When Molly had gone, Jeff had a feeling that he had rather overdone the
business on the bridge. Such emphasis as he had expressed had hardly
been called for. He wished vaguely he had not covered so much territory
in his condemnations. It was a cheap way out at best to relieve his own
self-fury by storming at the girl. Possibly his strong words to Molly
did not in the least palliate his disloyalty to the South, but rather
enhanced it, in that by so speaking he had been false to the South’s
most treasured tradition, that of chivalry. Two wrongs never yet made a
right. Possibly it would have been better to have saved his thunder for
other ears.
He was a tender-hearted boy; and very soon he was really sorry that he
had expressed himself so bluntly. He hoped he had not hurt Molly’s
feelings. If the subject were not acutely painful to him he would
attempt to apologize. Of course a brave, self-reliant girl like Molly
was not likely to be easily hurt; yet this fact did not excuse his own
inconsiderateness. How really deep the hurt was Jeff Sharp did not
dream.
He found himself speaking entirely politely to Captain Skinner who
joined him on the bridge. “Well, we got through that safely enough,
thanks to you and the boys,” the skipper observed. “Jeff, that was a
narrow squeak. We pretty near lost our skins as soon as we got ’em, and
wouldn’t that old Boston skipper had a laugh on us then—only he’d laugh
out of the wrong side of his mouth.”
“I don’t believe they would have taken them,” Jeff answered rather
coldly—yet with none of the fire he had heaped on Molly.
Captain Skinner did not seem to hear him. His thoughts were down in the
hold with the bales of glossy treasure. “It was mighty lucky for us them
Britishers didn’t know what we had,” he went on. “I don’t blame ’em for
not wanting to risk their lives when they thought maybe they wouldn’t
get nothing but a bunch of coarse island fox and a couple of skunks to
pay for their trouble; but for a thousand sea otter—my boy, we’d ’a’
been fighting yet.”
“I don’t believe we’d have had the least trouble if we had let them come
aboard in peace,” Jeff argued. “I can’t help but think we took a serious
risk in repelling them when they were in their rights.”
“Well, you sure are hard to convince. Jeff, they wasn’t in their
rights.”
“They had a right to come and see our papers.”
“I’ll admit that, but not to bring an armed force alongside. You think
Captain Lennox would ha’ turned around and stepped off polite and nice,
and left them furs in the hold? He’d laugh at you for thinking any such
foolishness. We’d be mighty lucky if he wouldn’t seize the ship as a
prize.”
“Of course his crew might have mutinied at the sight of all those skins.
I’ll admit that such is possible. But I’m just as sure as can be that no
English gentleman like Lennox would do such an unsportsmanlike thing as
to board us ostensibly to see our papers and then seize our cargo by
force.”
“You don’t know some of these here English gentlemen. A lot of ’em act
like us common folks when they see a thousand sea otter skins.”
“Well, we got through safely. We don’t have to fear anything at Sitka,
at least. I did not know Lennox, but I do know those Russian noblemen.”
Captain Skinner did not argue the point, but as he walked away, he made
a curious snorting sound which Jeff could hardly interpret. He seemed to
infer that he took all kinds of noblemen with a grain of salt.
If Jeff had doubted his own words, certainly he was reassured when in an
early evening the _Ethan Allen_ pushed again into the Sitkan harbor. The
picturesque old Russian town lay dreaming in the twilight, its lights
subdued, its bold lines softened, its roofs and spires blending into the
dusk; and its Old World charm and peace were for all to know and love.
The harsh, wild Alaskan background was forgotten, and to-night this town
belonged to old Europe instead of raw America. It was a quaint and
gentle place; and crime and violence in connection with it were simply
unthinkable. Jeff resolved that Skinner was an alarmist of the worst
type, and that likely the skins were safer here than they would be in an
American port.
The first day in Sitka seemed to bear out this supposition. No one came
to marvel at the treasure in the hold. Life resumed its normal, happy
course, except for one minor change: Molly seemed to avoid his presence.
Somehow he had fallen into the habit of spending a great deal of time in
her company; but this first day of his return to Sitka he scarcely
glimpsed her from morning until night. Indeed it was a small matter, not
to trouble one of his tastes and interests, yet it was annoying that she
would absent herself on a day when he most needed her company. Why did
he need it particularly to-day? Because everything seemed to go wrong,
somehow, and the minutes took their places like carriages in a
parade—with long, aggravating pauses in between.
She was doubtless in a huff from his ill-selected words of the day
before, but since she was just Molly she would likely be herself again
soon. He could hardly reconcile a girlish sensitiveness with one so
capable and self-reliant, a tomboy and hale-fellow-well-met like Captain
Skinner’s niece. Except for his firm resolve to keep all thoughts of his
late madness out of his mind—his inexplicable attitude in the crisis of
two days before—he would make some sort of apology to her; but for the
sake of his own pride and self-satisfaction he could not bring himself
to mention the matter again. Anyhow, she would certainly be herself next
day.
He believed this as surely as he believed in the continued safety of the
otter skins. The long afternoon had worn away, never brightened with a
smile or a moment of gay talk from Molly, before he guessed that he had
been altogether too optimistic regarding her. This was not the worst.
When another gray twilight lay over the sea he was brought face to face
with the fact that he had been similarly optimistic in regard to the
otter skins.
Late in the afternoon the _Queen_ had come into port, and after the
supper hour there were official visitors on the deck of the _Ethan
Allen_. No less a personage than Spaskii, the Czar’s commissioner,
accompanied by Count Yanovisk and young Lord Staritsa came in file up
the gangplank for a short conference with Captain Skinner and the
American correspondent.
They were all exceedingly courteous, and indeed were a courtly and
polished trio. They bowed low over Jeff’s patrician hand, as well as the
horny appendage with which Captain Skinner pulled lowly ropes. They made
pleasant remarks concerning the weather and urged that the Yankee sailor
and the Southern gentleman pay them early calls. It was at this point in
the proceedings that Jeff felt a faint touch of annoyance, almost of
suspicion. It was wholly fitting that Cavalier Spaskii should wish to
entertain him, a Southerner, but when he also invited this hardy,
ill-spoken Yankee sailor, his sincerity was open to question. It was
also vexing to make out the dim form of Baron Karl, tramping up and down
the docks as if waiting for the official party to return.
“As a mere matter of form, we have presented ourselves to talk with you
regarding your dealings with Captain Cooper, of the _Boston Dame_,”
Yanovisk got to business at last. “His Majesty’s commissioner will
assure you it is a mere matter of form only, yes?”
Spaskii could not speak English, but he evidently recognized a cue. He
said a few words in soft, purring, soothing Russian. Certainly (so Jeff
thought he said) this visit was a mere matter of form!
“Of course in addition to the pleasure of renewing our
acquaintance—strengthening an already warm friendship,” Staritsa
observed.
“You had certain negotiations with Captain Cooper, the commissioner
understands,” Yanovisk went on.
“I understand so, myself,” Captain Skinner replied in obvious American.
“What about ’em?”
“As a mere trifle—a mere matter of form—we would like to see what
cargo you removed from his ship. This inspection is required on all
goods taken into Russian-America, to provide against importation of
contraband. If it meets with your esteemed favor we should also most
like to see such papers as Captain Cooper put in your hands.”
He addressed these remarks to Jeff, who answered before Captain Skinner
could put in a word. It would be quite like the old sea dog, given to
untoward suspicion of his betters, to employ some sort of subterfuge to
conceal the otter skins from the Russian’s eyes, perhaps leading them to
some other part of the hold to show less valuable cargo. Sometimes the
barrel-chested Yankee seemed well-named. Jeff felt certain, however,
that only trouble would result from any attempt to deceive the
officials—there were likely other channels through which they could
learn the real nature of Cooper’s goods—and besides, Jeff had no real
reason to suspect unfair dealing. Surely these gentlemen were not
pirates.
“Of course you may see the stuff,” was the Southerner’s reply. “It is
immensely valuable, and we are trying to guard it with care. If you want
to take my word for it, instead of climbing below, it is—a thousand sea
otter!”
The two Russians who understood English did not speak, plainly because
they could not. They were not used to such tidings. In such moments the
delicate mental functions necessary to translate excited Russian into
courteous English were quite too much for them. They merely stared
blankly, with eyes straight ahead; and Captain Skinner—perfectly aware
that a half million in otter skins was no laughing matter—almost
chortled in their faces.
Cavalier Spaskii was aware that something was going on beyond him. The
startled silence was significant, and in one glance at his friends’
faces he was sure he had missed a trick of which he should have
knowledge. He spoke a few Russian words in a questioning and somewhat
excited tone.
Yanovisk replied, stating the Russian equivalent of a thousand sea otter
skins; whereupon there were three noblemen in the same, strange,
pathological condition—no longer courtly, no longer garrulous, but all
three temporary victims of instantaneous paralysis.
Of course they recovered almost instantly, but they had set Jeff to
thinking. He could understand how Count Yanovisk, a man of humble means,
might be stricken breathless at the thought of a half million haul of
furs. That Staritsa and Spaskii were similarly stricken was
unintelligible. He had idealized these men—at least he had tried
to—and their mercenary instincts shocked him. Skinner, on the other
hand, thought he understood perfectly. An old seafaring friend of his
had once told him that, contrary to rumor, Americans were less
gold-crazy than any people in the world, and that for sheer excitement
at the sight of some actual money, the foreign count led all the rest;
and now Skinner believed him.
Staritsa seemed to be particularly affected. He was the last man of the
three to make complete recovery. Did he not know it was never becoming
to one of noble blood to show such base interest in mere wealth? Could
he not remember that high birth put him above such thoughts? And now
Jeff was not only shocked, but vaguely uneasy, too. There was suddenly a
most disconcerting gleam in Staritsa’s eyes.
Neither this, nor the little hard lines on the young Muscovite’s face,
nor yet his intense preoccupation were lost on Captain Skinner. The
latter paid no more attention to the Russian-American conversation. He
watched Staritsa.
“Prime?” Yanovisk asked suddenly.
“Yes. They seem to be first class, and all mature otters.”
“Our Lady of Kazan!”
Shortly after this Spaskii bowed himself away, but obeying his look,
neither Staritsa or the Governor’s secretary followed him. He seemed to
have forgotten the formality of looking over Captain Cooper’s permits.
However, he was gone only a few minutes, during which Staritsa and
Yanovisk looked at the furs.
Not long thereafter they heard the thump of heavily shod feet on the
dock, and certain hoarse and unintelligible commands battered into the
hush of the twilight. Four Russian soldiers, armed with muskets and
bayonets, marched up in the command of a Muscovite corporal. They came
to a noisy order-arms just below the plank.
Even Captain Skinner, scarcely famous as a pacifist, did not so much as
consider offering resistance to the Russian half-squad. He was in the
Sitkan harbor and therefore subject, within certain limits, to the
officials of the port; and besides, he could not whip the entire Alaskan
garrison. As yet he did not know the run of the cards, so he quietly
awaited the next deal. His only regret was that he had ever returned to
Sitka; yet if he had read aright the smoke on the horizon behind him, no
other course had been open. The _Queen_ was a fast ship, and she had
some long-range guns. Jeff also waited, and a spark that had lit in each
of his black eyes was of deep significance to Skinner. For the present,
at least, he had ceased to deplore his warlike stand of a few days
before.
Cavalier Spaskii advanced up the gangplank, and bowing profusely, spoke
a few words which Yanovisk immediately translated. “His Excellency begs
your indulgence for his absence of a moment ago, yes,” the latter
explained. “He compliments his friends from the great American
Republic.”
“What else?” Captain Skinner asked, evidently failing to appreciate the
fine points of the Russian’s address.
“He says he is most regretful, but for the time being, until the goods
can be legally cleared, he is required to post a guard of four Russian
soldiers over the ship—purely as a matter of form.”