Suddenly Stirling ceased speaking and strode to the rail, glancing
keenly under the shelter of his right palm.
"Speck in sight!" he called. "Looks like a ship headed this way! Make it
out, Cushner?"
The second mate strained his eyes, then mopped them with his sleeve and
tried again. "Not yet," he said. "You have fine sight. Where away?"
"About two points off the bow. There she is. See her? A brig, I think.
See the smoke?"
Cushner nodded with a sudden jerk of his chin. "Just a smudge. She's
hull down!"
It was a full half hour later before Stirling made out the Japanese flag
which fluttered at the stern of the brig. He called out her nationality
then swung and glanced toward the poop and the wheelman. Marr stood
under the shelter of the rail with both elbows resting upon the canvas
and a pair of twelve-diameter glasses focused ahead. He lowered these
glasses, reached for the engine-room telegraph, and the throbbing of the
_Pole Star's_ screws died to a quiver. The yards were braced back and
the whaler came up into the wind with scant headway. This brought the
Japanese brig upon the starboard waist.
The funnel of the strange ship belched forth a volcano of smoke which
could come only from Japanese coal. She wallowed across the sea and came
up into the wind on the same tack as the _Pole Star_ was headed.
A longboat was dropped awkwardly. Seamen to the number of four swarmed
overside and waited for a fifth figure to descend a ladder lowered for
his benefit. The boat sheered from the brig and danced across the waves
under the swing of four oars which were smartly handled.
_Penyan Maru_ was the name Stirling made out on the brig as it hove to a
double cable's length away. A greater contrast to the _Pole Star_ could
not have been fashioned. Built in Japan before the war, the brig still
carried some of the top-hamper which rightly belonged to a junk. Her
yards were canted, her masts sloped forward instead of aft, her standing
rigging was loose and weather-rotted.
Along the rail of the _Penyan Maru_ ran a line of pigeon-blue boats
which were too large for dories, too small for whaleboats. She bore the
unmistakable evidence of a Japanese sealer, a vampire of the sea--as
much an object of suspicion to every revenue cutter as a jailbird would
be to a self-respecting policeman.
The four seamen who rowed the longboat lifted their oars smartly enough
as they rounded under the starboard rail of the _Pole Star_. Whitehouse,
on the poop, lowered a bosn's ladder, and up this climbed the figure of
a man who would have attracted attention on any ocean.
He was fat and yellow; his moon-broad face was stabbed here and there
with tiny bristles like the nose of a walrus; his slanted eyes glittered
and beamed as he raised himself over the rail, took Whitehouse's hand,
and sprang to the deck of the _Pole Star_. He advanced to Marr's side
with a rolling waddle, and the two men clasped in friendly grasp. It was
evident to the watchers on the whaler that they were friends.
They stood a moment on the deck, then Marr pointed toward the north and
east. The Japanese followed his direction, smiled blandly, and whispered
something into the little skipper's ear. They went below by way of the
cabin companion, the slide of which they closed after them.
Stirling glanced keenly at Cushner, walked to the rail, and leaned over
with his eyes fixed upon the dingy sides and crazy rigging of the
sealer. He dropped his glance and studied the four of a crew who were
alongside the whaler's run, just aft the break of the poop. These seamen
made no effort to communicate in any way with the crew of the _Pole
Star_. They sat silently waiting for their master to return.
Cushner rolled to Stirling's side and leaned his elbows on the rail. He,
too, glanced at the small boat and its contents.
"A sealer's crew," he said. "Them's Japanese sealers. See the rifles and
the clubs. They ain't found in an ordinary boat. They're for pelagic
sealing, or any other kind. Nice-lookin' outfit."
"Efficient and minding their own business!" declared Stirling.
"What did you think of the emperor who came aboard? He was welcome!"
Stirling turned and glanced toward the poop. "Sam," he said, "there's
more things on these seas than we will ever know. That brig is a supply
ship of some kind. If not that, it is going to meet us at some later
date and take off our trade stuff."
"Also seal pelts."
"Yes; seal pelts if they're secured in an honest manner. I don't care
where Marr disposes of his catch, as long as the catch is square and
aboveboard!"
"Here comes the walrus again. Look how he's smiling. They must have had
a nip of gin. Marr is rubbing his hands like as if he'd made a good
bargain."
The Japanese waddled to the rail, climbed upward, and descended the
ladder to the waiting small boat. Marr stood over him and cast off the
painter, and the boat sprang away from the sheer of the _Pole Star_. It
danced across the sea, vanished under the _Penyan Maru's_ counter, and
was hoisted aboard.
A plume of black Japanese coal smoke shot up from the rusty funnel. The
yards were squared and the sealer wallowed toward the north and west,
vanishing in a cloud of its own making.
A bell later Marr gave the order for a change of course and reached for
the engine-room telegraph. The screw thrashed; the crew sprang to
weather and lee braces. The _Pole Star_ started back over the old
pathway on the trackless ocean. Her compass point had been given as
east.
It was a hushed company that gathered about the table that night in the
steerage of the _Pole Star_. The change of course, the gamming by the
Japanese sealer, the mystery of the skipper's actions--all these drove
silence into the mates' hearts.
Stirling and Cushner soon departed and left the first and second
engineer to their thoughts.
The two seamen, who had found a tie in common, strode to the forepeak of
the whaler, lighted their pipes from the same match, and stared out over
the dark velvet of the North Pacific.
Cushner dragged on his stem for a long five minutes. He was awakened to
speech by the striking of the ship's bell forward when the lookout
lifted a marlinespike from the belfry and chimed two short strokes,
repeated by two more.
"Four bells!" declared the Yankee. "She's four bells, Stirling. Four
bells, an' we're going back. Wouldn't wonder if we make California for
our first landfall."
Stirling squared his shoulders, removed his pipe from his mouth, and
stared at the glowing bowl. He pressed the coals down with his broad
thumb, wheeled sharply, and glared aft. His face hardened as he made out
a shadow on the poop, and tried to discern if it were Marr. A swing of
the ship, the lowering of the mainsail at the sheet, blotted out his
view.
He turned and gripped Cushner's arm. "We're not going to Frisco," said
the Ice Pilot. "We're headed for Dutch Pass and the Bering Sea. We're a
point south of the true course for that, but Marr is taking advantage of
the drift."
"Why didn't he go through one of the outer straits? There's plenty by
the Rat Group."
"Perhaps he wants to coal at Unalaska. He could take aboard fifty tons
there."
"How about the ice?"
"It hasn't cleared yet. It lies about ten knots to the south'ard of the
Pribilofs. It'll break up and clear within a week, though. It always
does."
Cushner nodded. He held a wholesome respect for Stirling's ice
knowledge. The pilot had no peer when it came to working through the
loose floes or finding a lane to the northward. These lanes were both
dangerous and deceptive, and many led to thicker floes and barren ice.
"We'll soon be in the ice?" asked the second mate.
"Five days, allowing for a day's stop at Unalaska. First comes the light
floes and the whale slick. Afterward is the barrier line which stretches
to the Pole. It starts to open and break. Through these lanes the whales
go into the Arctic. There's usually a big jam at Bering Strait. The
current sets east by north in summer and south by west in the fall.
There are no bergs north of the Aleutians or west of Point Barrow.
Leastwise, I never saw any!"
"People always talk about the bergs of the Arctic."
Stirling nodded. "I know that," he said with positive tones. "The reason
is not hard to find. There's bergs where there's glaciers. There's any
number of big fellows on the lower Alaskan coast. These bergs melt in
the warm Japan Current. The harbour of Unalaska and the strait at Dutch
Pass never freezes. That's on account of the same current."
"But the Arctic bergs, Stirling?"
"There's very few in the western Arctic. There's no glaciers along the
Northern coast of Alaska and Canada. There's a few on the Siberian
coast. The land is all low. The big floes--some of them a century
old--resemble small bergs. That's the reason for the mistake made by
Northern travellers."
Stirling turned and tapped his pipe against the rail then pocketed it
and glanced aft. There was no sign on the poop of any watcher save the
wheelsman, whose eyes were glued ahead.
Cushner yawned. "It's Whitehouse's watch," he said. "I'm going to turn
in. Good-night!"
Stirling followed the second mate into the galley cabin, and climbed
into his bunk with a tired glance at the compass point. The _Pole Star_
was headed on the same course as given when they left the Japanese
sealer. The wind had veered and now swung from over the Aleutian
Islands--fifty miles to the northward. It was slightly tempered with
ice. Stirling closed his porthole and rolled over to sleep.
He was awakened at midnight, and the change in the watch, by Cushner.
The second mate held a cautious finger over his mouth as he finished
shaking Stirling's shoulder.
"Come on deck," the Yankee whispered. "Put on some clothes and hurry. I
got to relieve Whitehouse."
Stirling rolled from his bunk, stood swaying on the deck, and drew on
part of his clothes. He finished by buttoning a great sea coat about his
sturdy form and clapping a cap down over his ears. Already the
temperature had fallen to a marked degree. He emerged to the waist of
the whaler and stood breathing great gulps of Arctic-tinged air which
sent the wine of living through his veins. He felt more of a man than he
had since his last venture in the Bering.
Cushner touched his elbow. "Come forward," the mate said, softly. "Get
under the lee of the deck house and then the foresail. Don't make any
noise."
The watch on deck had surged forward to the capstan, and some of the
watch below were climbing up through the booby hatch. Others were
gathered about the form of the sailor who had been in the Frisco room.
He lay across the soiled planks of the forecastle, his arms stretched
out, his legs extended and resting on the edge of a lower bunk.
Stirling brushed aside the seamen who had gathered about the booby
hatch. The Ice Pilot descended backward and stood in the gloom of the
forecastle. A single electric globe was hung over a molasses barrel at
the heel of the foremast. Its light was far too pale to bring out the
details.
"What happened?" asked Stirling, grimly.
A dock rat, who had been shamming sickness during the voyage, thrust out
a frowsy head from the forepeak and said: "The crew beat him up. They
say he's a government spy. They say he's goin' to queer the skipper's
game with th' seals. He looks it--he does!"
Stirling stooped and felt of the sailor's wrist. He examined a bruise on
the right temple then straightened and glanced up through the booby
hatch toward Cushner.
"Go aft," he said, "and tell Mr. Marr to give you the medicine chest.
Tell him that----What does this fellow call himself?"
"Eagan," said the dock rat; "Mike Eagan, so he says, Mr. Stirling."
"Tell Mr. Marr that a seaman named Eagan was struck by a block. Don't
tell him what happened--yet. I'm going to look out for Eagan! If he
represents the United States he has got to be protected north of 53 deg.
as well as south of that latitude!"
Cushner hurried aft and mounted the lee poop steps.