Captain Brack and Riordan had joined the men by the time Chanler
returned from showing Miss Baldwin to her stateroom. The entire crew
of the _Wanderer_ now was assembled, and Chanler ran his eyes
nervously over the group.
“Cappy,” he said, “what is the meaning of this?”
Brack stepped forward.
“Mr. Chanler,” he said solemnly, “it has become necessary to tell you
that this crew will not go to Petroff Sound—directly, at least.”
Chanler looked around. The men were standing in a semicircle about
him, watching him menacingly.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Do you mean that you refuse to
fulfil your contract?”
Brack shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, for myself, I don’t say,” he said. “Perhaps I would be willing to
go to Petroff Sound, even after picking up this gold-hunter. But that
doesn’t matter. I can’t sail the _Wanderer_ without the crew, and the
crew refuses to go any place but to the hidden country at Kalmut
Fiord, where this man’s gold came from.”
“That’s what we said,” supplemented Garvin. “Give us boats and grub,
if you want to, and turn us loose; or go with us in the yacht. But we
ain’t goin’ bonehuntin’ when there’s gold laying round loose so close
by.”
An inarticulate growl came from the rest of the men. Too stupid to put
their plans in words they uttered a single, primitive sound which told
better than Garvin’s words what was working in their primitive minds.
They had seen gold; they had been told there was enough of it to make
them all rich; their sluggish desires had been aroused, and
consequently they growled.
They were white men, as to skin, but they were savages at heart. And
into this company Chanler had brought Miss Baldwin.
“Cappy,” said Chanler, falling back into his blasé manner, “what are
you trying to do? Do you mean to tell me that you’re letting this crew
walk over you? D’you mean to tell me that you no longer can run ’em?
Come, come! I won’t have such poppycock.”
Riordan now stepped forward.
“It is not only the crew that wants to quit, Mr. Chanler,” said he.
“I’m through, too. Here is our proposition: Kalmut Fiord, where this
miner came from, is about three days’ sailing due north. We want to go
there and take a look. If you’ll let the yacht go there, and we find
there’s no gold there, we’ll go on with you to Petroff Sound, and
there’s only a week lost, which you can dock from our pay. If you
won’t let the yacht go there—well, we’re going there anyhow.”
Chanler laughed his dry, cynical laugh.
“Cappy,” said he, “this is what they call mutiny in stories, isn’t
it?”
“No, sir,” said Brack promptly. “Mutiny is the refusal of seamen to
obey their captain. None of these men has refused to obey me.”
“Hah? Come again, cappy.”
“I have given them no orders which they have refused to obey.”
“You mean—you’re in with ’em, eh?”
“I mean that it would be a crime against us for this expedition to
continue on its original course without first investigating, at least,
the story which the miner has told. There may be much gold there;
certainly there is some. You have more money than you need, Chanler;
we haven’t enough to make our lives comfortable.”
“This voyage is a pastime to you; to us it’s a means of making a
living. The bones at Petroff Sound will keep. I have this suggestion
to make: that we alter the course of the yacht and go to Kalmut Fiord.
There will be more credit for you if you lead the way to a new gold
field than if you come back with a hold full of old bones. And it will
be much easier and pleasant, I assure you.”
“You—you’re not threatening, cappy?” said George.
“Not at all. I am merely asking you to see this thing from our point
of view.”
“‘Our? Our point of view?’ You’re not one of the crew are you, cappy?”
Brack did not reply.
“What shall it be, Mr. Chanler?” he said curtly. “Petroff Sound or
Kalmut Fiord?”
Chanler looked once more at the crew. He had no special reason for
going to Petroff Sound, but as he saw himself defied by his servants a
flare of anger showed in his eyes.
“This may not be mutiny, but it is —— insolent, cappy,” said he. “I
can’t say I like it at all.”
Garvin laughed. Chanler, looking at Brack, waved a hand toward the
pugilist.
“Kindly have that man removed, cappy.”
The captain merely smiled; the scene was pleasing him. Chanler swore
at him, and once more I saw that swift, terrible change come over
Brack’s countenance.
“Careful, Chanler,” he said softly.
“Careful! On my own yacht!” Chanler’s voice was strong, but his eyes
were wavering before Brack’s.
I stepped to his side, and as I did so, Miss Baldwin, a shimmering
blue sweater in place of her rain-coat, and a tiny white tasseled cap
on her head, came running out of the cabin toward us. Her eyes were
taking in the _Wanderer’s_ beauty and her nostrils were quivering with
excitement.
“Oh, what a jolly boat!” she cried. “George, take me round; I want to
see it all at once.”
Then she noticed the crew.
“Why!” She looked at the threatening faces of the men. “Why, George,
what’s the matter?”
Chanler laughed easily.
“Oh, nothing much, Betty. We picked up a man in a boat last night with
a bag of gold nuggets on him, and he told a story about a new gold
field in a hidden country not far away, and the men want to go there
instead of to Petroff Sound, that’s all.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really, George?” she asked incredulously.
“Really,” he said.
“But—do such things really happen, picking up men in boats with bags
of gold on them?”
“It happened this time, at least,” he replied.
“Oh, how perfectly thrilling! A hidden country. And there’s more gold
to find in the place he came from?”
“So the man says.”
“Oh, George!” cried Miss Baldwin eagerly “let’s go to this hidden
country, and let me dig some gold with my own hands!”
Chanler looked puzzled, then relieved. Here was a creditable way out
of an unpleasant situation, and his interest in Petroff Sound already
was gone.
“Would you rather do that than go bone-hunting, Betty?” he asked.
“Of course. Wouldn’t you? Who cares for old bones? And think of the
thrill and adventures in exploring a hidden country and of hunting
gold!”
Chanler turned and nodded curtly to Brack.
“We go to Kalmut Fiord then, cappy.”
“All right, men,” snapped Brack. They broke at his orders; he was the
captain again. “Full speed ahead, Mr. Riordan, please; I’ll take the
bridge myself.”
He stood for a moment looking at Miss Baldwin. When George introduced
them she first looked at Brack’s brutal features and wonderful eyes as
casually as if he had been an ordinary member of the crew. Then her
look became interested. After awhile she blushed and looked away,
confused.
Brack bowed, and spoke and smiled courteously, but as he hurried up on
the bridge there was a new look in his eyes. I could compare it only
to the look that was in Garvin’s eyes when he had seen the little raw
pile of gold.