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CHAPTER XIX
THE SEALERS' RECKONING

The wind fell light next morning, and the haze closed in, but it became evident there were reefs not far away when the Champlain fell in with a herd of holluschackie. The men were in an unpleasant temper, and worked in eager haste when Jordan bade them get the boats over, for to have gone back and swept every seal off the island would have been a relief to them then. Jordan, however, seldom let his feelings overcome his prudence, and he smiled dryly as he watched the men.

"I don't quite know where the beach is, but there are the seals," he said. "If we run the flag up you'll pull back just as quick as you can."

The boats had started in another minute, and with rifles flashing every now and then they swung over the long swell, until the men's arms and backs were aching.

Darkness was creeping in when they came back one by one, and then by the flicker of blinking lanterns the work went on. The deck grew foul with grease and blood, the knives slipped in the tired hands that held them, and the lads would stop gasping a moment or two each time a stripped carcase went over the side, and wonder whether anything would ever free them from the horrible smell. At last it was over, and while the Champlain crept on her way again they sat greasy and slimy in the hold. They were very tired, but there was content in the sealers' bronzed faces, save for that of Montreal, who sat gloomily silent away from the rest.

"You've not been talking much to-day. Feeling sick?" said somebody.

Montreal's brown fingers slowly clenched themselves. "Not in the way you mean. You know what I came up here for, boys, and I've had 'bout enough of this," he said. "How'm I going to find out anything when Jordan yanks me out of every boat that goes ashore?"

Donegal, whose forehead was wrapped in a crusted bandage, shook his head.

"And Ned Jordan knows as well. Can ye not be trusting him?" he said.

Montreal appeared to find some difficulty in checking a groan. "I've waited a long while, boys, and I'm kind of tired," he said.

There was silence for a minute, for the men knew it was a brother their comrade had come to find, and Niven, who lay upon the floorings with one foot tied up, remembering what he had heard in Motter's house, was about to speak when Appleby kicked him on the leg.

"Still," said somebody, "there's nothing you can do."

Montreal glanced round the shadowy hold as though to make sure that Stickine was not there. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess the Champlain will be short of a boat and a man short one morning – and there'll be trouble for some folks yonder if it's dead that man's brother is. It's the not knowing – the knowing nothing, that's killing me."

"One man couldn't do much alone," said Charley dryly.

Montreal laughed mirthlessly, and there was a curious glint in his eyes. "I guess he could," he said. "That is, if he had a rifle, and didn't worry 'bout anything so long as he used up the magazine before they got him down."

Donegal's face lit up under the crusted bandage, and his voice had a little gleeful ring. "And two av them would do just twice as much – and it's two, or more, there'll be, but we'll give Ned Jordan a fair show first," said he.

A little growl of grim approval rose from the men, but none of them said anything further, and they did not seem quite at ease when Jordan and Stickine came down the ladder. The skipper sat down, and looked at them gravely, but if he noticed anything unusual he did not mention it.

"We've got to have a little talk, boys," he said. "You know the kind of trick Motter would have worked off on me. He'd have taken my dollars and then before I got the furs turned the Russians loose on us. He and one of their officers fixed up the thing, and before I got out of their grip I'd have left skins and schooner behind me. Now, I don't like being kicked that way by anybody."

The skipper may have been mistaken, but the men believed him.

"We'll go back and pull his place down," said somebody.

Jordan smiled and shook his head. "And find a squad of bluejackets waiting for you? That's just what Motter would figure on, and there's a gunboat crawling round," he said.

"Are we going to sit down and do nothing?" asked Montreal.

"No," said Jordan with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Now, it's kind of difficult for a gunboat to be in two places at once, and while she's hanging round Motter's watching for us there's nothing to stop us walking right into the sealing post."

He stopped a moment, and looked straight at Montreal. "Well, now, that isn't in the deal you made to go sealing with me, but I heard they had a white man there."

There was a murmur of astonishment, and Montreal stood up quivering a little. "And," he said hoarsely, "you're going for him?"

Jordan nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "If the boys are willing."

The answer was not effusive, but Jordan, who saw the little darker flush that crept into the bronzed faces and the slow clenching of a brown hand here and there, appeared contented. He knew that he had but to lead and the men would follow.

"Well," he said grimly, "if we've any kind of fortune we'll be there to-morrow."

He nodded to them, and when he went up the ladder Donegal gleefully thumped Montreal on the shoulder.

"It's you and me that's spoiling – just spoiling for to-morrow," he said, and made a run at Appleby who was grinning at him. "And you knew it and never told. Sure I saw ye kicking Mainsail Haul. It's me that would be caressing ye wid a rope end, me darling."

Appleby swung himself up the ladder. "Sure, 'tis no sensible man would go looking for a row when he could run away," he said.

Donegal shook his fist at him. "Ye will stop up there where it's nice and fresh," he said. "No man can be sensible always. 'Twould not be good for him."

Next day they raised a gray blur above the horizon, and Jordan, when he saw it, headed out to sea again. Then he laid the Champlain to, and it was not until dusk was creeping across the waters that they edged in towards the land again. The time passed very slowly, and the men were for the most part unusually silent, though there was a curious anticipation in their faces, and Montreal sat very grim and quiet rubbing out a rifle. It occurred to the lads who watched him now and then that it would not be nice to be the Russians who had ill-used his brother if he came across them.

There was no moon, and the sky was dimmed by driving haze when they pulled ashore, three boatloads of them with rifles, clubs and knives, and no man spoke when they sprang out waist-deep in the long white wash that went seething up the beach. Two stayed behind to watch the boats, and with the stones rattling beneath them the rest went on. Appleby and Niven, who limped painfully, followed too, because Jordan had apparently been too much occupied to notice them. It seemed to the lads that anybody who might be listening must hear the noise they made a mile away, but the sea frothed and roared upon the beaches close behind, and when they wound beneath the face of a crag another sound grew louder. It was the voice of the big bull seals, and while they blundered over the slippery ledges the lads could dimly see that every shelf of rock was packed with curious shadowy objects. Some of them were shambling forward, some lying still with heads held up, but all were roaring, piping, bleating at once, and the din they made was indescribable.

Suddenly two of them flopped over a ledge and came shambling towards the men, one of whom stepped aside, while Appleby, starting a little at the sight of the half-seen shapeless thing heading for him, swung up his club. It looked very big as it came on through the semi-darkness. Somebody, however, laughed and grabbed his arm.

"He's not going to hurt you, sonny, if you get out of his way," a voice said. "Just a bull seal they've shoved out of the rookery. He'll go back and pull one of the rest of them out presently."

The seal flopped away into the shadow or into the sea, and the men finding better footing went on more rapidly, until when Jordan signed to them they stopped breathless on the crest of a rise. Beneath them in the dimness the sea frothed whitely, and a swarm of shadowy objects were apparently shuffling down the slope between.

"Holluschackie!" said Jordan dryly. "It's quite likely we'll take a few of them along. Get the lie of the place into you, boys. You might want to find the boats handy when you come back again."

The lads looked round with the others, but there was very little to see. A low black rise ran up into the haze in front of them, and here and there they caught the glimmer of a patch of snow. All round the darkness seemed closing in, and out of it came the boom of the sea on the beaches and a doleful wail of wind, for the seals were almost quiet again. Appleby could feel his heart beating and his temples throbbing as he wondered what that dimness hid.

"It reminds me of the night we stole Jimmy's duck," said Niven, but his voice was not quite the same as usual. "It will be something to look back upon."

"Oh, yes," said Appleby dryly. "So long as we do it on board the schooner. It wouldn't be quite so nice to remember it in Siberia."

"If I couldn't talk of anything more cheerful I'd shut my mouth tight!" said Niven, who felt the chilly darkness growing curiously unpleasant.

He fancied he could have made a dash at an armed loghouse as well as the rest, but this slow crawling in on an unknown enemy was a very different and much more disconcerting affair.

Just then Jordan raised his hand, and they went on again, blundering over a boulder here and there, and now and then splashing through a little slushy snow, but still there was only sliding haze about them and in front grey obscurity, until the lads commenced to wonder whether they would go tramping on the whole night through. At last, however, they stopped again on the summit of another rise, and Appleby grasped Niven's arm when he made out the dim blink of a light in the fog. The men murmured together, and Jordan seemed to be speaking, but Appleby did not hear what he said. He could only watch the light, while Niven afterwards admitted that he could recollect very little but a feverish desire to get what they had to do over.

Once more the men wont on, a little quicker now, while the soft patter of their feet and the rattle of a rifle as one of them stumbled seemed horribly distinct in the stillness. Nobody, however, appeared to hear them, and at last when the dim outline of a house rose blackly against the night the pace grew faster, until it became a run, and the lads saw the line of shadowy figures split up left and right. Then they heard Jordan's voice.

"In with you. You know what you have to do!"

Appleby's fears seemed to fall from him, and it was with a wild desire to shout that he followed the rest at a breathless run, while Niven floundered along a few paces behind him. The house rose higher and blacker, and still nobody seemed to hear them until a dog commenced growling as they swept round to the rear of it, and stood apart on either side when Montreal with his rifle-butt beat upon the door.

There was a cry of surprise inside, a sound of voices, and footsteps that stopped again, while a deep growl made answer when Montreal once more beat upon the door. Then he stepped back and swung up his rifle.

"No time for fooling, boys," he said. "In she goes."

Appleby saw the weapon whirl high, and another shadowy man standing with the muzzle of his rifle pointed at the door. Then it came down crashing, there was a rush of feet, and he went in with the rest over the shattered door.

A glare of light shone into his eyes, there was a savage growl and a flash as something sprang straight at the foremost of them. A smear of acrid smoke filled the passage, but Appleby fancied he saw a big sealing-club whirl up, and the dog went down, for next moment he stumbled over something that felt soft beneath him. Then with somebody running before them they burst into a room, and the lads long remembered the picture that met them.

Two men who had apparently fled along the passage stood sullenly at the further end of it, and two more who had evidently dragged a table into a corner behind it. They were less than half-dressed, but one who was tall with blue eyes and straw-coloured hair had on a partly buttoned naval uniform. A pistol glinted in his hand, and an inch or two of blue-grey steel shone at his belt. The other man's face was sallow, but he was unarmed, and there was a curious glint in his little dark eyes as he watched the sealers.

For a moment they stood looking at each other, and then another door on the opposite side of the room was driven open and Jordan, rifle in hand, came in. Behind him came Stickine and Donegal. More sealers in shaggy furs and greasy canvas trooped in, but still the blue-eyed officer stood apparently unconcerned. Then Jordan dropped his rifle-butt and held up his hand.

"When I want a man to do anything I'll tell him," he said, and turned gravely to the officer. "You can put that thing down. Nobody's going to hurt you. Can you talk any English?"

The officer who, Appleby surmised, was from the Baltic coast, made a sign of comprehension. "A little – but more easy the French," he said.

"Then," said Jordan dryly, "we'll get ahead. Fetch Brulée in, Stickine."

While Stickine went out the officer laid down his pistol, and with a little deprecatory gesture straightened his uniform and drew tight his belt. Then, to Appleby's astonishment, he took out a little silver box and shook a few cigarettes out from it on to the table. He did not seem in any way disturbed, though the faces of the big bronzed sealers who carried clubs and rifles were very grim as they watched him. This was almost a shock to Appleby, who had hitherto half-instinctively believed that quiet fearlessness and resolute composure in times of stress and peril were only to be expected from Englishmen. Yet here was a Russian helpless in the hands of men whom he knew had a bitter grievance against him and his comrades, and if he felt the slightest fear of them it was at least imperceptible. Appleby was, however, to discover later on that while some lands are considerably more pleasant to live in than others the fact that he was born in England or Russia, or elsewhere, after all makes no great difference in the qualities that become any man.

Then he saw that Stickine had returned, and the officer was speaking. "What you make here, Captain?" he said, getting out the words with evident difficulty.

"He's too slow," said Jordan. "Ask him if he has more men anywhere around, Brulée."

"Two of them at the huts, and 'bout a dozen natives," was the answer.

Jordan nodded, and Montreal stepped forward, his face grey and set, and his fingers trembling on his rifle. "I guess it's 'bout time I did some talking too," he said "Ask if he has seen my brother."

"Get right back until you're wanted. It's me that's running this show," said Jordan. "Ask him if they've got an Englishman there, Brulée."

The officer made a little gesture of assent. "They have one who works," he said.

"Send for him right now," said Jordan sternly. "Four of my men will go along in case there's any blundering."

The dark-skinned man slipped out from behind the table, and when he went out with four of the sealers behind him the blue-eyed officer held out the little box.

"You will do me the pleasure, Captain," he said in French.

Jordan smiled dryly. "No, thanks," he said. "I've no great use for these things, and I don't know that I'm open to take anything of that kind from you just now."

The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed a little. "With permission," he said, and lighted a cigarette. "Now you can tell me what you come for, Captain."

"You can tell him 'bout Motter, Brulée. Two of you will keep a look-out outside there," said Jordan, and crossing over sat down on the table.

Then there followed a very anxious interval, and Appleby fancied by the way the men glanced towards the door that they were as expectant as he was himself. Now and then one of them moved restlessly, and the lads could hear the crackle of the stove and the moan of the wind about the building. They caught very little of Brulée's narrative, but long afterwards the scene returned to them, and they could see Jordan sitting very still, with an impassive bronzed face beneath his fur cap, on the table, and the blue-eyed officer languidly watching him while the smoke of the cigarette drifted between them. It also seemed to both the lads that if either of the men let his fear or anger master him a much more deadly vapour would whirl in thicker wreaths about the lonely building. Brulée seemed disposed to make the most of his opportunity, but he stopped at last, and the officer nodded to Jordan comprehendingly.

"Lache. Infame! It was not my affair," he said in French.

After that there was silence, until a tramp of feet grew nearer, and a murmur rose from the anxious men when a voice came out of the darkness hoarse and exultant, "We've got him."

Then, with Montreal and another man in front of them, the sealers came in, and there was once more a murmur when the first two stopped close by Jordan, who held out his hand.

"And you're Tom Allardyce?" he said.

The man's hand seemed to shake as he grasped the skipper's, and his eyes grew a trifle hazy when the rest grinned at him encouragingly and Montreal patted his shoulder.

"Yes," he said. "I was cast away up here 'most two years ago."

"Sit down," said Jordan quietly, with a glance at the Russian officer. "Tell us all about it. Don't worry, and go slow. I've a reason for wanting to know."

The man sat down, and there was another little murmur when the sealers saw his lined and haggard face, for there was on it the stamp of hunger and suffering. His hands were clawlike, and there was a great scar upon his forehead.

"It's good to see you, boys," he said, and his voice died away hoarsely. Then he turned to Jordan. "You're going to take me back with you?"

Jordan laughed a little. "Oh, yes," he said. "Look at the boys. I guess they're not going to let me leave you, if I wanted to."

The lurking fear died out of Allardyce's eyes. "Well," he said, "I was cast away – me and an Indian and Stetson, sealing from the old St. Michael. 'Twas back there on the eastern reefs we came ashore, and when I got him out Stetson's head was crushed in. That left me and the Indian, and the Russians sent us west when the gun-boat came. I don't know how long they kept us yonder, but one night when they sent us down the coast on a schooner me and the Indian got away from her. The boat was a good one, and, for it was blowing fresh, we ran back north before the wind I don't know where, and lived with the natives ashore until the Indian got drowned in an ice crack while we starved through that winter. There's lots of things I don't seem to remember, but I got blown off in a skin boat at last, and when I'd lived most of a week on nothing a schooner fetched me here."

It was a very disjointed story, but the sealers could fill in the cold and hunger of those terrible wanderings which Allardyce, whose face spoke more plainly for him, left out. Brulée rendered it into French, and Jordan turned to the officer.

"Your people take away a white man's liberty and leave him to rot without a hearing?" he said.

The Russian made a little deprecatory gesture. "The Department is slow – or perhaps it is occupied, and he ran away too soon. One waits the instructions, and if the papers do not come – what would you? Sometimes a man is forgotten."

"Did you ever see this man before, Allardyce?" asked Jordan.

"No," said the sealer. "Not until he came here with the gun-boat a week ago."

Jordan nodded, and pointed to the dark-skinned man. "Have the folks here ill-treated you?"

"No," said Allardyce. "I had to work for them, and I was glad I had, but they never did no harm to me."

Jordan turned once more to the Russians. "I guess," he said grimly, "that was quite fortunate for all of you. Now, how long have you been working for them, Allardyce?"

"Since soon after the ice broke up. When that was I don't quite know."

"Well," said Jordan dryly, "we'll fix up the thing. I've had to come here with my schooner for this man, and I'll charge my time to you at forty dollars the day besides what Motter stole from me. We'll figure he has been working here two months, anyway, and he'd have got 'bout two dollars and a half for every day of it in our country. Then there's the months you kept him on the other coast without giving him a show to make out his innocence, and his damaged feelings. That will run to five hundred dollars, anyway, and it's very moderate. You can't do things of that kind to a Canadian without it costing something. Still, the trading folks aren't going to lose anything, because the Government's bound to pay them. Now, have you got any roubles with you?"

"Very few," said the dark-skinned man in French. "We pay the natives in provisions."

Jordan nodded. "Then I'll work it out in seals," he said. "Now I'm wanting that pistol and your sword from you."

The blue-eyed officer laid his hand upon the blade. "You can have my word – a six hour's truce – but this only in one way."

"Well," said Jordan with a little laugh, "I guess I can trust you, because we've got your men's rifles, and I'll leave enough of the boys to take care of you. Montreal, you'll stop with four of them, and the rest will come along with me. It's going to take a good many holluschackie to square this deal."

The Russian nodded, and lighted another cigarette, and the lads went out with the rest into the misty night.