UNALASKA BAY
Unalaska--at last!
The tortuous, narrow and even precipitous passage, winding nearly two
miles amid the rocks, lay behind, and now the good ship _Pelican_ was
swinging to her anchor in front of the little town hardly more than a
village. In the little bight was no other large craft, although
several fishing boats were rocking to their moorings.
The Arctic summer, intense and vivid as though to make up for its
brief duration, was at an end. None the less, the breeze from the
shore carried a sweet fragrance of flowers, the little town was still
radiant with blossoming gardens, and all over the hills which lay
banked around the town there were patches of gay flowers and the deep
lush green of rank grasses.
With great care Miles Hathaway and his wheeled chair were lowered
into a boat. Tom Dennis and Florence followed, together with Captain
Pontifex, who had proffered his services in securing a place of abode
for Florence and her father. Once upon the dock, Dennis took charge
of the chair, and all three started up-town, Pontifex carrying
Dennis' big suitcase.
"Feels good to have the solid earth underfoot again," said Dennis.
"How long do you expect to lay up here, Skipper?"
"We'll go out with the tide to-night," returned Pontifex. "I expect
to pick up a cook here, who was to reach Unalaska by one of the
island steamers, and I want to get our mail and papers. If we can
get Mrs. Dennis comfortably berthed this afternoon, there'll be
nothing to detain us, beyond standing off her trunk."
"Besides," he added in a lowered voice, "I'm anxious not to let the
news slip out of what we're after. Before we could get clear of the
island we'd have schooners dogging us. In case Mrs. Dennis would
like any ready money----"
"Thank you, Captain, I need nothing," said Florence quietly.
Little Jerry had not been allowed to come ashore, much to the
disappointment of Florence, who had been bent upon rescuing the lad.
Dennis, however, had already formulated a plan of action, largely
because he considered that the boy's testimony would be of tremendous
weight in backing up Florence when she interviewed the authorities.
An hour later, with the afternoon half gone, Florence and Captain
Hathaway were snugly ensconced as paying guests in a cottage not far
behind the ancient Greek church. Captain Pontifex had departed on
his own business.
"Dear, are you _sure_?" In the security of her hired room, with the
immobile Miles Hathaway watching them from his chair, Florence sought
the gaze of Tom Dennis. To him it seemed that her eye held a glowing
probe of fire, searching his very soul.
"Remember, Tom dear, that I mustn't lose you. You're my one sure
strong anchor in the world; your love and you are necessary to me,"
she said steadily. "So are you sure? Are you sure that the best
plan would not be to stop here ashore and have Pontifex placed under
restraint--here and now?
"Are you sure that we had not best let the thought of money and
salvage go for the present, placing our own lives and safety first of
all? Are you sure you can come back to me, my dear?"
Despite the brave soul of her, at those last words her voice faltered.
"Dear wife, I am sure," said Dennis simply. "I shall play the game
safely, letting them suspect nothing of what I know, and before any
crisis occurs you will have acted. Two weeks--remember!"
"And you think Pontifex will suspect nothing if Jerry disappears
to-night?"
"He would not consent to leave you and your father here together,
knowing that you can communicate, if he suspected anything. He will
think that Jerry has run away, and will doubtless figure on picking
up the boy when he returns--he'll be too anxious to reach the _John
Simpson_ to bother about suspicions. It has not occurred to him that
you would ask your father any questions out of the ordinary, and
certainly your father cannot tell anything of what has happened
unless asked. You have the phonograph and records in that valise, so
go ahead and don't worry about me, dear. I'll play my part."
"Agreed, dear." She leaned forward and held up her face to his.
"Then let's leave father here, and go out to see the town; we'll
spend our last hours together, before you go, and you can arrange
about poor little Jerry."
An hour afterward, a grizzled old fisherman was listening to Tom
Dennis and shaking his head in stubborn negation.
"Not me, sir!" he affirmed with emphasis. "I dassn't run around the
harbour without no light----"
"But your lantern might go out for five minutes!"
"Not mine, sir. Besides, helpin' a feller escape from a whaler ain't
no jokin' matter! Fact it ain't. I'd like to earn the money all
right, but I dassn't buck up ag'in the law."
Florence gave her husband a meaning glance.
"Tom, please let me speak to him in private a moment!"
Shrugging his shoulders, Dennis walked away. As he strode up and
down, he saw that Florence was speaking very earnestly, and that the
grizzled fisherman seemed very uneasy. But presently the fisherman
grinned and nodded, shaking hands with Florence. He had agreed.
"What on earth did you say to him?" demanded Dennis, as they were
walking away.
"Oh, I made it clear that he'd be doing a good deed--that's all." A
ripple of laughter danced like sunlight across her face. "Why, from
what you said, the poor man thought he would be compounding a felony!"
Dennis chuckled. "I guess a man would be willing to compound
anything, if you'd smile at him and beg him to do it! Well, you're
right about the good-deed part of it, and I'm glad it's settled.
Let's look up some supper ashore; then I'll go aboard ship."
The skipper had promised to send a boat ashore for Dennis; so, when
darkness was beginning to fall, he hailed the brigantine from the
dock, Florence at his side. Five minutes later a whaleboat was
pulling in, with Ericksen in the stern.
"Good-bye, my dear, and God bring you back safely," said Florence
softly, as she kissed him good-bye.
Dennis answered with a reassuring smile. "You've got my little
flash-light, haven't you?"
"Everything as planned, my heart. Good-bye!"
Dennis climbed down into the boat which swept around and headed back
to the brig. Florence stood on the dock, watching. She exchanged a
final wave of the hand before the boat swept out of sight under the
counter of the _Pelican_; then she turned and slowly walked in to the
shore.
There, however, she remained, in the shadow of the long warehouses
already piled high with bone from other whaling ships. Darkness
closed down upon the bay, and the lights of the little town began to
glimmer and gleam under the hills. Out on the water the lamps of the
_Pelican_ showed red and white in the gloom.
Had the cook, Frenchy, come aboard? Florence did not know. She knew
that Tom Dennis was there, among men who indubitably meant him no
good; whether his would-be assassin had reached Unalaska in time to
join the ship, she knew not. She waited, shivering a little, until
by degrees the red side-light vanished. Presently the lights showed
green and white--and she knew that the tide was on the ebb, that the
ship had swung about to her cable. There was a light breeze, but
strong enough to carry the brig to sea.
Suddenly a flare lighted up the forward deck of the whaler. The
voice of Bo'sun Joe drifted over the water with strange sweetness,
joined by the voices of other men and interjected by the guttural
utterances of Kanakas trying to keep tune; while the clicking pawls
and the slowly shifting lights betrayed that the anchor was coming up:
"We cracked it on, on a big skiute,
_To me hoodah, to me hoodah_!
We cracked it on, on a big skiute,
_Hurrah for the Black Ball line_!
Blow, my bullies, blow,
For California oh!
There's plenty of gold
As I've been told,
On the banks of the Sacramento-o!"
Meantime, the capstan chantey was being drowned by other voices--the
steely ring of Pontifex, the roar of Manuel Mendez, the shriller
tones of Corny and others as orders were repeated and the topsails
were set. The confusion of voices became more pronounced.
"Hurry up with that royal!" came the voice of Pontifex. "Leggo that
lee-brace and trim--hurry up!"
"Aye, sir!"
"Head-sails and spanker ready sir," came the voice of Leman. "Anchor
a-trip!"
Then a confused medley of orders:
"Brace round them head-yards! Cat your hook and shake out those
courses! ... Aft with that sheet, now. Shake a leg! ... Bo'sun, haul
out that bowline!"
"Aye, sir! Haul out the bowline!"
Haul upon the bowline, Kitty lives at Liverpool,
_Haul on the bowline, the bowline haul_!
Haul upon the bowline, Kitty lives at Liverpool,
_Haul on the bowline, the bowline haul_!
Breathless, Florence watched and listened. Would Tom succeed without
trouble? Would the plan, dangerous at best, succeed in getting
little Jerry safe ashore? The ship's lights were slowly moving now,
moving toward the entrance of that winding, precipitous passage.
Captain Pontifex was in charge himself, for the passage demanded
sharp tacking and skilful handling; his steely voice carried back
across the light wind, across the silence of the northern night.
Florence strained her eyes into the darkness. The time was at hand,
now.
"Ready about! Down your helm, there! Hard-a-lee!" Florence could
picture the big spanker-boom hauled in, the head-sheets slackening
off; the lights showed that the brig was coming up into the wind,
"Tacks and sheets! Maintops'l haul! Round with them after-yards,
there! Fore-bowline, let go an' haul!"
Not ten minutes were consumed in the manoeuvre, for the _Pelican_ was
smartly handled. To the watching Florence, however, that ten minutes
seemed an eternity. The voices lessened in the distance; the
whaler's lights became tiny glimmering points as she slowly slid away
and was gone.
Suddenly, down on the surface of the water, appeared a tiny
pin-point--a flash of light that was gone instantly. It flashed
again, and again vanished. From the watching girl came a deep
breath--a sigh of almost agonized relief, as the tension which was
holding her was swiftly relaxed.
After this, nothing. The _Pelican_ was gone in the winding channel,
although snatches of song drifted back as Bo'sun Joe led the chanteys
that fetched her about on new tacks. Over the water lay darkness and
silence; from somewhere back in the town a tiny phonograph lifted a
tinkling piece of band music into the night.
Florence walked out upon the dock, still trembling beneath the
nervous strain of those moments. Five minutes passed--five
intolerable dragging minutes. Then from the water she caught the
drip and splash of muffled oars, and she called out softly.
"All right, ma'am!" came the hoarse response. A dim shadow loomed
up, and the voice of the grizzled fisherman continued: "Thought
better not to show no light at all, ma'am. Ain't so likely to get
questions asked----"
"You got him?"
"Aye. Can you give him a hand, ma'am? The lad's mortal cold----"
Florence leaned down and gripped an icy hand.
"Golly, I sure thought my legs was froze!" came the chattering voice
of Jerry. With all her surprising strength, the girl heaved; and he
came up beside her. "Scared stiff, I was!"
"They've gone." Florence turned and took the horny hand of the
fisherman. "Thank you," she said simply. "I think Mr. Dennis wanted
me to give you this----"
"Sho', ma'am, I don't want no money for that!" protested the other.
But Florence forced the money upon him, and, with a last handshake,
urged Jerry away toward warmth and dry clothes.
By this time the boy's teeth were chattering so that talk was
impossible. Upon reaching her own cottage, where Florence had
already engaged a room for Jerry, she gave him a spare suit of old
clothes which Dennis had left for him, and left him to change.
"Be quick!" she exclaimed, as she departed. "I want to know all
about it!"
"Y-y-yes, ma'am," chattered Jerry.
Ten minutes later, partially warmed and clad in dry clothes, Jerry,
moon-faced and sheepish, stumbled into the room where Florence sat
beside her immobile father. The eyes of Captain Miles Hathaway dwelt
upon Jerry.
"Come here by the fire." Florence set him in a chair beside the
oil-stove that warmed the room. "Now, tell me! Did everything go
all right?"
"Yes'm, I guess so." Jerry grinned. "That is, far's I know it did,
for _me_. You see, Mr. Dennis, he told me what to do. So just 'fore
they called all hands, I messed things up in the galley consid'able,
and the new cook----"
"The new cook came, then?" interjected Florence, a little pale.
"Yes'm. Frenchy, they called him. So him and the steward tailed on
the lines, with the rest, and the Missus, she was mad as an ol' cat
about the galley bein' messed up, and so she come to 'tend to it, and
I slipped down into the cabins and met Mr. Dennis. He had the stern
window open, and he give me that electric lamp and a life-buoy what
he'd snaked down from the stern-rail after dark.
"So I got the life-belt 'round me an' clumb out the window and hung
on the line that Mr. Dennis had made fast, and waited till he give me
the word. Golly, I was scared! The skipper, he was right up there
over my head, and he was talkin' with Frenchy, and he says: 'There's
no call for you to get mad, Dumont. You get rid of her husband first
like you'd ought to of done back in Chicago.' And Frenchy, he says,
'Where is he?' The skipper, he says, 'Down below I guess, but don't
do nothin' now because I figger on sending him down in a divin'-suit
when we get started to work.' Then they both laughed, and just then
Mr. Dennis, he give me the word to swing off----"
"Had he heard them talking?" demanded Florence, white-lipped.
"Naw. He didn't know they was talking up there at all; he'd been
standin' back from the window a piece, I guess. I was scared they'd
hear him give me the word, but they didn't. So I slid down into the
water and the ol' ship walked right away and nobody seen me. Tell
you what, it was cold! I flashed the light a couple o' times, then
the old guy give me a hail and come alongside and took me in. Golly,
but I was glad!"
Florence sat motionless, a deathly pallor upon her face. In the
boy's report she glimpsed utter and horrible destruction of all the
plans which she and Tom Dennis had built up. The whole ghastly truth
had flashed upon her, through the words of Pontifex which Jerry had
overheard--and which Dennis had not overheard.
They would send Tom down in a diving-suit; and no one could tell what
had happened under the sea in the green depths! Florence knew that
she would not dare to put through her share of the scheme, after
this. She might succeed, but only after Tom Dennis had perished.
"Go along to bed, Jerry," she muttered, her lips white. The boy
looked at her, and with fear upon his face, rose. He stumbled away
and was gone.
Florence met the motionless dead gaze of her father.
"You know what it means, father?" she said, her voice lifeless. "It
means that they'll murder him! If I stop here, he'll be lost! We
can't get the revenue cutter here before another week, because the
wireless station is closed down--the operator's sick. We found that
out this afternoon. And, father, Tom matters more to me than--than
anything else!"
The eyes of her father slowly moved. "Yes!"
"No time for the phonograph now; I'll have to give up our whole
scheme of action." Florence drew a deep breath. "I'll have to warn
Tom, father; the only way to warn him will be to follow the _Pelican_
and--and do it openly. I know where the wreck lies.
"That fisherman who brought in Jerry--I know where he lives. His
boat has a motor, and he says he often cruises among the islands. I
think he'll take me. Anyway, there's no larger boat here than his.
I must see him to-night, at once, and arrange to get off in the
morning. I'll see the authorities, explain about the phonograph, and
you can tell them all about it while I'm gone. Perhaps they can get
help to us. If that fisherman will take me, maybe we can get Tom
away before----"
She broke into low sobs. She could see only disaster ahead--and duty
to the man whom she loved. Suddenly she leaned forward, caught her
father's lifeless hand.
"Father! You know all about this place, and everything! Tell me!
Is there anything else I can do? If there is, I'll get out the
phonograph now. Is there?"
Slowly the lids of Miles Hathaway moved twice. "No."
"And you think I'm right to go? It's the only thing to do? We'll
lose everything, for Pontifex will loot the wreck and be gone before
we could get back here and have the cutter after him. But isn't it
the only thing to do?"
"Yes," said the eyes of Miles Hathaway.