INVADING A CAPTAIN’S CABIN
An earthquake could hardly have caused greater consternation in the
village of Klukwan than did the boom of that heavy gun as it came
echoing up the palisaded valley of the Chilkat. Not many years before
the Indians of that section had defied the power of the United States,
and killed several American citizens. A gunboat, hurried to the scene
of trouble, shelled and destroyed one of their villages in retaliation.
From that time on, no sound was so terrible to them as the roar of a
big gun.
While Phil and his companions were chafing at the delay imposed upon
them by the greed of the Chilkat Shaman, a government vessel arrived in
the neighboring inlet of Chilkoot, bearing a party of scientific men,
who were to cross the mountains at that point for an exploration of the
upper Yukon, and the locating of the boundary-line between Alaska and
Canada.
The Princess, learning of its presence, and despairing of assisting her
white friends in any other way, secretly despatched a messenger to the
captain of the ship with the information that some Americans were being
detained in Klukwan against their will. Upon receipt of this news the
captain promptly steamed around into Chilkat Inlet, and as near to its
head as the draught of his vessel would allow. As he dropped anchor,
there came such a sound of firing from up the river that he imagined
a fight to be in progress, and fired one of his own big guns to give
warning of his presence.
The effect of this dread message was instantaneous. Phil Ryder
dropped his uplifted arm. The Chilkat Shaman scuttled away, issued an
order, and within five minutes a new and perfectly equipped canoe was
marvellously produced from somewhere and tendered to Serge Belcofsky.
Five minutes later he and his companions had taken a grateful leave of
the Princess, and were embarked with all their effects, including the
three dogs.
Phil stationed himself in the bow, Serge tended sheet, and Jalap Coombs
steered. As before the prevailing northerly wind their long-beaked
canoe shot out from the river into the wider waters of the inlet,
and they saw, at anchor, less than a mile away, a handsome cutter
flying the United States revenue flag, the three friends uttered a
simultaneous cry of:
“The _Phoca_!”
“Hurrah!” yelled Phil.
“Hurrah!” echoed Serge.
“Bless her pretty picter!” roared Jalap Coombs, standing up and waving
the old tarpaulin hat that, though often eclipsed by a fur hood, had
been faithfully cherished during the entire journey.
Even Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook caught the prevailing excitement, and
gave vent to their feelings in loud and joyous barkings.
At that moment one of the cutter’s boats, in command of a strange
lieutenant, with a howitzer mounted in its bows, and manned by a dozen
heavily armed sailors, hailed the canoe and shot alongside.
“What’s the trouble up the river?” demanded the officer.
“There isn’t any,” answered Phil.
“What was all the firing about?”
“Celebrating some sort of native Fourth of July. Is Captain Matthews
still in command of the _Phoca_?”
“Yes. Does he know you?”
“I rather guess he does, and, with your permission, we’ll report to him
in person.”
With this the canoe shot ahead, leaving the lieutenant greatly puzzled
as to whether he should follow it or continue up the river, though he
finally concluded to adopt the former course.
“Pull up the hoods of your parkas,” said Phil to his companions, “and
we’ll give the captain a surprise-party.”
A minute later one of the _Phoca’s_ quartermasters reported to the
captain that a canoe-load of natives was almost alongside.
“Very well; let them come aboard, and I’ll hear what they have to say.”
In vain did the quartermaster strive to direct the canoe to the
port gangway. The natives did not seem to understand, and insisted
on rounding up under the starboard quarter, reserved for officers
and distinguished guests. One of them sprang out the moment its bow
touched the side steps, clambered aboard, pushed aside the wrathful
quartermaster, and started for the captain’s door with the sailor in
hot pursuit.
“Hold on, you blooming young savage! Ye can’t go in there,” he shouted,
but to heedless ears.
As Phil gained the door it was opened by the commander himself, who was
about to come out for a look at the natives.
“How are you, Captain Matthews?” shouted the fur-clad intruder into the
sacred privacy of the cabin, at the same time raising a hand in salute.
“It is awfully good of you, sir, to come for us. I only hope you didn’t
bother to wait very long at the Pribyloffs.”
“Eh? What? Who are you, sir? What does this mean? Phil Ryder! You
young villain! You scamp! Bless my soul, but this is the most wonderful
thing I ever heard of!” cried the astonished commander, staggering back
into the cabin, and pulling Phil after him. “May, daughter, look here!”
At that moment there came a yelping rush, and with a chorus of excited
barkings Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook dashed pell-mell into the cabin.
After them came Serge, Jalap Coombs, and the horrified quartermaster,
all striving in vain to capture and restrain the riotous dogs. As if
any one could prevent them from following and sharing the joy of the
young master who had fed them night after night for months by lonely
camp-fires of the Yukon Valley!
So they flung themselves into the cabin, and tore round and round, amid
such a babel of shouts, laughter, barkings, and crash of overturned
furniture as was never before heard in that orderly apartment.
Finally the terrible dogs were captured, one by one, and led away. May
Matthews emerged from a safe retreat, where, convulsed with laughter,
she had witnessed the whole uproarious proceeding. Her father, still
ejaculating “Bless my soul!” at intervals, gradually recovered
sufficient composure to recognize and welcome Serge and “Ipecac”
Coombs, as he persisted in calling poor Jalap. The upset chairs were
placed to rights, and all hands began to ask questions with such
rapidity that no one had time to pause for answers.
From the confusion Captain Matthews finally evolved an understanding
that the boys were still desirous of reaching Sitka, whereupon he
remarked:
“Sitka! Sitka! It never occurred to me that you had any desire to visit
Sitka. I thought your sole ambition was to attain the North Pole. If
you had only mentioned Sitka last summer I might have arranged the trip
for you; but now I fear――”
At this moment there came a knock at the door, and when it was opened
the quartermaster began to say, “Excuse me, sir, but here’s another――”
Before he could finish his sentence a small furry object jerked away
from him with such force that it took a header into the room, and
landed at the feet of the commander on all fours, like a little bear.
“Bless my soul! What’s this?” cried Captain Matthews, springing to one
side in dismay.
“It’s a baby!” screamed Miss May, darting forward and snatching up the
child. “A darling little Indian in furs. Where did it come from?”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Phil, remorsefully. “To think that we should
have forgotten Nel-te!”
“Are there any more yet to come?” demanded the captain.
“No, sir; the whole ship’s company is present _and_ accounted for,”
replied Jalap Coombs. “But with your leave, sir, I’ll just step out and
take a look at our boat, for she’s a ticklish craft to navigate, and
might come to grief in strange hands.”
So saying, the honest fellow, glad of an excuse to escape from the
cabin, where he felt awkward and out of place, as well as uncomfortably
warm in his fur garments, pulled at the fringe of long wolf’s hairs
surrounding his face, and shuffled away. A few minutes later saw him
in the forecastle, where, divested of his unsailor-like parka, puffing
with infinite zest at one of the blackest of pipes filled with the
blackest of tobacco, and the centre of an admiring group of seamen, he
was spinning incredible yarns of his recent and wonderful experiences
with snow-shoes and sledges.
In the meantime May Matthews was delightedly winning Nel-te’s baby
affections, while Phil and Serge were still plying the captain with
questions.
“Were you saying, sir, that you feared you couldn’t take us to Sitka?”
inquired Serge, anxiously.
“Not at all, my lad,” replied the captain. “I was about to remark that
I feared you would not care to go there now, seeing that there is
hardly any one in Sitka whom you want to see, unless it is your mother
and sisters and Phil Ryder’s father and aunt Ruth.”
“What!” cried Phil, “my Aunt Ruth! Are you certain, sir?”
“Certain I am,” replied Captain Matthews, “that if both the individuals
I have just mentioned aren’t already in Sitka, they will be there very
shortly, for I left them in San Francisco preparing to start at once.
Moreover, I have orders to carry your father to St. Michaels, where he
expects to find you. So now you see in what a complication your turning
up in this outlandish fashion involves me.”
“But how did my aunt Ruth ever happen to come out here?” inquired Phil.
“Came out to nurse your father while his leg was mending, and
incidentally to find out what had become of an undutiful nephew whom
she seems to fancy has an aptitude for getting into scrapes,” laughed
the captain.
“Has my father recovered from his accident?”
“So entirely that he fancies his leg is sounder and better than ever it
was.”
“And are you bound for Sitka now, sir?”
“To be sure I am, and should have been half-way there by this time if
I hadn’t been delayed by a report of some sort of a row between the
Chilkats and a party of whites. Now, having settled that difficulty
by capturing the entire force of aggressors, I propose to carry them
to Sitka as legitimate prisoners, and there turn them over to the
authorities. So, gentlemen, you will please consider yourselves as
prisoners of war, and under orders not to leave this ship until she
arrives at Sitka.”
“With pleasure, sir,” laughed Phil. “Only don’t you think you’d better
place us under guard?”
“I expect it will be best,” replied the captain, gravely, “seeing
that you are charged with seal-poaching, piracy, defying government
officers, and escaping from arrest, as well as the present offence of
making war on native Americans.”