THE LAST EFFORT.
It was after a long and arduous journey which had left its mark on all
of them that Wyllard and his companions lay among the boulders beside a
sheltered inlet waiting for the dusk to fall one lowering evening.
They were cramped and aching, for they had scarcely moved during the
last hour; their garments were badly tattered, and their half-covered
feet were bleeding. They were, as they recognised, a pitiful company
to seize a vessel, with three knives and one rifle between them, but
there was resolution in their haggard faces.
Close in front of them the green water lapped softly among the stones.
The breeze was light off shore, and the tide, which was just running
ebb, rippled against the bows of a little schooner lying some thirty
yards from the bank. She had been seized for illegal sealing some
years earlier, and it was evident that she had been very little used
since then. The paint was peeling from her cracked and weathered side,
her gear was frayed and bleached with frost and rain, and only very
hard-pressed men would have faced the thought of going to sea in her.
Wyllard and his companions were, however, very hard-pressed indeed, and
they preferred the hazards of a voyage in the crazy vessel to falling
into the Russians' hands. It was also clear that they had no choice.
It must be either one thing or the other.
Some little distance up-stream a low rise cut against the dingy sky.
It shut off all view of the upper part of the inlet, which wound in
behind it, but Wyllard and his companions had cautiously climbed the
slope earlier in the afternoon, and lying flat upon the summit had
looked down upon the little wooden houses that clustered above the
beach. He had then decided that this part of the inlet would dry out
at about half-ebb, and as the schooner's boat, which he meant to seize,
lay upon the shingle it was evident that he must carry out his plans
within the next three hours.
These were very simple. There was nobody on board the schooner, which
lay in deeper water, and he fancied that it would be possible to swim
off to her and slip the cable; but they must have provisions, and there
was, so far as he could see, only one way of obtaining them. A
building which stood by itself close beside the beach was evidently a
store, for he had seen two men carrying bags and cases out of it under
the superintendence of a third in some kind of uniform, and it appeared
to be unguarded. Wyllard, who had reasons for surmising that the few
settlements on the coast were under strict official control, fancied
that the store contained Government supplies, and had arranged that
Charly and Lewson should break into it as soon as darkness fell, and
pull off to the schooner with anything they could find inside. Whether
they would succeed in doing this he did not know, and he admitted to
himself that it scarcely seemed probable, but he could think of no
other plan, and the attempt must be made.
In the meanwhile a thin haze drove across the crest of the rise, the
breeze freshened slightly, and the little ripples lapped more noisily
along the shingle. There was evidently a good deal of fresh water
coming down the inlet, and it was in a fever of impatience he watched
the schooner strain at her cable. That evening had already seemed the
longest he had ever spent in his life. By and bye it commenced to
rain, and little streams of chilly water trickled about the weary men,
but they lay still, with lips tight set, in tense suspense. What
Lewson had had to face in the awful icy wastes to the north of them
Wyllard could scarcely imagine, and Lewson could not tell, but he and
his two other comrades had borne things almost beyond endurance since
he commenced his search, and now there was far too much at stake for
him to increase the odds against them by any undue precipitancy. He
was then in a dangerous mood, but he had laid his plans with grim,
cold-blooded caution, and he meant to adhere to them.
At length, and very slowly, the light faded, until the beach grew
shadowy, and the schooner's spars and rigging showed dim and blurred
against a dusky background. The rise that shut off the settlement was
lost in drifting haze, and the dull rumble of the surf on the outer
beach came up more sharply through the gathering darkness. The
measured beat of its deep pulsations almost maddened Wyllard as he lay
and listened, for if all went right he would be sliding out over the
long heave with every sail piled on to the crazy schooner in another
hour or two.
At length, when there was only a faint gleam of water sliding by below,
he rose stiffly to his feet, and Lewson stretched out a hand for the
rifle that lay among the stones. There was a sharp click as he jerked
the lever, and then he laughed, a little jarring laugh, as the magazine
snapped back.
"They'll treat us as pirates if they get hands on us--and I've been
lashed in the face--with a sled-dog-whip," he said.
Charly said nothing as he loosened the long seaman's knife in his belt,
and Wyllard made no remonstrance, for there is, as he recognised, a
point beyond which prudence does not count. After what Overweg had
once or twice told him, it was unthinkable that they should fall into
Smirnoff's hands.
Then Lewson and Charly melted away into the darkness, and Wyllard and
the Siwash walked quietly down to the water's edge, a little up-stream
of the schooner, as the stream was running strong. They, however,
stripped off nothing, for it was evident that none of the rags they
left behind could be replaced, and they knew from experience that when
the first shock is over a man swimming in icy water is kept a little
warmer by his clothing. For all that, the cold struck through Wyllard
like a knife when he flung himself forward and swung his left hand out,
and it was perhaps a minute before he was clearly conscious of anything
beyond the physical agony and the mental effort to retain control of
his faculties. Then he made out the schooner, a vague, blurred shape a
little down-stream of him, and he swam furiously, his face dipping
under each time his left hand came out.
He drew level with her, clutched at her cable, a foot short, and was
driven against her bows. Then the stream swept him onward, gasping,
and clawing savagely at her slippery side, until his fingers found a
hold. It was merely the rounded top of a bolt, but with a desperate
effort he clutched the bent iron that led up from it to one of the
dead-eyes of the mainmast-shrouds. He could not, however, draw himself
up any further, and he hung on, wondering when his strength would fail
him, until the Siwash, who had already crawled up the cable, leaned
down from above and seized his shoulder. In another moment or two he
reached the rail, and went staggering across the deck, dripping, and
half dazed.
Action was, however, imperatively necessary, and he braced himself for
the effort. The schooner was lying with her anchor up-stream, but he
did not think it would be possible to heave her over it and break it
out unless he waited until the others arrived, and it would then be a
lengthy and, what was more to the purpose, a noisy operation. The
anchor must be sacrificed, but there was the difficulty that he could
hardly expect to find a shackle on the cable in the dark. Running
forward with the Siwash, he pulled a chain stopper out, and then
shipping the windlass levers found with vast relief that it would work.
It would make a horribly distinct clanking, he knew, but that could not
be helped, and the next thing was to discover if the end of the chain
was made fast below, for it is very seldom that a skipper finds it
necessary to pay all his cable out.
Dropping into the darkness of the locker beneath the forecastle, he was
more fortunate than he could reasonably have expected to be, for as he
crawled over the rusty links he felt a shackle. It appeared to be of
the usual harp-pattern with a cottered pin, and he called out sharply
to the Siwash, who presently flung him an iron bar and a big spike.
Then he struck one of the two or three sulphur matches he had carefully
treasured, and when the sputtering blue flame went out set to work to
back the pin out in the dark. He smashed his knuckles and badly
bruised his hands, but he succeeded, and knew that he had shortened the
chain by two-thirds now.
Then he scrambled up on deck again and hurried aft, for the vessel's
kedge had been laid out astern to prevent her swinging. There was a
heavy hemp warp attached to it, and it cost them some time to heave
most of it over, after which they proceeded to get the mainsail on to
her. It was covered with a coat, and Wyllard cut himself as he slashed
through the tiers in savage impatience. Then he and the Siwash toiled
at the halliards desperately, for the task of raising the heavy gaff
was almost beyond their powers.
There was no grease on the mast-hoops, the blocks had evidently not
been used for months, and several times they desisted a moment or two,
gasping, breathless, and utterly exhausted. Still, foot by foot they
got the black canvas up, and then, leaving the peak hanging, ran
forward to the boom-foresail, which was smaller and lighter. They set
that, cast two jibs and the staysail loose, and let them lie, and
Wyllard sat down feeling that the thing they had done would, if
attempted in cold blood, have appeared almost impossible.
It was done, however, and now he must wait until the boat appeared.
There was no sign of her, and as he gazed up the inlet, seeing only the
dim glimmer of the water and the sliding mist, the suspense became
almost intolerable. Minute slipped by after minute, and still nothing
loomed out of the haze. The canvas rustled and banged above him, there
was a growing splashing beneath the bows, and the schooner strained
more heavily at her cable. Everything was ready, only his comrades did
not appear. He clenched his hands and set his lips as he waited, and
wondered at the Siwash who sat upon the rail, a dim, shapeless figure,
impassively still.
At length his heart throbbed furiously, for a faint splash of oars came
out of the darkness, and they both ran forward to the windlass. The
sharp clanking it made drowned the splash of oars, but in another
minute or two there was a crash as the boat drove alongside, and Charly
scrambled up with a rope while Lewson hurled sundry bags and cases
after him. Then he climbed on deck in turn, and Charly commenced a
breathless explanation.
"It's all we could get. There's nobody on our trail," he said.
The last fact was most important, and Wyllard cut him short. "Get the
jibs and staysail on to her."
The new arrivals did it while the cable clanked and rattled as the
schooner drove astern, but at the first heave the rotten staysail tore
off the hanks, and one jib burst as they ran it up its stay. Then for
an anxious moment or two the cable jammed, and the anchor brought the
schooner up. All four flung themselves upon the windlass levers, and
after a furious effort the chain came up again and ran out faster,
fathom by fathom, rattling horribly, until the end of it shot suddenly
over the windlass. Then there was another check as the schooner
brought up by the kedge swung suddenly across the stream.
Her banging canvas filled, she listed over, and it was evident to all
of them that if the kedge started she would forthwith drive ashore.
Its warp ripped out of the water tense with strain, and she was
swinging on it heading for the beach when; Wyllard flung himself upon
the wheel.
"Hang on to every inch or break it!" he roared. "Out main-boom; box
your jib and staysail up to weather!"
They did it, amidst a great clatter of blocks and thrashing of canvas,
in desperate haste, while Wyllard wrenched up his helm, and the
schooner, straining on the warp, fell away with her bows down-stream.
He was quivering all through, and the sweat of effort dripped from him
when he swung up an arm to Lewson, who was standing at the bollard the
warp was made fast to.
"Now," he cried hoarsely, "let her go!"
The rope fell with a splash, the schooner lurched forward and drove
away down the inlet with the stream running seaward under her, while
Wyllard felt a trifle dazed from sheer revulsion of feeling. The
rumble of the surf was growing louder, the deck slanted slightly
beneath him, and if they could keep her off the beach for the next few
minutes there was freedom before them. He hazarded a glance astern,
but could see no sign of a boat up the inlet. They had done a thing
which even then appeared almost incredible.
The breeze came down fresher, the gurgle at the bows grew louder, and
the deck commenced to heave with a slow and regular rise and fall.
Then a long, shadowy point girt about with spectral surf slipped by,
and they were out in open water. They ran her out for an hour or two
and then, though the peak of the mainsail burst to tatters as they
hauled her on a wind, let her stretch away northwards following the
trend of coast.
"We'll stand on as she's lying until we find a creek or river mouth.
We must have water," Wyllard said.
An hour later he called Charly to the wheel, and sitting down in the
shelter of the rail soon afterwards went to sleep, though this was
about the last thing he had contemplated doing. It was grey dawn when
he opened his eyes again, and stood up, aching all over and very cold,
to see that the schooner was tumbling over a little spiteful sea with
the hazy loom of land not far away from her. Then he glanced at the
gear and canvas, and was almost appalled, while Charly, who was busy
close by, saw his face and grinned.
"You don't want to look at her too much," he said. "We took a swig on
the peak-halliards a little while ago, and had to let up before we
pulled the gaff off her. Boom-foresail's worse, and the jibs are
dropping off her, while the water just pours in through her topsides
when she puts another lee plank down."
Wyllard made a little expressive gesture, and leaned upon the rail. He
realised then something of the nature of the task he had undertaken.
They had no anchor, no fresh water, no fuel for cooking, and, so far as
he was aware, very few provisions, while it seemed to him that the
weathered, worn-out gear would not hold the masts in the vessel in any
weight of breeze. Still, the thing must be attempted, and there was
one want, at least, that could be supplied.
"Anyway," he said, "we'll beat her in. When we come abreast of the
first creek you and Tom and the Siwash will go ashore."
It was afternoon when they sighted one, and they took most of the
canvas off the vessel before three of them pulled away in the boat,
leaving Wyllard at the helm. It was blowing moderately fresh off
shore, and it was with feverish impatience he watched them toiling at
the oars, two of them pulling while the third man sculled. Then they
disappeared behind a point, and an anxious hour went by before the
boat, which now showed a very scanty strip of side above the tumbling
foam, crept out from the beach again. Having no breakers, they had
brought the water off in bulk, sitting in it as they pulled, and it was
fortunate that the boat lurched off shore easily before the little
splashing seas. They lost some of the water before they hove it into
the big and very rusty tank, and then they held a consultation when
they had swung the boat in and the schooner was running off to the east
again.
"We've about stores enough to last two weeks--that is, if you don't
expect too much," Lewson pointed out. "There's an American stove in
the deck-house, and while we can't find anything meant to burn in it
there's an axe down forward, and we could cut out cabin floorings, or a
beam or two, without taking too much stiffening out of her."
Wyllard, who had inspected the stores, fancied that a fortnight was the
very longest that could be counted on, though they ate no more than
would keep a modicum of strength in them. From their kind and quality
he surmised that they had been intended for the officials in charge of
the settlement.
"How did you get them, Tom?" he asked.
"The thing," said Lewson quietly, "was simple. It was dark and hazy,
and raining quite hard, and the first thing we did was to run the boat
down and leave her nearly afloat. Then we crawled back, and lay by
listening outside that store. We were figuring how we were to break it
in when two men came along. They went in and came out with a bag or
two, and as they left the door open we figured they were coming back
for more. We humped out a moderate load, and had just got it down to
the boat when we saw those men, or two others, in the haze. I was for
lying by, but Charly would get out then."
Charly laughed drily. "He wanted to take the rifle and go back to look
for Smirnoff. I'd no use for any trouble of that kind, and I shoved
the boat off while he was seeing how many ca'tridges there were in the
magazine. He waded in and grabbed the boat when he saw I was sure
going, but I shoved her away from him. Then it kind of struck him he
had to get in or swim."
Lewson's expression grew very grim. "That's the thing that hurts the
most--to go away before I got even with that man," he said. "Still, I
may get over it if I try to think of him with his nose smashed hard to
starboard."
Wyllard made a sign of impatience. He felt that, after all, there was
perhaps something to be said for Smirnoff's point of view.
"There is just one plan open to us, and that's to drive her across to
the eastward as fast as we can," he said. "We might, perhaps, pick up
an Alaska C.C. factory before the provisions quite run out if this
breeze and the gear hold up. Failing that, we must try for one of the
Western Aleutians."
The others concurred in this, and very fortunately the breeze kept to
the west and south, for Wyllard had very grave doubts as to whether he
could have thrashed the schooner to windward through a steep head sea.
Indeed, on looking back on that voyage and remembering the state of the
vessel, it seemed to him that he and his companions had only escaped as
by a miracle. In any case, they hove her to one misty evening in a
deep inlet behind a promontory, and Wyllard, who sculled up it alone in
the growing darkness, badly startled the agent of an A.C.C. factory
when he appeared, ragged, haggard, and wet with rain, in the doorway of
a big, stove-warmed room.
The agent, however, was, as he admitted, out for business, and when
Wyllard produced a wad of paper money stained by wet and perspiration
he appeared quite willing to part with certain provisions. He was also
told that no questions would be answered, and when he had given Wyllard
supper the latter sculled away in the darkness leaving him none the
wiser. Half an hour later the schooner slipped out to sea again.
The rest was by comparison easy. They had the coast of Alaska and
British Columbia close aboard, and they crept southwards in fine
weather, once running off their course when the smoke of a steamer
crept up above the horizon. Then they ran for the northern tongue of
Vancouver Island in a strong breeze of wind, and Wyllard, who had
already decided that the vessel would scarcely fetch five hundred
dollars and that it would be better if all trace of her disappeared,
pulled his wheel over suddenly as she was scraping by a surf-swept reef.
In another minute she was on hard and fast, and they had scarcely got
the boat over when the masts went with a crash. A quarter of an hour
later they were thrown up on the beach, and before they set out on a
long march through the bush there was very little to be seen of the
vessel.
Three or four days afterwards they reached a little wooden town, and
Wyllard, who slipped into it alone in the dusk, bought clothing for
himself and his companions, who put it on in the bush. Then they went
into the town together, and slept that night in a wooden hotel.
Their troubles were over, and, what was more, Wyllard, who pledged the
rest to secrecy, fancied that what had become of the schooner would
remain a mystery.