“Very well,” he approved; “then you had better go to bed and get all the
rest you can, for our adventure will not be child’s play.”
The doctor then sought the ship’s commander and asked him to proceed very
slowly up the deep and winding Dean Channel, keeping a sharp lookout
ahead. As soon as the vessel started we went to bed.
It was mid-afternoon when we awakened. Looking out our cabin portholes,
we saw we were moving slowly past lofty granite precipices that were so
close it seemed we might almost reach out and touch them. Quickly we got
on deck.
Upon being informed that we had gone about seventy-five miles up Dean
Channel, Dr. Gresham stationed himself on the bridge with a pair of
powerful glasses, and for several hours gave the closest scrutiny ahead,
as new vistas of the tortuous waterway unfolded.
We now seemed to be passing directly into the heart of the lofty Cascade
Mountain range that runs the length of Cassiar Province in British
Columbia. At times the cliffs bordering the fiord drew in so close that
it seemed we had reached the end of the channel, while again they rounded
out into graceful slopes thickly carpeted with pines. Still there was no
sign that the foot of man ever had trod this wilderness.
Late in the afternoon Dr. Gresham became very nervous, and toward
twilight he had the ship stopped and a launch lowered.
“We will start at once,” he told me, “and Commander Mitchell will go with
us.”
Taking from me the sealed letter of instructions he had left in my care
before starting on his airplane trips the previous nights, he handed it
to the commander, saying: “Give this to the officer you leave in charge
of the ship. It is his orders in case anything should happen to us and we
do not return by morning. Also, please triple the strength of the night
watch. Run your vessel close under the shadows of the bank, and keep her
pitch dark. We are now in the heart of the enemy’s country, and we can’t
tell what sort of a lookout he may be keeping.”
While Commander Mitchell was attending to these orders, the doctor sent
me below to get a pair of revolvers for each of us. When I returned the
three of us entered the launch and put off up the channel.
Slowly and noiselessly we moved ahead in the gathering shadows near
shore. The astronomer sat in the bow, silent and alert, gazing constantly
ahead through his glasses.
We had proceeded scarcely fifteen minutes when the doctor suddenly
ordered the launch stopped. Handing his binoculars to me and pointing
ahead beyond a sharp bend we were just rounding, he exclaimed excitedly:
“_Look!_”