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 Brulee 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.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*THE 'CHAMPLAIN,' SEALER*

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--Brulee, 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."

*CHAPTER IX*

*A TRIAL OF SPEED*

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 Brulee, 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."

Brulee 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 Brulee 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_.

*CHAPTER X*

*HOVE TO*

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 Brulee leaned forward with a curious

intentness in his eyes.

"_Comme ca!_" 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.

*CHAPTER XI*

*AMONG THE HOLLISCHACKIE*

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.

[Illustration: "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 Brulee 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."

*CHAPTER XII*

*PICKING UP THE BOATS*

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."