In the dawn that followed, the crew of the _Boston Dame_ experienced a
moment of acute anxiety when a determined-looking schooner steamed into
the harbor behind Barabara Point. Because the time was halfway between
night and day, there was not sufficient light to distinguish her
nationality. Was she answering their summons for help, or was she a
craft belonging to one of the great fur companies and which had happened
along at precisely the wrong time.
They did not, however, remain long in doubt. Captain Skinner cast anchor
at a convenient distance, then stepped on to his bridge and began to
converse with them. If there were any mountain goats on the distant
peaks behind the point, they heard Captain Skinner’s conversation
distinctly. To the great delight of Captain Cooper and his men, he
informed them that he was an American, that he commanded an American
crew, and the _Ethan Allen_ was decidedly an American vessel; and he
inferred they would all greatly resent being mistaken for any other
nationality.
“Who you got aboard?” the _Boston Dame_ skipper called. His voice was
fairly loud and strong; but it carried no more than a mile or so out to
sea.
“I got Jefferson Sharp aboard, second cousin to General Grant,” was the
reply. As far as his name was concerned, Jeff had a right to feel he was
now introduced to every living thing in that end of Alaska. It was more
publicity than he had ever had before. Jeff Sharp was no relation
whatever to General Grant, however; and he could not imagine where
Skinner got the idea that he was.
“Then put over a boat and you and him come over.”
This suggestion was immediately acted upon, and in a few minutes Captain
Skinner, Molly, and Jeff were climbing a rope ladder to the _Boston
Dame’s_ deck. They found her a stanch, hard-sailing vessel with spotless
decks and none of the signs of disreputability that mark so many traders
in northern waters.
Jeff was introduced with a flourish. “He ain’t exactly an official in
Sitka right now,” Skinner confided, “but he’s hand in hand with the
President, and the telegram that told me to wait pretty near two weeks
for him, came straight from the White House. He calls Mr. Seward by his
first name; and if you’ve got business with official Washington, he’s
the man to handle it for you.”
When on the bridge of his own ship Captain Skinner was the monarch of
all he surveyed; but now, after he had made his little speech, he found
himself second in command. So quietly and calmly that no one had seen
him do it, a black-eyed youth in stylish garb had taken complete charge
of the situation. Jefferson Sharp was now the important person present.
It lay with him what help could be given Captain Cooper of the _Boston
Dame_. He was like a pilot who, hauled aboard at the harbor mouth,
lights on the deck with a ringing command at his lips; but to-day it was
the cargo, rather than the ship, which must be piloted through dangerous
waters.
“Let me see if I get this straight,” he addressed Captain Cooper. “You
have been lawfully trading over West, and are homeward bound with a
cargo of furs. For fear they will be taken from you, you want me to take
charge of all or part of them.”
“That’s the ticket,” Cooper replied. “If you don’t take ’em off my
hands, one of the big companies will. Any hour one of ’em might happen
along.”
“Regardless of the fact that you have your permits?”
“Why, Mister, they wouldn’t even look at my papers. All they could see
was what I had on board. I was counting on giving this end of Alaska a
wide berth, because I knew they’d want to search me if they saw me. And
here I am, held up tight.”
“They evidently know you.”
“They knew I came up here trading—spotted me on the way out. They know
I’ve got my papers, but—excuse me—if you think them papers is going to
keep ’em off you ain’t very well informed on the trading business. For
my part, I was countin’ on a fair wind and a good head of steam.”
“I’d like to see your papers, if you please.”
Jeff rather expected the man to back down, but instead he went straight
to his cabin and promptly appeared with the necessary permits, duly
signed, sealed, and witnessed. They were plainly genuine.
“They’re all right,” Jeff admitted. “I don’t see what you need of me.
They show absolutely that you are in your rights.”
“A lot of good that does me, Mr. Sharp. I want your help—your private
aid and your influence officially—and I’m willing to pay for it. Come
on down below. I’ve got something to show you. You never in your life, I
don’t think, saw anything like it.”
He turned, leading the way down a ladder that led into the forward
hatch. The advancing dawn had scarcely reached here yet, but the
captain’s lantern threw a yellow gleam into a strange, lustrous darkness
that was no part of the gloom of the hold. Piled about them, high as a
man could reach, was bale after bale of furs.
Captain Skinner had traded in pelts, and he had never dreamed the time
would come when he would ask the name of any northern fur that was put
in his hands; and at any other time he would have staked his ship that
the dark, shimmering, rippling thing caressing his hand was just what it
appeared to be, what his senses told him it was. Yet the very quantity
and size of the bales cast discredit upon his senses. Sheer numbers
floored him; he could not believe in them. He was a hard-headed old
Yankee, used to one thing and another, but to-day he feared that his
faculties were going back on him.
He shook his head with considerable emphasis. “Not all sea otter!” said
he.
“Yes. All sea otter. One of the last big rookeries.”
Skinner’s eyes began to glitter and dance in the gloom of the room.
Molly, who knew something about furs, gasped audibly; Jeff was lost in
the very beauty of the living, quivering heaps.
“Oh, Lord, there must be two thousand of ’em!” Skinner went on.
“Not two thousand. The bales aren’t as big as they look. But there’s a
thousand, with just a couple of skins extra. And they’re worth both our
ships put together.”
“And a whole fleet besides. Four hundred dollars was the last quotation
for the common run of skins.”
“These are extra large and fine. They’ll bring that figure net. That’s
four hundred thousand dollars. Captain Skinner, will I ever get into
port with ’em?”
Captain Skinner shook his head so gravely that every one present stopped
the wheel of their thoughts to look at him. Real gravity was uncommon in
this boisterous Yankee skipper. “Cap’n, I doubt it. ‘He travels the
farthest who travels light.’ Though I could carry all those bales over
in a few loads of the dory, they’d sink any ship. Violence and sudden
death happen to people with them things on their hands.”
“How about the American embassy at Sitka. Can it protect ’em for me?”
“There ain’t any America embassy at Sitka. The only American flag in the
town is on this ship at the quay. My friend here is the nearest thing to
an official American around there, and his great influence is personal
rather than official. Can he protect ’em for you? Well, there are
places, places that has got kind of acquainted with the American flag,
where it would go a long way toward protecting an American’s property. I
don’t know about Sitka. I must say I doubt it. But if any American can
keep ’em for you, Sharp here’s the man. They know he’s powerful enough
to make ’em a lot of trouble; at least he wouldn’t be as safe to bother
as an unknown skipper. He’s close friends with the high men of the
Company. Over and above all this, he hails from a State where they don’t
believe in giving up without a fight.”
“What do you think, Mr. Sharp?” Captain Cooper asked. “Do you think
they’ll try to get ’em away from you?”
“I know they won’t,” was Jeff’s emphatic answer. “The idea is
ridiculous. It’s absurd to think they’d bother you here, either, except
to ask to see your papers. I know those skins are tempting, but the
officials of the Russian-American Company do not yield to that kind of
temptation.”
“Maybe so and maybe no. I’ve heard right smart about Baron Karl. Will
you take the skins off my hands?”
“If you want me to, yes. It might be that they would be safer from
piracy. You will have to turn over your permits to me, in case I was
ever questioned.”
“I expected to do that. I only wish I was confident as you are. But I
know Baron Karl, and I don’t know you; and it looks to me like my cake
was dough.” He paused, sighing. “Now, here’s my proposition. You and
Captain Skinner take these skins off my hands, keep ’em for me, don’t
let anybody know you got ’em till you have to, and get ’em down to an
American port soon as possible.”
“I think we can make a special trip down there with ’em as soon as some
repairs can be made on my ship; and we can fill her bunkers,” Skinner
told him.
“Good. They’ll be some little trouble and some risk—maybe more’n a
little. I am going to make this thing worth your best efforts. If you
get these thousand skins down to an American port where I can put ’em in
safe hands, you get five hundred of ’em to divide between you.”
Captain Skinner made a queer clucking sound; but above that, only his
eyes talked. Those bright, Yankee eyes made unmistakable appeal to Jeff.
The latter whirled to face Captain Cooper.
“Did you say—five hundred skins to divide between us, if we bring the
batch through?” he asked, steadily as he could.
“Yes. Half of ’em. Isn’t that fair?”
“Man, those five hundred skins are worth two hundred thousand dollars!”
“Don’t I know it? That’s the contract I’ll make with you. Half of ’em
left to me is better than none of ’em. None of ’em is what I’d have when
Baron Karl’s crowd found me here with ’em.”
“Of course you’ll put the deal down in black on white?” Captain Skinner
suggested. He was a captain of the sea, but that did not affect his
being a Yankee.
“Sure. You give me receipts for ’em in exchange. Are you ready to take
’em? If so, I’ll have the boys lower the longboat.”
Dreaming what this would mean, Jeff hurried out of the hold and into the
captain’s cabin where in a few minutes all arrangements for the transfer
were completed. No wonder he was silenced and bewildered by this sudden
tide of fortune, exalted by new hope, keyed to a new interest and zest
for life. He was only human, and he had tasted that bitter drink, the
particularly cankerous sort of poverty that is commonly called genteel;
and no wonder his outlook on life was now changed and brightened. It
seemed to him that the golden harvest of this fur-bringing was already
pouring over him. Never for a moment did he doubt his ability to bring
the skins through. He really believed that Cooper’s fear was utter
nonsense.
The crew of the _Boston Dame_ was at once set to work carrying the bales
across in the longboat to be stored in the hold of the _Ethan Allen_—an
easy job briefly done. Jeff and his party returned to the latter ship
and were soon ready to sail.
“Good luck, and don’t worry!” Jeff called to Captain Cooper, as the gray
sea widened between them. “Your skins will be safe.”
“I ain’t worrying,” the latter called back. “I’m either busted or I’m
rich. It’s up to you to do the worrying from now on.”
Such seemed to be the case. Bearing down toward the harbor mouth was a
large ship, in the haze of distance apparently as stanch and formidable
as a man-of-war. She paid no attention to the disabled vessel in the
harbor. Evidently her captain had seen, through his glass, the passing
back and forth of the longboat between the two American traders. She was
headed straight toward the _Ethan Allen_.