avoid them, and
when they had driven them together Jordan separated
those he wanted from the rest.

"We'll take these along," he said.

Then while most of the herd went flopping down the
slope in a hurry to the sea the men urged the rest
slowly towards the higher ground, pushing one here
and there with their feet, or prodding them with their
rifles.  It was dark, but the lads could see the seals
more or less plainly, though it would have puzzled
either of them to describe their progression.  They
did not walk, they did not crawl, but every move set
their blubber-coated bodies quivering, and nothing more
appropriate than flopping occurred to Niven.  They also
went faster than he fancied they could have done,
though the men seemed desirous not to hurry them,
and when he asked, Stickine told him the reason.

"If you make them hot before you club them, they'll
spoil their pelts," he said.  "You could strip the fur
right off a seal that had been run too hard with your
fingers."

They went on, and when now and then one of the
seals made a futile endeavour to get away, or stopped,
and, raising itself in a curious fashion, gazed at its
persecutors, the lads commenced to be sorry for them.
They also felt a squeamishness that was almost too
much for them when at last, after they and the seals
had rested a little, the men set about the slaughter.
After the first few minutes both lads slipped away, for the
sight of the limp, quivering bodies and whirling clubs
almost sickened them, but they dare not go too far,
and the thud of the crushing blows followed them.
Niven had seen Donovitch stand over his victims and
beat their heads in, and the recollection of it remained
with him.

"Of course you can't have seal-skins without killing
seals, but they seemed so harmless—and I wish I
hadn't come," he said.

His regret was even stronger when Jordan called
him, and very much against his wishes he helped to
roll round the horribly smelling, greasy bodies while
the others flayed them.  At every clutch his fingers
sank in the warm, shaking blubber, and when at last
the work was over his face was white and he shivered
from revulsion.  It was daylight now, and the men
stood about him dabbled here and there with blood,
and foul with grease all over, while he fancied that
one could have smelt them from the schooner.

"It's beastly," he said to Appleby.  "I feel as if
I'd eaten no end of things that didn't agree with me."

Then Jordan sent two men back for the Russian
officer, and nodded to him when he came.

"I want you to see what we've got.  We're 'bout
square now," he said.

The officer glanced down at the slaughtered
holluschackie with a little gesture of disgust.  Then he
laughed as he said in French, "It is not my affair.
I see you again one day, Captain, and it is perhaps
different then."

Brulée made this plain, and Jordan smiled.  "If
you do it's quite likely I can show as good a fist as
you.  Anyway, we're going off now, and I'll bid you
good-morning.  You'll find your men's rifles down there
on the beach when you want them."

In another half-hour they were pulling off to the
schooner, and when they sat at breakfast in the hold
Stickine grinned at the lads.

"Feeling any better now?" he said.  "You don't
like clubbing holluschackie?"

"No," said Appleby with a little shiver of disgust.
"I've been wondering whether it's not going to make
trouble for Jordan, too, because somebody will, in all
probability, send on the demand to Canada if those
folks ask their Government to pay the damage."

Stickine smiled dryly.  "It's not quite likely that
they will," he said.  "The fellows who're responsible
do some kind of curious things, and neither they nor
the sealers have much use for talking.  'Pears to me
that more than one Government is getting tired of us,
and the Russian department bosses want a man who
knows how to keep out of trouble.  If he gets worrying
them they're quite likely to find another use for him.
Of course, there'll be some writing, but Ned Jordan
only took what he was entitled to when he might have
swept the island, and it isn't going to suit anybody to
drag Tom Allardyce in."

Appleby could not decide then or afterwards whether
Stickine was right, but it seemed to him that there
was a good deal of reason in his opinion.  In any case
he had little leisure to consider the affair just then, for
Jordan called them up on deck to hoist the topsails,
and they spent most of that day watching for a wind.
It was as usual dim and hazy, and the lads fancied that
Jordan was a trifle anxious, for he swept the sea with
his glasses as they rolled slowly east.  Appleby was also
within hearing when he drew Stickine away from the rest.

"We're in a kind of fix," he said.  "There's nothing
the Russians wouldn't do to square up the deal with us,
and that fellow we left behind will be pulling all he's
worth for Motter's to turn the gun-boat loose.  If I'd
figured we were going to have this weather I'd have set
his boat adrift.  Send an Indian to the cross-trees to
keep a look-out for her."

The wind came, almost too much of it, in the afternoon,
and at dusk the *Champlain* was lying as close as
she could to it with her lighter canvas stowed, and a
nest of reefs to leeward.  The lads could see the white
foam flying and the whirling clouds of spray, and were
wondering whether the schooner could weather them
on that tack when the Indian aloft stretched out his
hand, and somebody shouted—

"Boat close in with the surf."

Appleby went up the masthoops, and could just
make out something that swung into sight now and
then against the whiteness of the surf behind it.  It
was, he surmised, a boat, and he saw that Jordan was
watching her under the main-boom.

"The Russian!" he said.  "It don't seem sense to
let her get that close in with the rocks to lee."

"Somebody waving!" said Stickine, who had taken
up the glasses.  "They're used up, and can't pull her
out against the sea."

There was silence for at least another minute, while
the men stared at the whirling spray and the dusky
object that was hove up every now and then, and
Niven shivered a little, for he could guess what would
happen to worn-out men, hurled upon those fangs of
rock by the frothing sea.  The reefs would mangle
them out of human semblance, in all probability.  Then
Jordan glanced to weather at the big froth-tipped
slopes of water that rolled up towards them, and shook
his head solemnly.

"We can't let them drown," he said.  "Get your
maintopsail up, but let it lie below the gaff, and shake
loose the outer jib.  We'll want them when we come to
beat her out again."

"Square away?" asked Montreal at the helm.

Jordan nodded.  "Out main-boom, boys.  Slack up
everything."

The long boom swung outboard, the schooner swung
round, and as she swept in for the reefs with the wind
on her quarter now the lads realized as well as the
others did, the risks the skipper was quietly taking.
It was easy to run for the boat, but to beat out again
would be a very different affair, and Appleby fancied
that only a very handy vessel would do it once she felt
the grip of the sea that grew higher as it swept forward
through shallowing water to crumble on the reefs.  It
was also unpleasantly evident as he watched the white
spouting that swimming would not be much use to him
if she did not succeed.  Still, he had confidence in the
lean, grim-faced man who stood quietly by the house.
The men in the boat would have taken the schooner
from him and ruined him if they could, but Appleby
knew that so long as the *Champlain's* spars and canvas
would hold out, Jordan would not let them drown.

In another few minutes it was also apparent that the
Russians were in sorest need of help, for each time she
swung up the boat seemed closer to the surf.  The men
were pulling desperately while the spray that blew in
from the streaming bows whirled about them, but
every one could see they were making no headway, and
the reefs were close astern.  At last Jordan signed to
Stickine.

"You've got to be handy, boys," he said quietly.

Appleby was at the rail, and saw for a moment the
straining bodies swing with the thrashing oars and the
white upturned faces, as the schooner rushed by the
boat.  A great wreath of foam frothed about her as she
swung over the top of a sea, but in another second she
had passed astern, and every man on board the
*Champlain* became busy when Jordan raised his hand.
Down went the helm, in came the long boom, there
was a great rattle of blocks and banging of canvas, and
as the schooner swept round a voice rang through the din.

"Get a holt of them.  Up gaff topsail and jib while
she's shaking!"

Appleby, as it happened, was at the topsail halliard,
and could see very little as they ran the sail up.  He,
however, knew the schooner had run to leeward of the
boat, and now when she lay to, he had a momentary
glimpse of the Russians.  They were flying towards her
with the boat hove up on the back of a sea, but the
*Champlain* rolled heavily and he lost sight of her.  In
another moment or two there was a thud and a shouting
beneath him to lee, and struggling with the topsail
tack, he could dimly see black figures leaning down
through the shrouds and apparently clutching at
something in the sea.  Then bedraggled objects came
scrambling over the rail, and Montreal was whirling
the wheel round while something drove away astern.

"They're here.  Haul staysail," said Jordan.

It had taken less than a minute, and now the *Champlain*,
heaving her bows out of a seatop, was going on
again nobody seemed to consider that they had done
anything unusual, though it was evident that it might
still cost them very dearly.  The reefs were waiting
close astern, there was also an ominous spouting in
front of them, and black seas that had grown steeper
came seething out of the dimness to weather.  The
schooner was hove down by her canvas until the lads
could scarcely stand upon her deck, but she must carry
the last inch of it if she was to beat off shore.

On she went, deluging her jibs at every plunge and
drenching her foresail half-way up, until the reef was
close ahead, and Jordan signed with his hand.  Then
with canvas banging she swept round head to wind,
and, while the men, who needed no telling, grasped the
jib-sheets, hung there a few breathless moments, for
everybody on board her knew that if she would not
stay, or come round on the other tack, she would be on
the reef in another minute.  Appleby cast one brief
glance at the tumultuous spouting and chaos of
crumbling seas, and then turned his eyes away, for he had
seen rather more than was good for him.

"Let draw staysail.  Lee-sheets," said somebody, and
she was coming round with them.

Dripping men grabbed at the ropes, there was a
banging of canvas, and she was thrashing out on the
other tack when Jordan, turning to the blue-eyed officer,
held out his hand.

"It's kind of fortunate we came along just then.  I'll
fix you up by and by," he said.

There was still just enough light to see by, and
Appleby afterwards remembered the cloud of spray that
blew into the foresail, the white seething of the reefs,
and the two figures beneath the drenched canvas on
the *Champlain's* deck.  The Russian stood erect in his
wet uniform, Jordan swaying a little, uncouth and
ungainly in his spray-wet canvas and greasy furs, but
the two shook hands as men and equals, and Appleby
dimly realized that a great deal was implied by that
grasp.  One was, up there, an outlaw, the other an
officer of the Tsar, but the likeness between them was
greater than the difference of race, and Appleby
commenced to understand things he had heard and read
that had once been incomprehensible to him.  Men, it
seemed, were much the same wherever they came from,
and neither varying speech nor colour could make them
less than men, while the pride that set the nations at
each others' throats was an evil thing.  Then there
flashed into his memory lines he had once been made
to learn, and had straightway forgotten, "When the
battle flags are furled."

In the meanwhile he was wanted to get another pull
on the staysail-sheet, and when that was done all his
attention was occupied by the reefs and the schooner.
Hove down by her canvas she put her bows in every
now and then, and her deck ran water, while the masts
were groaning under the pressure, and the surf seemed
very little farther away.  Once or twice when a white
sea smote her it seemed to both the lads who clung
tight to what was handiest that she was going over,
and Appleby saw that Montreal glanced at Jordan as
though asking a question from the wheel.  The skipper,
however, shook his head.

"We've no time for luffing.  She has got to take
what comes," he said.

For several minutes it seemed scarcely possible that
the *Champlain* could resist the overwhelming heeling
stress of her canvas, and her deck was swept fore and
aft during them.  Then there was a lull in the wind,
and as she lifted her rail a little, Stickine glanced at
the boat astern of them.

"She's most swamped, and a big drag on us," he said.
"Shall I cut the painter?"

Again Jordan shook his head.  "Not unless we have
to.  We'll want her to-morrow."

For an hour they thrashed to windward before they
could clear the reefs, and when at last the horrible
white seething swept away behind them, and they
swung the topsail and mainsail peak down it was with
a great contentment that the lads, who were drenched
through, crawled away below.  Niven laughed excitedly
as he stripped off his dripping clothes.

"I'm glad we got them," he said.  "Still, I wouldn't
like to do this kind of thing often."

In the meanwhile the Russian officer had gone with
Jordan into the cabin, but the bluejackets were put
into the hold, and though nobody could understand
them they smiled and nodded to the sealers and took
all the tobacco that was offered them.  Next morning
the wind had once more fallen, and a little grey smear,
which was apparently an island, showed on the hazy
horizon.  The lads knew that Brulée had taken an
unusually good breakfast into the cabin, and Jordan and
the Russians came on deck together.  Montreal, at a
sign from the former, span round the wheel, and the
*Champlain* came up head to wind.  She lay there for ten
minutes while the Russians emptied and dried up their
boat, then water and a bag of provisions were lowered
into her, and Jordan smiled at the blue-eyed officer.

"There's not going to be much wind for three or four
hours, and you'll be ashore by then," he said.  "It's a
good pull, but you'll be that much longer sending the
gun-boat after me."

The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed
and clapped the skipper's shoulder.  Then he glanced
down at his uniform with a deprecatory gesture.

"It is my affair," he said in French.  "But, my
captain, what you do for us we others do not forget."

Then he went over the side, and the boat slid away
when he spoke to his men.  Jordan signed to Montreal
and the schooner went on again, but looking aft they
saw the blue-eyed officer for a moment standing
upright bareheaded, as the boat lurched over a swell.
They saw no more of him, but when they sat at dinner
Stickine came grinning into the hold.

"That fellow left a little silver box with some pencil
writing in it on the cabin table," he said.  "Brulée's
been down worrying out what it means, and it's quite a
long while since I saw Ned Jordan so proud of anything."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN VANCOUVER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   IN VANCOUVER

.. vspace:: 2

It was, as Donegal observed, in American waters, but
far enough outside them, that the *Champlain* fell in
with the last holluschackie herd, and that day bright
sunlight shone down on the gently heaving sea.  There
was not a boat that returned without its load, and
tired as they were the men seemed unusually cheerful
as they pulled back to the schooner when dusk was
creeping in.

"The seals were a long way out to-day," said
Appleby when they stopped pulling for a minute or two.
"Except when we first came up we haven't found them
so far from the beach before."

Donegal nodded as he shifted his brown hands along
his oar.  "'Tis getting into training they are.  They'll
be off south to where they come from by and by, the
same as us," he said.  "When is it we're taking the
road, Stickine?"

Stickine laughed softly as he glanced towards the
north across the long heave, and a little cold breeze
fanned the lads' faces as they followed his gaze.

"I don't know.  Jordan hasn't told me yet, but I
guess we'll be shoving her along for Vancouver the first
time the wind frees us," he said.

"It's fair now," said Niven with a curious eagerness.

"Is anybody telling you different?" Stickine said
dryly.  "It's time we were getting our supper, boys."

They went on again, and though they had rowed
since morning the stroke was faster than it had been
before, while all seemed expectant when they lay
waiting for the other boats to give them room close by
the rolling schooner.  At last they hove her in, and
there was a curious silence when Jordan moved a pace
or two forward and glanced at the trysail with a little
smile in his face.  The schooner was just creeping
through the water under it and her jibs.

"We'll have it down and the mainsail up.  It would
be a kind of pity to waste a slant like this," he said, and
stopped a moment while the men watched him expectantly
with the twinkle showing plainer in his eyes.
"I don't know any reason you shouldn't give her the
topsails too.  She'd be that much nearer Vancouver
to-morrow, boys."

In a moment the deck seemed covered with scrambling
men.  Blocks rattled, brawny backs were bent,
great folds of rustling canvas swayed aloft, and as it
swelled and banged Stickine's voice rose up, "Blow,
boys, blow!"

The peak of the big mainsail tilted faster, with a fresh
rattle the foresail stretched out too, and the lads' cheeks
were flushed and a light was in their eyes when with
voices hoarse from excitement they swelled the roaring
chorus—

   |  "Blow, boys, blow for Californio,
   |  For there's shining gold in heaps, I'm told,
   |  On the sunny Sacramento."
   |

It grew louder and faster, and they pulled with
feverish eagerness as they sang, while when at last one
or two gasped and stopped, their voices were replaced by
the wheezing of Brulée's accordion as playing with all
his might he capered on the hatch.

"Way oh, Sacramento!" the voices rose again, and
stopped when Montreal turned on Niven, who was
dragging a sail after him.

"We've no use for that thing.  Get the biggest yard
header.  We're starting home," he said.

Then they sent the topsail up, and the schooner was
sliding south with a merry splashing at the bows when
the last refrain floated out to leeward, and was lost in
the silence that crept up across the sea, from the frozen
North they had turned their backs upon.

   |  "Shining gold in heaps, I'm told,
   |  Down there in Sacramento."
   |

"Now I guess we'll fix these pelts up," said Jordan
quietly.

Without a thought of weariness they worked most of
the night, and the lads did not even notice the horrible
smell, while when at last the deck was swilled down
Niven went forward and leaned a moment over the rail
in the bows.  The jibs swung blackly through the night
ia front of him, the sea frothed white below, and the
breeze was fresh and cold now, but the lad's face was
flushed, for with every lurch that flung off the creaming
foam the *Champlain* was bearing him so much nearer
home.  Then he turned and, because a half-moon hung
low in the sky, noticed that there was another dark
figure close beside him.  It was Tom Allardyce, and
when the man moved his head his face still showed
worn and drawn, but his eyes seemed to shine, and it
was with a curious little sigh that bespoke a great
content he stretched out his hand and pointed to the
south.

"She's footing it bravely—and taking us home," he
said.  "Many a time I've wondered what it would feel
like—up there—when there wasn't much use worrying
over things of that kind."

"It must have been beastly," said Niven, feeling that
this very inadequately expressed his sympathy, and the
man's voice was a trifle strained as he answered him.

"It's behind me now, and the folks I left down there
in Vancouver are alive and waiting for me.  It's—kind
of wonderful, but Ned Jordan fixed it all.  Well, I'm
not the only one who'll bless the *Champlain* and him."

Niven felt curiously moved as he went down into the
hold, and long afterwards the memory of the lonely man
staring south across the dusky sea from the bows of the
*Champlain* returned to him.  Just then, however, his
blood was tingling with exultation.  He, too, was going
home, and there were folks in England waiting to
welcome him.

Next day it was blowing tolerably fresh, but though
the spray whirled about them and the seas frothed
white behind, not an inch of canvas was taken in, and it
was with a little smile in his haggard face that Tom
Allardyce held the wheel.  As it happened the favouring
wind swept south with them, and one morning a cry
brought every man on deck.

"There, that's *British Columbia*," said Stickine when
the lads stared over the rail.  "She'd most have licked
the C.P.R. steamer."

Looking east the lads could see a great white rampart
lifted high against the sky.  Drifting mists cut it off
from the world below, and here and there the fires of
sunrise burned up from behind it through the hollows
between the peaks.  No light, however, touched the
western snow as yet, and it shone ethereally majestic
in its blue-white purity.  Then a single golden ray
streamed heavenward like a flash of a celestial beacon,
and the lads watched it in wondering silence held still
almost in awe, and forgot the limitless sweep of prairie,
rock and forest that lay between those mountains'
eastern slope and Montreal, until Stickine'e voice
reminded them that they had still work to do.

"She'd go home faster, boys, with another foot of
main-sheet in," he said, cheerily.

It was a week later when one night they crept past
Port Parry before a faint wind.  Ahead the lights of
Victoria blinked at them, and every now and then a
smoky haze drove athwart the moon, while Appleby,
watching the dusky shore slide by, could almost have
fancied it was once more the night he and Niven had
been blown away from the *Aldebaran*.  She was not
there, however, and though the scene was the same he
and his comrade had changed.  They had seen things
few men have looked upon up in the misty seas, and the
spirit of the silent North had set its stamp on them,
giving them gravity in place of boyish exuberance, and
for the quality Niven had esteemed as dash the sterner,
colder courage of steadfastness.

Presently a sailing-boat came flitting towards them,
and a man in her waved his liaud.

"Hello, Jordan!  Going straight across?" he said.

"Oh, yes," said Jordan, who seemed to recognize the
voice.  "I'm getting along as fast as I can, though
there's not much wind.  Have you anything for us?"

"No," said the man.  "I just wanted to make sure
of you.  Holway of Vancouver asked me to wire him if
I saw you pass."

"Well," said Jordan, "what has it to do with him?"

"I don't know," said the other man, as the boat
dropped astern.  "Still, he seemed quite anxious to
hear when you were coming."

Jordan turned to Stickine.  "There's something I
don't understand.  I don't owe a dollar to Holway or
anybody."

Niven heard a little chuckle, and drew Appleby
away as he saw that Donegal was grinning at them.
"I fancy Ned Jordan will get a surprise to-morrow.
It's you and I Holway is anxious about," said he.

An hour later Jordan called them into the little
cabin.  "We'll be in to-morrow, and have got to have
a talk," he said.  "Now, I've a use onboard the
*Champlain* for lads like you, and would be open to take you
again next season, but"—and he looked at Niven—"you'll
be hearing from your folks in the old country?"

"Yes, sir," said Niven, checking a smile with difficulty,
as he glanced at Appleby.  "I fancy they will
want me home again."

"It would cost a good many dollars to take you
there, and this is a great country for a young man who
wants to make his living," said Jordan.  "You figure
they will send you them?"

"Yes, sir," said Niven gravely.  "I believe they will."

"Well," said Jordan, "in the meanwhile you can
come home with me.  That leaves your partner out,
and he turned to Appleby.  "Now, if you're open to
sail north again it's quite likely I might get you something
to do this winter on the wharf or in a mill, and I
guess Mrs. Jordan could find room in the house
for you."

Appleby felt the kindliness which had prompted this
offer to one whom the skipper evidently believed to be
a destitute lad, and his face flushed a little.

"It is very good of you, sir, but I fancy my contract
with the shipowners is binding still," he said.
"Anyway, I would like to write and ask Mr. Niven."

Jordan nodded.  "One has to do the square thing.
Take your time, my lad, and I'll put you in the way of
earning your keep in the meanwhile."

Then Niven stood up.  "I fancy he will go ashore
with me to-morrow, sir," he said.  "That is why, as I
may not have another opportunity, I want to thank
you for the kindness you have shown us both.  I
believe that others, as well as Appleby and I, will
always be grateful to you."

Jordan looked at him curiously, and then made a
little gesture of impatience.  "Now, that's a kind of
talking I've no use for, and you've earned everything
you got out of me.  You'll let me know what you're
going to do to-morrow, Appleby."

They went back to their duties, Niven chuckling
over something with evident delight, and it was next
day when they crept past the pines on Beaver Point,
into view of the clustering roofs of Vancouver.  As
they slid into the blue inlet a boat came pulling
towards them, and while the mainsail peak swung
down a gentleman climbed on board.  Jordan, who
recognized him as one of the wealthiest merchants of
that city, nodded in salute, and then stared at him in
astonishment.

"You'll know me, Captain Jordan, though I've not
had the pleasure of talking to you before," he said.
"I've come for the two lads you picked up, and with
your permission I'd like to take them now.  Niven's
father has asked me to look after them, and you'll find
them at my house any time you want them the next
few days."

.. _`"'I'VE COME FOR THE TWO LADS YOU PICKED UP.'"`:

.. figure:: images/img-307.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: "'I'VE COME FOR THE TWO LADS YOU PICKED UP.'"

   "'I'VE COME FOR THE TWO LADS YOU PICKED UP.'"

Jordan seemed to gasp, Stickine nodded, and Donegal
smiled curiously as he glanced at the skipper.

"I could let them off their work to-day, though they're
not through yet," said Jordan.  "Still, I was figuring on
their going along with me.  They might worry
Mrs. Holway, and my wife is used to lads from the
schooners."

The merchant, who laid his hand on Niven's shoulder,
laughed a little.  "I scarcely fancy they'll go to sea as
sealers again," he said.  "Boys, we'll go right along,
and you needn't worry about your things.  We'll get
you an outfit at a store in the city."

The lads shook hands with Jordan, who had apparently
not yet recovered from his astonishment, and
only looked at them gravely when Niven said, "Thank
you for letting us off, sir, and I'll just bid you
good-morning now, because we're coming down to see you
and the boys again."

Then they sprang into the boat, and Jordan shook
his head bewilderedly as they pulled away.  "Well,
I'm jim-banged—and that lad was talking straight all
the while," he said.  "Going along to stay with one of
the biggest men in Vancouver City!"

"Sure," said Donegal, "an' who would take better
care av the son av a ducal earl?"

In the meanwhile Niven and Appleby went home
with Mr. Holway to a very pretty wooden house on the
hill above the city, where they revelled in the luxury
of a bath with hot water and clean towels, and new
clothes, though it took them an hour or two to get
used to the tight collars that galled their necks.  The
merchant and his wife were also very kind to them,
and when they concluded the recountal of their
adventures late that night, Niven said, "Now, there's one
thing I would like, and that would be to do something
for all of them.  I feel quite sure my father would be
pleased with it."

Mr. Holway nodded.  "I believe he would.  In fact,
he wrote me to make the skipper any recompense that
appeared advisable.  The trouble, however, is that
things are different here from what they are in the old
country, and these men earn dollars enough themselves
to resent any attempt to pay them for a kindness."

"Still, it could be managed somehow," said Niven.

"Yes," said Mr. Holway, "I believe it could.  We
can find out if the skipper wants, for example, a good
sextant, and I've a notion that the men would be
pleased if you gave them a farewell dinner.  It would
show that you still looked upon yourself as one of
them."

"Yes," said Niven, "that would be the best thing."

When they next saw Jordan he was squaring
accounts with the men, and apparently too busy to do
more than nod to them.  They accordingly waited
among the rest, who were dressed much as they were in
neat, new clothes, and had only the bronze in their,
faces and the steadiness of their eyes, to show they
were from the sea, until at last he drew his pen
through two lines on the roll on the table in front
of him.

"Christopher Niven and Thomas Appleby," he said,
holding out two little piles of silver coins with a few
bills beneath them on a document.  "Look through
that, and tell me if it's all quite straight before you
sign it."

Niven flushed a trifle as he said, "I don't fancy we
should take the dollars, sir."

Jordan looked at him somewhat grimly.  "I've a
good deal to put through, and no use for talking," he
said.  "You made the deal the night I found you, and
they're yours, my lad."

The lads took the dollars, and found Mr. Holway
waiting for them when they went out.  He glanced at
the handfuls of coin, and laughed a little as he asked,
"Whose are all those dollars?"

"They're mine," said Niven, with a trace of pride in
his smile.  "I've earned them, and I fancy it would
astonish the folks at home.  My father used to tell me
now and then that I'd never have a shilling that wasn't
given me.  Now take me to one of your biggest shops,
because I'm going to buy my mother a brooch or a
bracelet with the first money I ever earned in my life."

The merchant nodded gravely.  "I fancy that would
only be the square thing," he said.  "Now, I was
keeping myself and my sister when I was younger than you."

The bracelet was bought, and during the day Niven
sent a note down to the schooner, while on the next
evening they and the sealers sat down to a very
elaborate dinner in a big room of the Canadian Pacific
Hotel.  They were all of them present, and nobody
appeared in any way uncomfortable or ill at ease in his
unusual clothes, for the life they led had made them
men, which is very much the same and occasionally a
greater thing than gentlemen.  In fact, Niven felt
curiously abashed when before they went into the
dining room he spread out before them the things he
had brought.  There was a silver-mounted sextant for
Jordan, a knife that most sealers coveted with an inlaid
handle for Stickine, a watch for Donegal, and boxes of
tobacco for every one of the rest.

"I'd like you to take these little things just to
remember us by," he said diffidently.  "I wouldn't have
asked you if they had been of any value, but it would
be good of you to keep them, because you have, though
of course it isn't for that, done a good deal for Appleby
and me."

Donegal's eyes twinkled.  "Tis twice, anyway, I've
run ye round the deck wid a rope's end, and I would
have licked ye often if 'twould have been of any use," he
said.  "Sure, we'll take them and remember ye.  'Tis not
every day the son av a ducal earl goes sealing with me."

Then they went in to dinner, and when Niven had
insisted on Jordan taking the head of the table most of
them made a somewhat astonishing meal, that is, to
those who did not know how the sealers ate and worked.
Afterwards there were a few speeches, but these were to
the point and short.

"Mr. Niven and boys," said Jordan.  "I've had a
good company with me this run, and the next time I go
to sea I don't want a better one.  I'm counting the lads
in, and we'll feel kind of lonely without them when they
go back to the old country.  That's 'bout all.  I'm not
much use at talking."

Then Donegal stood up and rubbed his coppery hair.
"Sure," he said, "'tis rough on me.  They're taking my
bhoys away—just when me and Stickine was licking
them into men.  Still, I'll be bearing it better if 'tis
credit they're doing us in the old country.  Boys, ye
will not go back on Donegal, and if sealing has taught
ye anything 'tis this that's at the bottom of the scheme:
'Thrue hearts is worth more than silver spoons,' an if
that's not quite what the pote said it's what he was
meaning."

It was getting late, and there was a pause in the
laughter, when Niven rose up.  "I wish I could talk as
I want to—but now when I've so much to tell you I
can't," he said, standing with flushed face and eyes
shining at the foot of the table.  "Still, before we go I
want you to join in a last good wish with me.  Boys,
here's long life to Ned Jordan."

There was a roar, and the voices rang through it one
by one.  "The man who beat the Russians and the
Americans too.  The skipper who never went back on
his crew.  Ned Jordan of the *Champlain* who brought
me home again!"

Niven long remembered them standing about the
long table with the sea-bronze in their faces and the
pride in their eyes that were turned on Jordan.  At last
he once more stood up awkwardly.

"Boys," he said simply, "I couldn't have done nothing
without the rest of you, and with the same men behind
me it wouldn't be very much to do it all again."

Then they went out, shaking hands with Niven and
Appleby, who stood in the great hall of the hotel, to bid
farewell to them.  Last of all came Jordan, and he
stopped a moment.

"I've been wrong a good many times in my life,
Mr. Niven, and that makes it the easier to tell you I was
more club-headed than usual 'bout you," he said.  "Still,
I figure there's nothing but good feeling between us
now, and you'll not forget Ned Jordan if you come back
again."

Then he went down the pathway, and the two lads
stood still, until from out of the darkness down by the
water-front a voice they knew raised a song and the last
of it came faintly up to them—

   |  "Shining gold in heaps, I'm told,
   |  On the bunks of Sacramento."
   |

Niven glanced at Appleby, and his voice was not
quite steady as he said, "Starting home to-morrow—and
we'll not see any of them again.  Well, I'm sorry."

"Yes," said Appleby quietly.  "I feel that way too."





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.. _`THE RESULT OF THE CHOICE`:

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   CHAPTER XXII


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   THE RESULT OF THE CHOICE

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The Montreal express was waiting to commence its
six days' eastward journey when Appleby and Niven
stood in the C.P.R. station next afternoon.  The lads,
however, scarcely noticed the great locomotive and long
cars, or the roofs of the city that rose row and row up
the face of the hill with the ragged spires of the sombre
pines towering high above them.  They were looking
out on the blue inlet which, streaked in places by the
smoke of the mills, lay shining in the sun, with dusky
forests and a lofty line of snow beyond.  Broad in the
foreground rode the *Champlain*, looking very small and
dainty with her bare masts standing high above the
sweep of bulwarks, and they could recognize the men
stripping the canvas off her.  Behind her with the beaver
ensign streaming at her peak another schooner was
beating in, and Niven smiled curiously as he followed
her with his eyes.

"It's the *Argo*," he said.  "We'll be off in a minute
or two—and of course I'm glad we're going home.
Still, it hurts a little to leave it all behind."

Appleby nodded, for he fancied he knew what Niven
was feeling, and it was with a faint sigh he turned
towards the cars.

"It will be a long time before I forget the *Champlain*,"
he said.  "Still, you see we couldn't be sealers."

Then a big bell commenced ringing, and Mr. Holway
came up.  "Here are your ticket coupons right through
to Liverpool, and the Allan boat will sail an hour or two
after you get to Montreal," he said.  "Better take your
places."

They shook hands with him while the big engine
panted, and swung themselves on to the platform of the
nearest car.  It lurched forward, Mr. Holway waving
his hand to them, slid away behind, wharf and mill went
by, but they still stood out on the platform looking back
at the *Champlain*, until with a sudden roar of wheels
the train swept into the shadow of the pines that shut
out blue inlet and schooner from their sight.  Then
Niven sighed a little and Appleby looked at him with
a curious little smile.

"That's the last of her, Chriss," he said.  "We've got
to look forward now."

They were, however, soon too occupied for any vague
regrets, and that journey from ocean to ocean over
British soil excited their wonder and now and then
brought them a little thrill of pride.  Hour by hour the
cars went lurching through the shadow of great
pine-forests, and up an awful chasm with a river foaming far
away below, swung over dizzy trestles, and past flashing
glaciers through a tremendous desolation of rock and ice
and snow that no man's foot had ever trodden.  Still,
the valleys were sprinkled with little wooden towns
from which there rose the scream of saws and the smoke
of mines, while when two great engines hauled them
slowly in snake-like curves up to the Selkirk passes the
lads stood gazing in silent awe at the white peaks above
them.

"The men who built this road would stick at nothing,"
said Niven with a little gasp of wonder as he glanced
back at the shining metals which lay apparently
straight beneath him.

Later, with a roar of wheels flung back from the dark
rocks that had for centuries barred off from the prairie
the wild mountain land, they climbed the Kicking
Horse defile beside a frothing river, and went roaring
down into the rolling hills on the Rockies' eastern side.
These, too, swept back and faded, and they were racing
eastwards straight as the crow flies across the prairie.

Little wooden stations, herds of sheep and cattle,
lonely mounted men seen miles away, were left behind,
and still hour by hour the great white levels stretched
away.  From the dawn that flushed red before them
until the sunset flamed behind, the gaunt telegraph
poles and shining metals that led straight on came
flying back to them, and there was no change in the
white waste the moonlight shone upon.  Then they ran
through yellow stubble where the splendid wheat had
been, past lonely homesteads, lines of toiling teams, and
clouds of dust and blue smoke where the thrashers were
working in the field, until they rolled across a great
river into Winnipeg City.

There they stopped an hour or two, and afterwards
ran past vast blue lakes into the forests again, swept
across wooden bridges over frothing rivers, until the lads
clinging to the platform looked down on an inland sea
when the dusty cars went lurching along the Superior
shore over a road riven out of the adamantine granite
that had been paid for with brave men's lives.  By and
by they came out of the wilderness again, and swept
through green Ontario past wooden farms and orchards
into Montreal, where they had decided to join the
steamer, though they could have done so nearer the
sea.  They were, however, stiff and aching, and glad to
stretch their limbs, while Niven stared about him in
wonder as they walked through Montreal and stopped
a moment outside the great cathedral.

"It's a city of palaces and churches, and there's no
dust and smoke at all," he said.  "I never fancied they'd
places of this kind in Canada.  Well, we'll go on to the
steamer as soon as we've worked out the kinks we got
in the cars."

The steamer went down the river soon after they
reached her, and it was an hour or two before the lads
felt at home on board her.  She seemed so big and
high above the water after the *Champlain*, and they
felt almost abashed and out of place amidst the luxury
of the great saloons.  That did not, however, last long,
and there was much to occupy them, the huge rafts of
timber with houses on them, barges piled with hay
until they resembled a drifting farmyard, the countless
islands they steamed among, and the tin-roofed villages
along the wooded shores.  Then they stopped where
the river narrows under the battlements of Quebec, and
saw the crowded roofs of the city climb the slopes of
the plateau where Wolfe won that great Dominion for
England.

After that the river grew broader, until at last they
rolled out past the rocks of Labrador into the Atlantic,
and it was scarcely a fortnight since they left Vancouver
when one night the liner steamed into the Mersey.
Rows of lights blinked at them through the smoke and
drizzle, whistles screamed, steamers crowded with
passengers went by, and at last the tender swung
alongside.  Then amidst the bustle and confusion a gentleman
forcing his way through the groups of travellers grasped
Appleby's hand, and he saw his comrade, who did not
seem abashed as he once would have done, being hugged
publicly by Mrs. Niven.

In another minute she had turned to Appleby, and
Mr. Niven led both of them under a big electric light.
He stared hard at them, and then smiled at his wife.

"Well," he said slowly, "these are not the lads we
sent away.  The sea has done a good deal for them, and
if I hadn't been looking for him I would scarcely have
known my son."

It was a very happy party the tender took ashore,
and for several days Mrs. Niven, who regaled the lads
with dainties and fussed over them, would scarcely let
Chriss out of her sight.  On the third night, however,
Mr. Niven called them into his own room.

"And now it's about time we had a little talk," he said
with a trace of dryness in his smile, as, lighting a cigar,
he laid the box on the table.  "You can take one if you
like.  No doubt you know the flavour by this time,
and it would take a good deal to hurt you now."

Chriss grinned at Appleby.  "As a matter of fact we
found that out at Sandycombe, sir, though the results
were very far from encouraging," he said.

"No?" said Mr. Niven.

Appleby laughed.  "I lost a good chance of winning
the quarter-mile, and Chriss spent two Saturdays writing
lines."

"I understand," said Mr. Niven dryly, "that you
didn't get many luxuries on board the *Aldebaran*."

"We didn't," said Chriss.  "Still, after a month or
so, there wasn't much we couldn't eat except the stuff
in one barrel the pickle had run out of.  Appleby tried
it once when we hadn't had anything worth mentioning
for a week.  Tom, how long did you revel in that pork?"

"About two minutes," said Appleby.  "Eating it
wasn't quite as nice as skinning holluschackie."

Mr. Niven nodded, but there was a twinkle in his
eyes, and once more he noticed the steadiness with which
they returned his gaze, and that though they smiled
there was a new gravity in their sea-tanned faces.

"I fancy you have found out how much one can do
without, and that is a good deal gained," he said.
"Still, all that is beside the question, for I want to
know right off how you like the sea, and I've no use
for anything but the straightest kind of talking."

Chriss seemed a trifle astonished.  "That was just
how Ned Jordan spoke," he said.

Mr. Niven laughed.  "You may remember that I
have been over a good deal of Canada on business and
in Vancouver.  In fact, you may do so too.  It depends
on your answer to my question."

Chriss sat silent for almost a minute in place of
speaking at once, which is more than he would have
done before he went to sea.  Then he answered very
slowly.

"Well, I like the sea, and would be willing to go
back again, but not—if it could be helped—in the
*Aldebaran*.  Still, after what I have seen of it, I fancy
I could be quite content to live ashore if there were
other things for me to do."

"Even if people laughed at you for swallowing the
anchor, which I believe is how they put it?" asked
Mr. Niven.

Chriss laughed without any sign of confusion or
embarrassment, and his father noticed it.  "One doesn't
mind a little banter after being kicked with seaboots,
and growled at all day for weeks.  You don't fancy it
would matter greatly if they did?"

"Not in the least," said Mr. Niven with dry approval,
"In fact, the man who does not mind being made fun
of has often the best cause for laughing.  So you would
go back to sea if I told you to?"

"Yes, sir," said Chriss.  "Still, if you fancied it
would be better I would stay ashore."

"Then," said Mr. Niven, "we'll decide on the latter.
You might after years of hard work, and if you were
very fortunate, make five hundred pounds a year at
sea, but while there are thousands of lads in the
country who would be very content with the prospect of
getting it, there are considerably fewer who have your
opportunities, and by and by I shall want somebody
to take up my business after me.  If you are to do it
you must begin at once at the bottom, do what you are
told, and make your way upwards slowly as you would
at sea.  Now, then, would it suit you to go down to my
office at nine o'clock the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes, sir," said Chriss.  "It would."

"Then," said Mr. Niven, "that will do in the
meanwhile, though we will have a good deal to talk about
later.  Now, Appleby, you have heard what I proposed to
Chriss, and we can find room for you.  I will see you
get a fair start in life—and what it may lead to
afterwards will depend largely upon yourself."

Appleby's answer was quiet but resolute.  "I have to
thank you, sir, but I am afraid I should never be quite
contented away from the sea."

"Don't be hasty," said Mr. Niven.  "It's a hard life, but
you know that better than I do.  I also fancy that if
you serve me well you will be a richer man by and by
than you ever would be at sea."

Appleby looked at him steadily.  "I've been considering
ever since I left the *Aldebaran*, sir.  It's hard
enough—but I can't help fancying it is the life that is
best for me."

Mr. Niven nodded gravely.  "Then you are right in
going back, but we'll try to find you a more comfortable
ship.  Well, we have decided quite enough for one
night, and I fancy Mrs. Niven is waiting for you."

The lads went out, and though both of them afterwards
found there was now and then need of all their
courage and endurance in the lives they led neither
regretted the decision they had made.  Niven went
into his father's office, and Appleby back to sea, while a
good many things happened to both of them before the
former, who was now a partner, returned on business to
Vancouver.  The day after he got there he stood on the
wharf with Mr. Holway.  It was crowded with travellers
making for a steamer on the point of sailing, for the
Montreal express had just come in, but Niven was
watching the trail of swiftly-moving smoke that
smeared the blue sky behind the great pines on Beaver
Point.

"That will be her by the pace she's making," he said.

Mr. Holway nodded.  "Yes.  They're wonderful
boats," he said.  "It's a long way to Japan, but they
keep their time like a clock, and they'll not check the
engines until she's close up to the wharf."

"Twin screws," said Niven.  "Still, with the barque
yonder there's very little room to swing a big vessel in,
though, of course, he could scrape past the schooner and
back one propeller."

Mr. Holway laughed.  "You might have been to sea
yourself!"

"Well," said Niven dryly, "I have, and they taught
me a good deal in the *Champlain*."

"I had forgotten," said Mr. Holway.  "You'll have
been glad you left it."

Niven smiled.  "There have been times of business
anxiety when I've been almost sorry, too.  After all,
one had nothing to worry over on board the *Champlain*
when his work was done.  But she's coming in."

With the blue water frothing at her bows a great
white-painted steamer swung out of the shadow of the
pines, and while her whistle sent a sonorous scream
ringing across the inlet swept towards the wharf.  She
gleamed like ivory from the purple shimmering in her
shadow that was streaked by froth about her water-line
to the yacht-like lift of her bows and long sweep of rail,
and above it her tiers of houses and rows of boats shone
dazzlingly in the sunlight.  In every line and flowing
curve there was a suggestion of speed and beauty, and
Niven was silent as he watched her come on,
remembering how the command of such a vessel had once
been his most cherished dream.  Then as the other
steamer splashed away and the liner swung in towards
the wharf he saw that one of the officers high up on
the bridge was staring at him.  Niven knew the brown
face under the white cap, and waved his hat, but the
officer only raised his hand for a second and then looked
straight ahead again.  Niven laughed softly as he
turned to his companion.

"There's very little difference in Tom Appleby," he
said.  "It's four years since I've seen him, but if it
had been forty I wouldn't have expected him to spare
more than a moment from his duties to nod to me."

"That," said Mr. Holway, "is probably the reason
he has got on so rapidly, and I know the Company's
people here have a high opinion of him.  Now sit
down.  He's not going to thank you for worrying him
while he's busy."

It was half-an-hour later when they went on board
the great steamer and asked for the second officer.  The
two young men looked at each other as they shook
hands, and each saw a difference in his comrade, for
bronzed mate and keen-eyed merchant had both grown
used to the yoke of responsibility.  They were quieter
than they had been, and their faces were graver, while
though it was long since they had met, they were not
effusive when they spoke.

"Glad to see you, Tom," said Niven.

Appleby nodded.  "Of course I needn't tell you the
same thing.  How did you get here?"

"Allan boat and Canadian Pacific sleeper," said
Niven.  "I told you I'd been made a partner, and fancied
I'd run over to look up some of our customers in
Vancouver when I was in Canada.  At least, that's one
reason.  You can guess the other.  Now, what's wrong
with this Company that you're not commander?"

Appleby laughed.  "I've got on so fast already that
I can't help fancying friends of mine who put business
in the Company's way have as much to do with it
as my merits.  Now, I'm not quite sure that's good for me."

"Tom," said Niven with apparent severity, though his
eyes twinkled, "are you so foolish as to fancy that the
men who run a line like this would take a hint from
anybody?  You climbed up yourself, but if ever I do
have any influence I'll know how to use it.  Still, we're
not going to argue already.  Come out.  I've got a
buggy waiting, and we're going to drive and talk in the
woods all afternoon, and then have another dinner at
the Hotel.  To make it all complete Jordan's coming."

"I'm half afraid I couldn't stay that long," said Appleby,
and Niven turned to Holway, who had joined them.

"You're coming right along.  Holway has seen the
skipper, and he knows better than refuse—him—anything."

They drove through the dusky shadows of the pines all
the afternoon, and when evening came they and Jordan
sat down to a very choice dinner in the room where
they last met.  Jordan, however, seemed leaner and
grimmer than he had done that night, and his hair was
grey, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in his
face when he greeted them.  Niven made him sit down
at the head of a little table by an open window.

"That's your place, sir," he said.  "I don't quite
know what they're bringing us to eat, but it's not going
to be as good as the canned beef you gave us the night
you came across us in the *Champlain*."

He smiled curiously as, glancing round at the glittering
glass and silver and the sumptuous decorations of
the great dining-room, he remembered the little, stuffy
cabin of the schooner that swung with the seas.  All
this was very pleasant, but he felt he had lost
something that could never be regained since then.  Appleby
seemed to understand, for he nodded.

"There's a difference, Chriss," he said.  "We shall
never be quite the same again."

"A man can't have quite everything—and you've
got the dollars now," said Jordan with a little twinkle
in his eyes.  "Well, I've made my blunders, like most
other folks, but the one I made that night was my
biggest one.  Still, it was a kind of curious story you
told me."

Niven laughed.  "I've no doubt I did it badly—but
there are times when I wish I was only a lad sailing
north again sealing, and I fancy I shouldn't be a
partner in a good business now if it hadn't been for a
few things that voyage taught me."

While he spoke the dinner was brought in, and for a
while they postponed their questions.  Then as they
sat by the open window looking out across the blue
inlet towards the climbing pines and the distant snow
Jordan glanced at his cigar.

"I've only had a dinner of this kind once before in my
life, and you know who it was gave it me then," he said.
"Now, I've a notion Donegal believed you all along."

"I wonder where he is now," said Niven.  "I should
like to have seen him."

Jordan's face grew grave, and he stretched out one
hand pointing towards the north.  "He's sleeping sound
up there," he said.

Appleby bent his head.  "I have not often met his
equal—and we both owe him a good deal.  How did
it happen?"

"Stowing jibs," said Jordan quietly.  "Wind turned
loose on us sudden one night we were carrying everything,
and she lay down with her lee rail in.  Outer
jib wouldn't run down, downhaul jammed, and Charley
was clawing out on the bowsprit when the sail whipped
over him.  None of us saw what came next but
Donegal, and when I had a glimpse of him he was
hanging out from the foot-rope grabbing at Charley.
Then she put her nose into a sea, and when she swung
out of it there was nobody under the bowsprit.  We'd
gone straight over them."

Jordan stopped a moment, and his voice was a trifle
hoarse when he went on again.  "It was quite ten
minutes before we could get the mainsail off her to
wear her round, and a boat over, and an hour anyway
before we hove her in again.  They'd found nothing, and
Charley couldn't swim, but Donegal wouldn't never have
let go of his partner.  He was that kind of a man."

Appleby nodded gravely, but nobody said anything
further for several minutes, and then Niven asked,
"Where's Stickine?"

"Coast trading.  He was kind of saving.  Put the
dollars he'd scraped up into a little schooner, and it
would astonish me if he wasn't making more of them.
Montreal and his brother doing quite well too.  Gone
back to the carpentering and taking contracts for
putting up mining flumes."

"Then there's only yourself, and the *Champlain*,"
said Niven.

Jordan sighed a little.  "We had to part with her.
Sealing's not what it used to be—too many gun-boats
and too much government fussing—and the holluschackie
are getting scarcer too.  They'll have to try round the
South Pole for them presently.  Still, a man has got to
live, and I'm figuring on a halibut-catching scheme.
There's going to be dollars in it if we can raise enough
of them to start us off with the proper outfit."

"Tell me all about it.  I'm a business man," said Niven.

Jordan did so, but his face was a trifle anxious as he
concluded.  "I'm not quite sure if I can put it through.
We've got to have a schooner, and it's where to get
the last two or three thousand dollars that's worrying
me.  The banks don't seem to care about backing me."

Niven sat silent a moment or two.  Then he said
quietly, "Now, I've about that many dollars I'm
getting very little for in the old country, and I would
be glad to put them in your venture as a partner."

"And I've five or six hundred," said Appleby.

Jordan's face brightened, but he did not answer for
a minute.  "Well, I've no use for pretending I wouldn't
be glad to have the dollars—but one has to do the
square thing," he said.  "The risks are going to be
heavy, because until we get it all quite straight we
may lose the catch quite often before we can put it on
the market, and there's always chances of losing the
schooner, while you'd have to take too much on trust.
You don't know the ins and outs of this contract, and I
couldn't figure them all out to you."

Niven laughed a little, and laid his hand on Jordan's
shoulder.  "I know the man who's going to put it
through, and I could trust him with a good deal more
than the dollars.  We'll go round to Holway's, and fix
it all up to-morrow."

It was late before Jordan left them, and Niven and
Appleby, who walked with him a little way, stopped a
moment as they went back to the hotel.  On the one
hand, sprinkled with big electric lights, the city
climbed the rise, and they could see its maze of roofs
and towering telegraph poles.  On the other the inlet
shone like silver under the moon, with the ivory shape
of the liner in the foreground and three great ships
riding to their anchors farther out.  Niven smiled a
little as he turned to his companion.

"One is your home, the other mine," he said.  "Tom,
you haven't told me whether you are still quite
contented with the life you have chosen."

Appleby's face was grave, but his eyes shone a little.
"It is a grim life—especially in the sailing ships—Chriss,
though they are not all like the *Aldebaran*, but
I still fancy it is the one that is best for me.  After
all, are there any things your money can buy you
better than those which are given for nothing to every
man at sea?"

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   THE END

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   *Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.*

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