DEFEAT
A gray dimness was creeping in upon the schooner when a bitter breeze
sprang tip from the westward, and Dampier bade the crew get the mainsail
on to the _Selache_.
"I don't like the look of the weather, and I'm beginning to feel that
I'd like to see that boat," he said. "Anyhow, we'll get way on her."
It was a relief to hoist the mainsail. The work put a little warmth into
the sailors. The white men had been conscious of a growing uneasiness
about their comrades in the boat, and action of any sort was welcome.
The breeze had freshened before they set the sail, and there were
whitecaps on the water when the _Selache_ headed for the ice, which had
somewhat changed its formation, for big masses had become detached from
it and were moving out into the water, while the open space had become
perceptibly narrower. The light was now fading rapidly, and Wyllard took
the wheel when Dampier sent forward the man who had held it.
"Get the cover off the second boat, and see everything clear for
hoisting out," commanded the skipper, and then called to Wyllard, "We're
close enough. You'd better heave her round."
The schooner came around with a thrashing of canvas, stretched out
seawards, and came back again with her deck sharply slanted and little
puffs of spray blowing over her weather-rail, for there was no doubt
that the breeze was freshening fast. Dampier now sent a man up into the
foremast shrouds, and looked at Wyllard afterward.
"I'd heave a couple of reefs down if I wasn't so anxious about that
blamed boat," he said. "As it is, I want to be ready to pick her up just
as soon as we see her, and it's quite likely she'd turn up when we'd got
way off the schooner, and the peak eased down."
Wyllard realized that Dampier was right as he glanced over the rail at
the dimness that was creeping in on them. It was blowing almost fresh by
this time, and the _Selache_ was driving very fast through the swell,
which began to froth here and there. It is, as he knew from experience,
always hard work, and often impossible, to pull a boat to windward in
any weight of breeze, which rendered it advisable to keep the schooner
under way. If the boat drove by them while they were reefing it might be
difficult to pick her up afterwards in the dark. He was now distinctly
anxious about her. Just as the light was dying out, the man in the
shrouds sent down a cry.
"I see them, sir!" he said.
Dampier turned to Wyllard with a gesture of relief. "That's a weight off
my mind. I wish we had a reef in, but"--he glanced up at the
canvas--"she'll have to stand it. Anyway, I'll leave you there. We want
to get that second boat lashed down again."
This, as Wyllard recognized, was necessary, though he would rather have
had somebody by him and the rest of them ready to let the mainsheet run,
inasmuch as he was a little to windward of the opening, and surmised
that he would have to run the schooner down upon the boat. It was a few
moments later when he saw the boat emerge from the ice, and the men in
her appeared to be pulling strenuously. They were, perhaps, half a mile
off, and the schooner, heading for the ice, was sailing very fast.
Wyllard lost sight of the boat again, for a thin shower of whirling snow
suddenly obscured the light. Dampier called to him.
"You'll have to run her off," he said. "Boys, slack out your sheets."
There was a clatter of blocks, and when Wyllard pulled his helm up it
taxed all his strength. The _Selache_ swung around, and he gasped with
the effort to control her as she drove away furiously into the
thickening snow. She was carrying far too much canvas, but they could
not heave her to and take it off her now. The boat must be picked up
first, and the veins rose swollen to Wyllard's forehead as he struggled
with the wheel. There is always a certain possibility of bringing a
fore-and-aft rigged vessel's main-boom over when she is running hard,
and this is apt to result in disaster to her spars. So fast was the
_Selache_ traveling that the sea piled up in big white waves beneath her
quarter, and, cold as the day was, the sweat of tense effort dripped
from Wyllard as he foresaw what he had to do. First of all, he must hold
the schooner straight before the wind without letting her fall off to
leeward, which would bring the booms crashing over; then he must run
past the boat, which he could no longer see, and round up the schooner
with fore-staysail aback to leeward of her, to wait until she drove down
on them.
This would not have been difficult in a moderate breeze, but the wind
was blowing furiously and the schooner was greatly pressed with sail. He
thought of calling the others to lower the mainsail peak, but with the
weight of wind there was in the canvas he was not sure that they could
haul down the gaff. Besides, they were busy securing the boat, which
must be made fast again before they hove the other in, and it was almost
dark now. In view of what had happened in the same waters one night,
four years before, the desire to pick up the boat while there was a
little light left became an obsession.
The swell was rapidly whitening and getting steeper. The _Selache_ hove
herself out of it forward as she swung up with streaming bows. It seemed
to Wyllard that he must overrun the boat before he noticed her, but at
last he saw Dampier swing himself on to the rail. The skipper stood
there clutching at a shroud, and presently swinging an arm, turned
toward Wyllard.
"Eight ahead!" he shouted. "Let her come up a few points before you run
over them."
Wyllard put his helm down a spoke or two, which was easy, and then as
the bows swung high again there was a harsh cry from the man who stood
above Dampier in the shrouds.
"Ice!" he roared. "Big pack of it right under your weather bow."
Dampier shouted something, but Wyllard did not hear what he said. He was
conscious only that he had to decide what he must do in the next few
seconds. If he let the _Selache_ come up to avoid the boat, there was
the ice ahead, and at the speed she was traveling it would infallibly
incrush her bows, while if he held her straight there was the boat close
in front of her. To swing her clear of both by going to leeward he must
bring the mainsail and boom-foresail over with a tremendous shock, but
that seemed preferable, and with his heart in his mouth he pulled his
helm up.
He fancied he cried out in warning, but was never sure of it, though
three men came running to seize the mainsheet. The schooner fell off a
little, swinging until the boom-foresail came over with a thunderous
bang and crash. She rolled down, heaving a wide strip of wet planking
out of the sea, and now for a moment or two there were great breadths of
canvas swung out on either hand. Then the ponderous main-boom went up
high above his head, and he saw three shadowy figures dragged aft as
they tried in vain to steady it The big mainsail was bunched up, a vast,
portentous shape above him, and he set his lips, and pulled up the helm
another spoke as it swung.
He never quite knew what happened after that. There was a horrible
crash, and the schooner appeared to be rolling over bodily. The spokes
he clung to desperately reft themselves from his grasp, the deck slanted
until one could not stand upon it, and something heavy struck him on the
head. He dropped, and Dampier flung himself upon the wheel above his
senseless body.
There was mad confusion, and a frantic banging of canvas as the schooner
came up beam to the wind, with her rent mainsail flogging itself to
tatters. Its ponderous boom was broken, and the mainmast-head had gone,
but it was not the first time the sealers had grappled with similar
difficulties, and Dampier kept his head. He had the boat to think of,
and she was somewhere to windward, hidden in the sudden darkness and the
turmoil of the quickly rising sea, but the schooner counted most of all!
His crew could scarcely hear him through the uproar made by the
thundering canvas, and the screaming of the wind, but the orders were
given, and from habit and the custom of their calling the men knew what
the commands must be.
They hauled a jib down, backed the fore-staysail, and got the
boom-foresail sheeted in, but they let the rent mainsail bang, for it
could do no more damage than it had already done.
A man sprang up on the rail with a blue light in his hand, and as the
weird radiance flared in a long streak to leeward a cry rose from the
water. In another few moments a blurred object, half hidden in flying
spray, drove down upon the schooner furiously on the top of a sea, and
then there was sudden darkness as the man flung down the torch.
Another harsh and half-heard cry rose out of the obscurity. An
indistinguishable object plunged past the schooner's stern, there was a
crash to leeward as the schooner rolled, and a man standing up in the
boat clutched her rail. The man was swung out of it as the vessel rolled
back again, but he crawled on to the rail with a rope in one hand, and
after jamming it fast around something, he sprang down with the hooks of
the lifting tackles which one of the crew had given him. While two more
men scrambled up, there was a clatter of blocks, but a shattered sea
struck the boat as they hove her clear, and, when she swung in, the
brine poured out through the rents in her. Dampier waved an arm as they
dropped her on the deck, and they heard him faintly.
"Boys," he shouted, "you have got to cut that mainsail down!"
They obeyed somehow, hanging on to the mast-hoops, and now and then
enveloped by the madly flogging canvas. After that they trimmed her
fore-staysail over, and there was by contrast a curious quietness as
Dampier jammed his helm up, and the schooner swung off before the sea.
Then somebody lighted a lantern, and Charly stooped over Wyllard, who
lay limp and still beside the wheel. In the feeble light, Wyllard's face
showed gray except where a broad red stain had spread across it. Dampier
cast a glance at him.
"Get him below, and into his bunk, two of you," he commanded.
The men carried him with difficulty, for the _Selache_ lurched viciously
each time a white-topped sea came up upon her quarter. As soon as it
seemed advisable to leave the deck Dampier went down. Wyllard lay in his
bunk, with his eyes half-open. His face was colorless except for the
broad smear of blood, which was oozing fast from a laceration in his
scalp. Dampier, who noticed his chilliness, did not trouble about the
wound. He stripped off the senseless man's long boots, and, unshipping a
hot fender iron from the stove, laid it against his feet. Afterward he
contrived to get some whisky down Wyllard's throat, and then he set to
work to wash the scalp wound, dropping into the water a little of the
permanganate of potash, which is freely used at sea. When that was done
he applied a rag dipped in the same fluid, and seeing no result of his
efforts went back on deck. He was anxious about his patient, but not
unduly so, for he had discovered long ago that men of Wyllard's type are
apt to recover from more serious injuries.
It was blowing very hard when the skipper stood near the wheel. A steep
sea was already tumbling after the schooner, but she was, at least,
heading out from where they supposed the ice to be, and he let her go,
keeping her away before it, and heading a little south of east. The next
morning the sea was very high, and the faint light was further dimmed by
snow, but it seemed safe to Dampier, and the vessel held on while the
big combers came up astern and forged by high above her rail.
The _Selache_ was traveling fast to the eastward. She was under
boom-foresail and one little jib, with her mainmast broken short off
where the bolts of the halliard blocks had traversed it. Dampier
realized that every knot the vessel made then could not be recovered
that season. He wondered, with a little uneasiness, what Wyllard would
say when he came to himself again.
Next day the breeze moderated somewhat, and they let the schooner come
up a little, heading further south. On the morning after that Wyllard
showed signs of returning consciousness. Dampier, however, kept away
from him, partly to allow his senses to readjust themselves, and partly
because he shrank from the necessary interview. When dusk was falling,
Charly went on deck to say that Wyllard, who seemed perfectly conscious,
insisted on seeing the skipper, and with some misgivings Dampier went
down into the little cabin. The lamp was lighted, and when he sat down
Wyllard, who raised himself feebly on his pillow, turned a pallid face
to him.
"Charly tells me you picked the boat up," he said.
"We did," answered Dampier. "She had three or four planks on one side
ripped out of her."
Wyllard's faint grimace implied that this did not matter, and Dampier
braced himself for the question he dreaded. He had to face it another
moment.
"How's she heading?"
"A little south of east."
Wyllard's face hardened. It was still blowing moderately and by the
heave of the vessel and the wash of water outside he could guess how
fast she was traveling. For a moment or two there was an oppressive
silence in the little cabin. Then Wyllard spoke again.
"You have been running to the eastwards since I was struck down?" he
asked.
Dampier nodded. "Three days," he confessed. "Just now the breeze is on
her quarter."
He winced under Wyllard's gaze, and spread out his hands with a
deprecating gesture.
"Now," he added, "what else was there I could do? She wrung her masthead
off when you jibed her and there's not stick enough left to set any
canvas that would shove her to windward. I might have hove her to, but
the first time the breeze hauled easterly she'd have gone up on the
beach or among the ice with us. I had to run!"
Wyllard closed a feeble hand. "Dunton was crippled, too. It's almost
incredible."
"In one way, it looks like that, but, after all, a jibe's quite a common
thing with a fore-and-after. If you run her off to lee when she's going
before it, her mainboom's bound to come over. Of course, nobody would
run her off in a wicked breeze unless he had to, but you'd no choice
with the ice in front of you."
Wyllard lay very still for a minute. It was clear to him that his
project must be abandoned for that season, which meant that at least six
months must elapse before he could even approach the Kamtchatkan coast
again.
"Well," he inquired at length, "what do you mean to do?"
"If the breeze holds we could pick up one of the Aleutians in a few
days, but I'm keeping south of the islands. There'll probably be ugly
ice along the beaches, and I've no fancy for being cast ashore by a
strong tide when the fog lies on the land. With westerly winds I'd
sooner hold on for Alaska. We could lie snug in an inlet there, and,
it's quite likely, get a cedar that would make a spar. I can't head
right away for Vancouver with no mainsail."
This was clear to Wyllard, who made a weak gesture. "If the wind comes
easterly?"
Dampier pursed up his lips. "Then, unless I could fetch one of the
Kuriles, we'd sure be jammed. She won't beat to windward, and there'd be
all Kamtchatka to lee of us. The ice is packing up along the north of it
now, and the Russians have two or three settlements to the south. We
don't want to run in and tell them what we're after."
A faint smile touched Wyllard's lips. "No," he said, "not after that
little affair on the beach. Since it's very probable that the vessel
they send up to the seal islands would deliver store along the coast,
the folks in authority would have a record of it. They would call the
thing piracy--and, in a sense, they'd be justified."
He was silent for a few moments, and then looked up again wearily.
"I wonder," he remarked, "how that boat's crew ever got across to
Kamtchatka. It was north of the islands where the man brought Dunton the
message."
Dampier understood that Wyllard desired to change the subject, for this
was a question they had often discussed already.
"Well," he replied, "I still hold to my first notion. They were blown
ashore on the beach we have just left, and made prisoners. Then a supply
schooner or perhaps a steamer came along, and they were sent off in her
to be handed over to the authorities. The vessel put in somewhere. We'll
say she was lying in an inlet with a boat astern, and somehow our
friends cut that boat loose in the dark, and got away in her."
He broke off for a moment to look at his companion significantly.
"You can find quite a few points where that idea seems to fail," he
added. "They were in Kamtchatka, but I'm beginning to feel that we shall
never know any more than that."
Wyllard made a gesture of concurrence, but in his face Dampier saw no
sign that he meant to abandon his project. He seemed to sink into sleep,
and the skipper, who went up on deck, paced to and fro a while before he
stopped by the wheel and turned to the helmsman.
"You can let her come up a couple of points. We may as well make a
little southing while we can," he said.
Charly, who was steering, looked up with suggestive eagerness. "Then
he's not going for the Aleutians?"
"No," answered Dampier dryly. "I was kind of afraid of that, but I
choked him off. Anyway, this year won't see us back in Vancouver." He
paused. "We're going to stay up here until we find out where those men
left their bones. The man who has this thing in hand isn't the kind that
lets up."
Charly made no answer, but his face hardened as he put his helm down a
spoke or two.
Next day the wind fell lighter, but for a week it still held westerly,
and after that it blew moderately fresh from the south. Crippled as she
was, the _Selache_ would lie a point or two south of east when they had
set an old cut-down fore-staysail on what was left of her mainmast. The
hearts of her crew became lighter as she crawled on across the Pacific.
The men had no wish to be blown back to the frozen North.
The days were growing shorter rapidly, and the sun hung low in the
southern sky when at last the schooner crept into one of the many inlets
that indent the coast of Southern Alaska. There was just wind enough to
carry her in around a long, foam-lapped point, and soon afterwards they
let the anchor go in four fathoms of water. Their haven was a sheltered
arm of the sea with a river mouth not far away. There was no sign of
life anywhere and the ragged cedars that crept close down to the beach
stood out in somber spires against the gleaming snow.
The cold was not particularly severe when the _Selache_ arrived, but
when Dampier went ashore next morning to pick a log from which they
could hew a mast the temperature suddenly fell, and that night the drift
ice from the river mouth closed in on them. When the late daylight broke
the schooner was frozen fast, and they knew it would be several months
before she moved again. It was before the gold rush, and in winter
Alaska was practically cut off from all communication with the south. No
man would have attempted to traverse the tremendous snow-wrapped
desolation of almost impassable hills and trackless forests that lay
between them and the nearest of the commercial factories on the north,
or the canneries on the other hand. Besides, the canneries were shut up
in winter time. They were prisoners, and could only wait with what
patience they could muster until the thaw set them free again.