The girl had given him courage, since her tiny offering still lay upon
the bunk. Unconsciously he reached for it and twirled the silver-plated
barrel. It was fully loaded with six cartridges.
"Two guns," he said. "I'll go!"
He moved not too quickly to the door and bent down. The lock was on the
inside, held by four small screws. He tested the bolt by pressing
against a panel with his shoulder. A click sounded in the chamfer.
Searching his pocket with his freed hand, he touched a ten-cent piece,
drew this out and eyed it. It would do as a screw driver, and he found
the slot of the first screw. It turned easily enough then; rapidly he
worked with every nerve alert. Boats arrived and pushed off from the
side of the ship; the crew were busy in the forehold; a watch-tackle
creaked; and coarse remarks rolled along the deck. The poachers were
intent on getting the seal pelts stored below before morning.
Stirling removed the third screw from the lock, pocketed it and drew
back for a last glance through the porthole. A streak of yellow and a
flaming whorl had shot athwart the sky; dawn was breaking swiftly in the
Arctic east. It presaged a cloudless day.
He returned to the door, after listening intently, and tore the loosened
lock from the woodwork. Tossing this to the bunk, he strained with his
fingertips, digging deeply into the nearest panel. The door slid open on
noiseless guides, and a breath of salty air greeted him.
He felt to see if both revolvers were in his pockets, then, working
rapidly, arranged a rude dummy in the bunk. This he formed out of a
blanket and two southwesters, so that it resembled the sleeping form of
a man. He stepped to the door with a dry chuckle of satisfaction, and
went out on deck and close under the rail without being detected.
Raising his bare head, he glanced toward the island, with its looming
shadows and rocky walls. Below these walls were the homes of the great
bull seals and their mates. The animals had been disturbed, and their
barking and roar blended with the sound of the waves on the sand.
Beyond, and to leeward of the bull herd, were richer rookeries where had
gathered the bachelor seals and those denied the other homes. It was to
this portion of the beach that Marr had guided his hunters, and they had
made short work of most of the bachelor seals. They had plied capstan
bars, while the Kanakas and Gay Islanders had done the skinning.
Stirling saw the white sheen of a whaleboat being paddled out to the
ship. He reached into his pocket, removed the automatic which Eagan had
given him, and crept on hands and knees toward the forepeak.
Five of the crew were below in the hold from whence a light struck
upward and illuminated the standing rigging and spars of the ship. A
voice called from the quarter-deck. It was Whitehouse who stood there,
Marr having gone ashore with the raiders.
Stirling watched his chance and stood erect. There seemed no way to
fail. The ship swung with gentle tugging in the bight of a whale line
that had been lashed to a small anchor. The double line showed
distinctly from the position where he stood. He had but to rush forward,
lean over, sever the line, and get back to the cabin before Whitehouse
discovered that the ship was adrift.
The Ice Pilot turned and stared along the deck to where the mate's
figure moved grotesquely behind the canvas rail. Two or three seamen had
hurried aft to meet the outcoming boat, and they mounted the poop ladder
on the weather side and joined Whitehouse.
Stirling reached the heel of the foremast after cautiously rounding the
fore hatch. His eyes hardened as he lifted his hand, poised it before
him, and took one step toward the capstan and the starboard-anchor davit
to which the whale line had been fastened.
Then like a scarlet snake with myriad scales, there rose from the island
a rocket which reached to the higher skies, curved, and burst into a
star shower of green and blue lights. The flare from this rocket brought
out the rookeries and the whaleboats; the dead, skinned seals; the
crouched figures of the crew ashore. It bathed the entire ocean with
sinister light; it struck a spike of terror into the raiders' hearts.
They threw down skinning knives and bludgeons. They charged down across
the red sands and thrust out the boats, glancing back with blanched
faces as they frantically rowed toward the ship.
Stirling heard Whitehouse roll out a string of oaths which were as lurid
as the rocket's warning glare. A stout shout sounded from Marr, who was
in the leading whaleboat. Fire doors were opened below deck, scoops
grated across the stokehold plates, the first engineer climbed swiftly
to the companion and sprang out on deck.
The seal raiders were discovered; the guards had been warned on the
other islands of the group. A wireless message was even then flashing
across the waters of the Bering Sea. The _Bear_, or some other ship,
would be down upon them.
Stirling realized exactly what had happened, and his brain worked
swiftly. There was yet time to cut the anchor lines, but this would be
done by the returning crew. In no other way could they sheer the ship
from the shore and make to open sea.
He stepped back, brushed against a seaman who had risen from the
forehatch, and rounded the galley house before the startled sailor could
detect who had pressed against him.
The door to the cabin was slightly open. Stirling thrust through his
fingers and tugged, then slipped inside and closed the door. Still
thinking clearly, he shoved the two guns under the mattress of his bunk,
screwed the lock back in place, then lay down and replaced the cuff over
his freed wrist.
A quiet smile wreathed his face as he listened to the sounds which
floated in through the open porthole. Curses and commands mingled in a
jargon; boats were hurriedly hoisted to their positions on the davits;
seamen sprang to the decks and rushed forward.
A bell sounded in the engine room; the screw thrashed and bit deeply
into the sea. The _Pole Star_ swung, cleared the beach by a scant
cable's length, and drove out toward the north and east.
A grim face darkened the porthole, and Marr's glance bored the gloom of
the cabin until he discerned Stirling's form on the bunk.
"You're there!" he said, bitterly. "Well, you'll stay there for some
time. You and that rat Eagan came near spoiling our plans."
Stirling did not answer the irate skipper, thinking an answer beneath
him. It was plainly evident, however, that Eagan was out of the lives of
the men aboard the _Pole Star_. He had awakened the entire Bering Sea
against the poachers.
Driving rapidly, under all steam and a well-set foresail and main, the
_Pole Star_ lay the island of St. Paul over her counter as the sun
brightened the waters of the Bering Sea to the eastward.
The alarm had been given; they were in great danger. Watchers on the
island, including Eagan, would see the poacher going spars down before
they laid aside their glasses. Its course would be given to the first
government boat raised by wireless. It was more than probable that the
_Bear_ would take up the chase by noon.
Stirling felt the swift shift of helm which came at sunrise. Marr had
realized his danger and had sheered toward the west at least two points.
This course, by magnetic compass, would bring the ship broadside of
Siberia and into the wide mouth of the Gulf of Anadir.
The galley boy, accompanied by Whitehouse, appeared at the cabin door as
the ship's bell was struck eight times. The mate noticed the loose
condition of the lock as he inserted his own key. He stepped inside and
examined the screws which Stirling had hastily replaced, his glance
shrewd and hard.
"You'll go aft!" he said in bitter tones. "We're not taking any chances
with you from now on. It's a blym long woiy from here to the port we'll
reach some doiy."
Stirling sat upright and reached for the food which the boy had brought
on a tin tray. He drank the coffee, smiling as Whitehouse lingered in
the open doorway.
The two men locked glances. Stirling's eyes held, steady and
penetrating, but Whitehouse turned with a quick oath. "I'll be back," he
said over his shoulder as he vanished from the opening.
The galley boy was gathering up the tins and cups when Marr appeared,
followed by the mate. The little skipper looked somewhat the worse for
the events of the night--his face was unshaven, a splotch of dried
seal's blood showed on his cheek, one hand was bandaged, and his eyes
were sunken and red-rimmed.
"Had your lock off," he said, as he clapped a hand to his side pocket
and strode into the cabin. "Well, you didn't do much. Eagan did it all.
At that we got enough seals to make expenses."
Stirling crossed his wrists and clicked the irons.
"Better release me," he said with sincere directness. "It'll go mighty
hard, Marr, as it is. A little more and you will swing as sure as there
is a law in this sea. I don't doubt that Eagan will manage to run you
down. It isn't the time of MacLane and the others whom you have
imitated."
"Confound you and Eagan--the stool! He don't know my course."
"He knows you gammed that Japanese sealer off Rat Island. That's almost
enough to know. I'd advise you to swing to Dutch Pass, surrender to the
port officer there, and get off light."
Marr whipped out a string of imprecations. "I'm a hard man!" he finished
by saying. "I brook no interference. You'll go aft and into a strong
room, where you'll stay for the balance of the voyage, eh, Mr.
Whitehouse?"
"This cabin won't 'old 'im," the mate declared, fumbling with the lock.
"E's too blym near the crew and the steerage. The starboard room aft the
cross alleyway is the place for our friend here."
"It's too darned good!" exclaimed Marr. "Stand up, Stirling. We'll lead
you to your new home."
Stirling was of two minds. There was scant chance for resistance as he
twisted and untwisted the handcuff chain. He glanced about the cabin.
The objects of personal value most certainly would be stolen by the crew
or the galley crowd, and he prized a few of these beyond price.
"I want my things," he said in cool resignation. "Let me bundle up a few
geegaws and I'll come along. It'll take me five minutes."
Marr tapped his side pocket suggestively. "Go ahead," he said, backing
from the cabin and glancing meaningly toward Whitehouse. "Five minutes,
you get. No more! Take off his cuffs."
The two seamen stood between the cabin door and the rail of the ship,
and whispered each to the other, but Stirling could not catch their
words. He stood erect, turned slowly, and reached under the mattress as
Marr gripped Whitehouse by the arm and pointed toward the horizon.
Stirling's hands came away with the little revolver which the girl had
passed in to him. This he thrust down between his collar and neck, and
its chill sent a remembered thrill through his body.
Whitehouse stuck his head within the doorway. "Be deuced quick habout
hit!" he snarled. "Get your traps and come along. There's a smudge o'
smoke to windward."
"Glad of that!" said Stirling, stooping on one knee and reaching for his
dunnage bag. "I hope it's the _Bear_ or the _Corwin_ or the cutter we
saw going for the Arctic. She's about due back."
"Bally fine chance!" Whitehouse snickered. "More likely she's a blubber
hunter tryin' out. It's more than likely."
Stirling knew better than this. No ships in the Bering whaled for oil;
that pursuit was confined to Southern seas.
Marr was plainly nervous as he led Stirling toward the after part of the
_Pole Star_, and kept glancing to the south and west. He halted on the
poop steps and stared downward.
Whitehouse followed Stirling. The mate had motioned the crew to one
side, and they had gathered in the waist, jeering as the trio passed
them. They, too, were nervous. The smudge of smoke had widened to a
splotch which streaked the horizon; a ship of some kind was dashing
parallel to the course taken by the _Pole Star_.
The chase was on.
Stirling hitched his dunnage bag under his left arm and turned as he
reached the quarter-deck. His eyes were the best upon the whaler, and he
knew every ship that came into Bering Sea. He threw all his power into
determining the nature of the fast-flying stranger, then he smiled
slowly. She was the _Bear_. A vague sense of the position of the masts
and the rake of the funnel told him that the redoubtable revenue cutter
had received Eagan's message from St. Paul Island. She was coming with
the speed of the wind, and was not more than seven knots astern.
Marr realized that Stirling had detected the name of the pursuer, and
his face clouded. He shouted an order to the wheelsman, then sprang to
the speaking tube which led down to the engine room. A volcano of smoke
belched from the _Pole Star's_ funnel. She swerved like a skater on ice,
and the deck planks vibrated and trembled. A bellow of rage and defiance
came from the crew at the change of course; they lined the rail and
stared over the sparkling sea, shaking their grimy fists and calling
down anathemas.
"Come on," cried Whitehouse into Stirling's ear. "Get down to your
cabin. It'll be a blym long time before that revenue ship gets in range
of us. I think we are the faster."
Stirling followed the mate through the cabin companion and down to an
alleyway. At the starboard end of this Whitehouse inserted a key in a
lock and slid open a door, motioning inside with a jerk of his thumb.
The Ice Pilot found himself in a small stateroom which was trimmed with
maple and white tiling. He dropped his dunnage bag as the mate closed
the door and turned the bolt, and his eyes roamed about the cabin.
The single porthole, set deep in the double skin of the ship, was
brass-rimmed and no larger than a small dinner plate. It could be opened
by turning two bronze wing screws, and the view through it was upon a
patch of water, with swift-flowing ice darting by.
"Prison or palace?" he said as he turned and studied the cabin, swaying
with the motion of the ship. The list was slightly to port. Some sail
had been spread to catch a light breeze which had sprung up with the
sun. The deck overhead resounded with gliding steps; Marr and the mate
were doing everything possible to hold their speed.
The cabin's furnishings were yachtlike and serviceable. The bunk was
covered with a hair mattress and an eiderdown counterpane. Over it were
two brass racks for luggage and dunnage, and on the opposite wall a
washbowl and towel rack could be folded into a seat. Pictures were
strewed about, which were all marines painted by a decorator of merit.
Stirling glanced from one to the other. Tropic scenes brought to mind
the incongruity of their latitude--the _Pole Star_ was hustling from the
equator as fast as steam could drive her. Her last course was toward the
barren land of Siberia and the upper headland of the Gulf of Anadir. It
was terra incognita to most seamen and all save a few whale-ships or
traders.
Stirling examined the lock of his door. It was far stronger than the one
in the galley cabin, and had been set within the wood and mortised so
that only a small, flat keyhole showed.
He bent his head and listened. A step had glided along the alleyway. It
was repeated in shuffling motion, going from starboard to port and back
again across the ship. Whitehouse had left a seaman on guard.
Stirling stood erect and squared his shoulders, towering almost to the
dunnage-racks over the white bunk. His eyes hardened as he glanced from
the green-filled porthole to the door and back. The cabin was a secure
prison, as Marr had said. It would require considerable ingenuity to
escape from it. The sentry on guard was sure to be armed with one of the
sealing rifles; he would be changed each watch.
The ship hurtled onward toward the Siberian coast. The screw thrashed
astern, bit deeply into the waves, and thrashed again--each time the
foam boiled astern the ship trembled and racked.
Bells clanged; shouts sounded; running feet were overhead; blocks
creaked; the wind freshened and called for more canvas. The menace
astern crept up to a four-mile range. A gun boomed across the wild waste
of Northern waters. A shot fell to windward; another followed. Then, and
slowly, the grip of the pursuer was shaken off. Superspeed, a fair wind,
and a straining stokehold crew, made the slight difference.
Stirling frowned as he sensed that the _Bear_ was being distanced. He
opened the porthole glass and pressed his face to the aperture. He could
see little save following seas and ice floes. The revenue cutter was
somewhere astern. Her guns were silent; this meant that the range had
increased to useless distance.