A CRUISE ON A BERING SEA CUTTER
Nearly two hundred and fifty miles north from Oonimak lie the
Pribyloffs, towards the larger and more northerly of which, the island
of St. Paul, the swift revenue cutter _Phoca_ was speeding her way.
That day of steaming over the restless waters of Bering Sea was one of
unalloyed pleasure to both Phil and Serge. Their troubles were over;
they were really bound for Sitka at last, and, _en route_, were going
to stop at the wonderful seal islands, of which both had heard so
much as to fill them with curiosity. Above all, they were making this
delightful trip in company with congenial companions, some of whom were
friends.
It was a real pleasure now to watch the seals, that began to appear
when the cutter was fifty miles north of Oonimak, and which increased
in numbers as the day wore on. They exhibited very little fear even of
the steamer, but would gaze curiously at her until they deemed her too
near for their own safety, when they would suddenly sink out of sight
and dart away like a flash.
“I never tire of watching the dear things,” said May Matthews, as
she and Phil stood together in the narrow space just in front of the
pilot-house. “What with their quick movements and lovely great brown
eyes, I think they are simply fascinating; don’t you?”
“Indeed I do,” answered her companion; “and though this is the first
opportunity I have had for studying them from this point of view,
I shall always think of them after this as the most graceful and
interesting of marine animals.”
“Do you know,” continued the girl, “they seem to me so nearly human
that I don’t see how any one can have the heart to kill them; do you?”
“No,” replied Phil, boldly, “I do not; as I see them now, I would
almost as soon think of shooting my dear old Irish setter Tab.”
In making this reply the lad was but expressing the honest sentiments
with which he now regarded the business that had once seemed to him so
harmless. He was thankful to discover, as he thought he had from her
conversation, that Miss May had no idea of what his position on board
the _Seamew_ had been, and determined that if he could prevent it she
should never learn that he had been a seal-hunter. He was intensely
chagrined, therefore, when, as he finished speaking, a voice from the
pilot-house window directly above their heads said:
“Is not that rather a curious opinion for you to express, Mr. Ryder,
seeing that you have so recently and successfully been engaged in that
very business? For my own part, I can’t see any more harm in killing
one of those seals than in killing a sheep; but then I’m very practical
and haven’t a bit of sentiment.”
Looking quickly up and with crimsoned face, Phil recognized his first
acquaintance of that morning; but before he could utter the retort that
sprang to his lips, his companion said, quietly:
“Then I, for one, am sorry for you, Mr. Ramey; for it does not seem
to me that people who are merely practical get the fullest enjoyment
out of life.” Then, before the young lieutenant could make reply, she
exclaimed: “Oh, there is a school of whales! Are you well acquainted
with whales, Mr. Ryder? Let us go aft where we can see them better.”
When they were beyond ear-shot of the pilot-house the girl said: “I
hope you won’t mind Mr. Ramey. He is horrid, anyway, and is always
saying disagreeable things. He hates this ship and this station, and
is awfully provoked because papa would not recommend him for a vacancy
at San Francisco. I expect he bears you a grudge on account of the
sea-otter skin, but you mustn’t care.”
“I only feel badly,” replied Phil, “to have you know that I was a
seal-hunter. Now you will let me explain――won’t you?――that I only
shipped on the _Seamew_ because I’d lost all my money, and couldn’t
think of any other way of getting to Sitka. I didn’t know until we were
out at sea that I was to be a hunter. Even then I didn’t realize for
some time what the business really meant. When I did, I refused to have
anything more to do with it; and that is the reason we were left behind
when you captured the schooner and took her to Sitka.”
“Yes, indeed. I know all about it,” replied Miss May, enthusiastically.
“Serge has already told me how nobly you behaved when that horrid
captain ordered you out to shoot the poor mother-seals. It was a
perfectly splendid thing to do, and it was to show that I feel just as
you do on the subject that I said what I did a few minutes ago.”
Phil’s face was again crimsoned, though this time the flush was not one
of anger. It was very pleasant to be thus appreciated, but he was too
honest a fellow to take all the credit to himself.
“Did he also tell you how finely he and Jalap Coombs backed me up on
that occasion; and that if they hadn’t I should have been forced to
give in at last?”
“No! Tell me,” exclaimed the girl, eagerly. “I love to hear of such
things――I mean, of friends standing by each other through thick and
thin, and being willing to undergo all sorts of suffering and hardship
for the sake of what they believe to be right.”
So Phil told her of the stanch friends with whom he had been cast away
on Oonimak, and they laughed together over “old Kite Roberson’s” wisdom
until dinner-time. Then they separated, for Phil and Serge had accepted
an invitation to dine with the officers in the wardroom.
To the great relief of the former, Mr. Ramey did not appear at this
dinner, being compelled to remain on duty until some officer who had
finished his meal would relieve him. The other hosts of the occasion
formed just such a genial, jolly party of bright fellows as is to
be met with in Yankee wardrooms all over the world, and the dinner
proved a great success. Although our lads were slyly chaffed on all
sides concerning their recent experiences, and the first-lieutenant’s
account of how he had conducted them to the cabin as prisoners of war
was received with shouts of laughter, the story of their adventures was
listened to with closest attention, and both of them were complimented
on their pluck in times of danger.
Early on the following morning the _Phoca_, steaming through the
dense fog that nearly always envelops the Pribyloffs in summer-time,
was suddenly surrounded by incredible numbers of screaming sea-fowl.
Although the noise made by these was deafening, it was a welcome sound,
for it was a certain sign of the vicinity of the island of St. George,
whose precipitous cliffs are vast bird rookeries.
Two hours later the still, fog-laden air was pervaded by the
far-reaching odor of the seal rookeries and killing-grounds of St.
Paul. At the same time the dull roar of its restless seal millions
filled miles of surrounding space, like that of a distant Niagara. The
darting forms of fur-seals playing fearlessly about the ship were to
be seen on all sides, while at safer distances bands of hair-seals and
big sea-lions could easily be distinguished from their more graceful
cousins. From fog-hidden Walrus Rock came the deep bass roaring of
hundreds of the unwieldy long-tusked monsters from which that islet
derives its name, though it is chiefly noted as being the site of one
of the most famous bird rookeries in the world. Here, too, as had
happened off the bluff coast of St. George a few hours before, sea-fowl
swarmed about the ship with deafening cries, both in the water and in
the air.
Feeling his way carefully with a lead, Captain Matthews, who had been
here many times, took his ship around Reef Point and anchored her in
three fathoms of water, well to windward of St. Paul, nearly a mile off
shore, and so beyond the influence of its horrible odors.
“Now,” said he to Phil and Serge, after the vessel had been made snug,
“I expect to remain here three days, unless driven from my anchorage
by a sou’wester. During that time, while you would be heartily welcome
on board ship, I should advise you to take up your quarters on shore,
as there is so much for you to do and see that you would find it
inconvenient to be constantly interrupted by coming off for your meals.
The government and company people are always delighted to entertain
visitors, and I will see that you have the proper introductions.
Another bit of my advice is to put on your old Oonimak clothes, which
will be in keeping with those universally worn on the island, and will
prove more suitable to your explorations than anything else.”
The lads accepted both these pieces of advice, and, after bidding
good-bye to the officers and to Miss May, who positively declined to
visit people whose sole business was the killing of her dear seals,
they set forth from the ship filled with eager anticipations of what
they were to see.
“Remember,” called out Miss May from the deck, “that you are to be on
board in time to start for Sitka.”
“Indeed we will!” answered both lads at once. “We won’t miss it this
time even if we have to accept your father’s invitation to go in
irons!” cried Phil. “Good-bye!”
Mr. Ramey, who had obtained permission to go ashore with his beloved
camera, for which he hoped to find sunlight enough after a while, went
in the boat with Captain Matthews and the lads.
As it approached the shore and the fog began to lift, both Phil and
Serge uttered exclamations of amazement. To the left, as far as the
eye could reach, literally covering the land, apparently ranged in
platoons, companies, regiments, and armies, were the seals in countless
myriads, an incredible mass of animal life. They were in ceaseless
motion; and all, from old bulls to new-born pups, were roaring,
barking, spitting, yelping, or plaintively calling, until the whole
formed a mighty volume of sound that is never stilled, night or day,
from the time the seals arrive in June until they depart in October.
From this scene, which they looked forward to visiting later, the lads
turned their attention to the village of St. Paul, which occupied a
rising ground on the right, directly above the beach. Here they were
amazed to see a collection of nearly one hundred comfortable-looking
frame-houses, a number of warehouses and other company buildings,
a Greek church, a store, and a school-house, all painted white and
neatly ranged along regularly laid-out, terraced streets. With its
general air of prosperity, neatness, and comfort this sealing-station
in far-away Bering Sea compared favorably with thousands of other
American villages scattered over more favored portions of the country.
There were no shade trees, to be sure, nor is there a tree of any kind
on the island; but then none is needed, for the almost perpetual fog
does away with the necessity. High above the village, from the top of
a tall pole, floated an American flag. As Phil Ryder stepped ashore
and looked up at this well-loved emblem of his country, he realized as
never before what a vast and far-reaching empire it is, and his heart
thrilled with pride at the thought that it was his country and that was
his flag.