In a maze of doubt and resolution Stirling stared out over the dark
harbour and saw that the band of outcasts had reached the shelving beach
and were making preparations to swim to the ship.
He turned away and glanced toward the locked door. The sentry stirred
restlessly; his gun's butt was lifted and dropped to the deck. A hacking
cough sounded.
Steps glided across the poop from the forward rail to the cabin
companion; a slide shot back; the sentry called and was answered. Then a
key clicked in the lock of the door, and Marr stood in the gloom. Back
of the little captain loomed two of the galley crowd. There was no mercy
in their hard, level glances.
"Come on, Stirling," said the captain. "Step out and come with us.
You're on trial. Search him, men."
Stirling backed step by step to the bunk, and secured the tiny revolver
firmly in his palm. His broad thumb pressed through the trigger guard,
and the feel of the cold metal decided him. He folded his arms, thrust
the gun through to his skin, and allowed it to drop down.
The search, as Marr switched on the electric light, was done in haste. A
Kanaka harpooner ran clumsy hands over Stirling's pockets. He turned and
shook his head.
"Me find nothing."
"Bring him to the galley!" Marr ordered. "Watch him, too."
The sentry brought up the rear. Stirling breathed with deep intakes of
the keen air as he crossed the quarter-deck and descended the lee-poop
ladder. He entered the galley cabin with his head thrown back and his
eyes blazing.
Whitehouse sat at the head of the table, and about the mate was gathered
all of the afterguard and three of the crew. They had been drinking from
square faces of gin. The empty bottles and glasses littered the sea
racks; sour limes were scattered about.
The two engineers sat in one corner of the cabin with their feet
sprawled along the deck and their eyes bleared and baleful. They had
been loudest in calling for the death of Stirling, since the seal pelts
within the forehold of the _Pole Star_ constituted a king's ransom. Each
man's share would be well up in the thousands. They saw no reason for
taking the slightest chances.
Baldwin leered at the Ice Pilot and nudged his companion. "Shootin' is
too good," Baldwin said. "I'd like to put the squealer in a fire box and
turn on forced draft--if we had forced draft."
Stirling faced the two men with composure. The possession of the little
revolver, the knowledge that a hungry, ragged horde was even then
approaching the ship, held him confident. Much might happen within the
space of minutes. The drunken afterguard would be no match for the
outcasts.
Marr cleared his throat, moved to the door, and, closing it, turned with
sudden fire and anger. "We've been talking all of an hour," he said,
bitterly. "Time's up! It'll be daybreak before we do anything. We're all
together in this. What do you say we take a vote and decide. There's
just two things to do to him--cast him ashore, or drop him overboard."
"And if you drop that lad," said Whitehouse, "see that there is a blym
big anchor spliced to 'is legs. 'E's a water dog, besides being a hard
hitter. 'E's dangerous--'e his!"
"Him good man--dead!"
Stirling turned and faced a Kanaka harpooner. "What have I ever done to
you?" he asked. "You know me. I've always treated you boys right.
Remember the _Beluga_ and the _Karluk_ and the _Norwhale_? You forget
easy. You've been filled with gin, and you are not yourself."
"Me like hear 'em talk," the Kanaka said, with a sheepish grin.
Marr saw the drift of affairs and assumed swift control. Stirling was
well thought of among the natives of the Siberian shore and the islands
of the Pacific. The simple-minded Kanakas could be easily influenced.
"Have done!" the little skipper exclaimed. "If you're all for marooning
him, I'm satisfied. But----"
The pause was doubly suggestive. Marr glanced at the two engineers and
Whitehouse. "You know the consequences," Marr said. "This fellow will
bob up some day with all our names and with two or three revenue men
behind him. There's no getting away from that fact. It may be in
Shanghai and it may be in Frisco."
"Or Liverpool," Whitehouse suggested. "I'm going to Liverpool and
Birkenhead when I get the bloomin' pile from the pelties. What's to
prevent 'im bobbin' hup there?"
"Nothing!" said Marr.
"Then let's take a deuced vote. I 'ate's to do hit, but I votes for
walkin' the plank."
"Same here," said the two engineers in one voice.
"You, Crinko?"
The Kanaka's face softened as he leered at Marr, and the bronze of his
sea-beaten features took on a yellowish tinge. He turned and smiled
openly toward Stirling, who stood with folded arms and the weight of his
body resting on the balls of his feet.
"Me like 'em," the native said. "Me no vote. He good man--sometimes."
Marr caught the note in the simple tones and frowned. He felt himself
slipping. There were two more Kanakas in the cabin who would follow the
big harpooner; the three together might prove troublesome.
"You're out!" Marr snapped. "Now the next. How do you vote, Slim?"
Slim was the leader of the stokehold and engine-room crew, which was
entirely under the influence of the two engineers. Marr smiled as six
cinder rats and oilers stood up from the seats they had taken about the
table and voted for Stirling's death. Each man had reached for a drink
of gin as his name was called.
"That almost settles it," whispered Whitehouse, drunkenly. "Old horse,
you're gone. Hit's a 'ard, 'ard thing to do but we----"
"But you're not going to do it!" broke in Stirling, backing toward the
door and crouching with his hand toward his right shoe. "You're only
drunk and full of false courage!"
The blaze that sprang from Stirling's eyes simmered and darted across
the smoke-filled room. Each man felt the sudden power that flashed at
him; each leaned away for a second.
"Get back!"
Stirling crouched lower and shelved forward his massive shoulders. The
bulk of him seemed to fill the room. He was more than a fighting match
for the entire crew. They knew it with dawning intuition.
Marr slyly placed a cool hand within the inner pocket of his pea-jacket,
and was drawing a gun when Stirling leaped the distance, hooked his
right elbow, and uppercut with vicious force. The blow would have lifted
the cabin deck. It hurled Marr over the table, and laid him across the
planks where he dropped unconscious.
"Now the next!" shouted Stirling, backing away and lowering his fists to
his knees. "The next! Come on!"
Baldwin, the engineer, watched the Ice Pilot's eyes, and in them he saw
the dying fire of rage turn to cool calculation. It was like gazing at
horizon-down ice, as the steely glint changed to cold gray. But the
glance was over the heads of the seamen who leaned upon the table. It
was toward on open porthole.
Some intuition, stronger than the desire to murder, swept the crew. They
turned as one man and followed Stirling's steady gaze. They dropped
their chins and stared out through the porthole.
"By the jumpin' bowheads!" Whitehouse screamed. "By Heaven, mates. Look!
Look!"
Framed by the dull brass was the face of a whiskered Russian whose small
eyes surveyed the cabin greedily. A crash sounded at the door, shouts
rolled through the iron of the ship, and a grim struggle was begun at
once. The _Pole Star_ had been captured by revolutionists.