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CHAPTER XX
THE NEXT MEETING
The men stopped at last at the head of the slope to the sea, and the lads discovered that the task before them was a good deal less simple than they had fancied. There were the seals – they could see them dimly lying in groups on the shingle or shambling about – but it became evident that their destruction could not be undertaken in a haphazard fashion, for Jordan sent two of the men to work round between them and the sea.
"We'll give them 'bout ten minutes, boys, and then start in. I'm entitled to so many skins, but I've no use for spoiling the whole herd," he said.
Here and there a man beat his hands while they waited, for the night was cold, others lighted their pipes, and Niven, who was glad to rest his wrenched foot, sat down.
"Why don't we go straight in and club them?" he asked Stickine.
"It wouldn't be the square thing," said the Canadian. "A seal knows a good deal, and if we killed 'bout half of them among the rest, those that got away would tell the others, and it would be a long while before they came back to this beach again."
"But seals only do things instinctively," said Niven.
Donegal, who was standing close by, laughed as he asked, "And what is instinct, anyway?"
Niven appeared to have some difficulty in finding an answer, and Appleby grinned at him. "Better tell him you don't know," he said.
Donegal nodded. "Nor any one else, but the holluschackie have brains in their heads, as ye will see before this conthract's through. And what were they given brains for if 'twas not to make use av them? 'Tis the vanity of ignorance would have ye believe there's no sense in the wondherful things in the sea. Sure, Donovitch and his Indians could tell ye better."
This was a new point of view to Appleby, but being aware that his sealer comrades had seen more of the denizens of the waters than all the city men who lectured and wrote about them put together he made no answer.
"Then when are we going to club them?" asked Niven.
"When we've drawn out those we want and driven them nice and slow to a handy place," said Stickine.
Before they had time for further questions Jordan spoke to Stickine, and spreading out they floundered down the slope and then closed in on the seals. The latter made no very great effort to avoid them, and when they had driven them together Jordan separated those he wanted from the rest.
"We'll take these along," he said.
Then while most of the herd went flopping down the slope in a hurry to the sea the men urged the rest slowly towards the higher ground, pushing one here and there with their feet, or prodding them with their rifles. It was dark, but the lads could see the seals more or less plainly, though it would have puzzled either of them to describe their progression. They did not walk, they did not crawl, but every move set their blubber-coated bodies quivering, and nothing more appropriate than flopping occurred to Niven. They also went faster than he fancied they could have done, though the men seemed desirous not to hurry them, and when he asked, Stickine told him the reason.
"If you make them hot before you club them, they'll spoil their pelts," he said. "You could strip the fur right off a seal that had been run too hard with your fingers."
They went on, and when now and then one of the seals made a futile endeavour to get away, or stopped, and, raising itself in a curious fashion, gazed at its persecutors, the lads commenced to be sorry for them. They also felt a squeamishness that was almost too much for them when at last, after they and the seals had rested a little, the men set about the slaughter. After the first few minutes both lads slipped away, for the sight of the limp, quivering bodies and whirling clubs almost sickened them, but they dare not go too far, and the thud of the crushing blows followed them. Niven had seen Donovitch stand over his victims and beat their heads in, and the recollection of it remained with him.
"Of course you can't have seal-skins without killing seals, but they seemed so harmless – and I wish I hadn't come," he said.
His regret was even stronger when Jordan called him, and very much against his wishes he helped to roll round the horribly smelling, greasy bodies while the others flayed them. At every clutch his fingers sank in the warm, shaking blubber, and when at last the work was over his face was white and he shivered from revulsion. It was daylight now, and the men stood about him dabbled here and there with blood, and foul with grease all over, while he fancied that one could have smelt them from the schooner.
"It's beastly," he said to Appleby. "I feel as if I'd eaten no end of things that didn't agree with me."
Then Jordan sent two men back for the Russian officer, and nodded to him when he came.
"I want you to see what we've got. We're 'bout square now," he said.
The officer glanced down at the slaughtered holluschackie with a little gesture of disgust. Then he laughed as he said in French, "It is not my affair. I see you again one day, Captain, and it is perhaps different then."
Brulée made this plain, and Jordan smiled. "If you do it's quite likely I can show as good a fist as you. Anyway, we're going off now, and I'll bid you good-morning. You'll find your men's rifles down there on the beach when you want them."
In another half-hour they were pulling off to the schooner, and when they sat at breakfast in the hold Stickine grinned at the lads.
"Feeling any better now?" he said. "You don't like clubbing holluschackie?"
"No," said Appleby with a little shiver of disgust. "I've been wondering whether it's not going to make trouble for Jordan, too, because somebody will, in all probability, send on the demand to Canada if those folks ask their Government to pay the damage."
Stickine smiled dryly. "It's not quite likely that they will," he said. "The fellows who're responsible do some kind of curious things, and neither they nor the sealers have much use for talking. 'Pears to me that more than one Government is getting tired of us, and the Russian department bosses want a man who knows how to keep out of trouble. If he gets worrying them they're quite likely to find another use for him. Of course, there'll be some writing, but Ned Jordan only took what he was entitled to when he might have swept the island, and it isn't going to suit anybody to drag Tom Allardyce in."
Appleby could not decide then or afterwards whether Stickine was right, but it seemed to him that there was a good deal of reason in his opinion. In any case he had little leisure to consider the affair just then, for Jordan called them up on deck to hoist the topsails, and they spent most of that day watching for a wind. It was as usual dim and hazy, and the lads fancied that Jordan was a trifle anxious, for he swept the sea with his glasses as they rolled slowly east. Appleby was also within hearing when he drew Stickine away from the rest.
"We're in a kind of fix," he said. "There's nothing the Russians wouldn't do to square up the deal with us, and that fellow we left behind will be pulling all he's worth for Motter's to turn the gun-boat loose. If I'd figured we were going to have this weather I'd have set his boat adrift. Send an Indian to the cross-trees to keep a look-out for her."
The wind came, almost too much of it, in the afternoon, and at dusk the Champlain was lying as close as she could to it with her lighter canvas stowed, and a nest of reefs to leeward. The lads could see the white foam flying and the whirling clouds of spray, and were wondering whether the schooner could weather them on that tack when the Indian aloft stretched out his hand, and somebody shouted —
"Boat close in with the surf."
Appleby went up the masthoops, and could just make out something that swung into sight now and then against the whiteness of the surf behind it. It was, he surmised, a boat, and he saw that Jordan was watching her under the main-boom.
"The Russian!" he said. "It don't seem sense to let her get that close in with the rocks to lee."
"Somebody waving!" said Stickine, who had taken up the glasses. "They're used up, and can't pull her out against the sea."
There was silence for at least another minute, while the men stared at the whirling spray and the dusky object that was hove up every now and then, and Niven shivered a little, for he could guess what would happen to worn-out men, hurled upon those fangs of rock by the frothing sea. The reefs would mangle them out of human semblance, in all probability. Then Jordan glanced to weather at the big froth-tipped slopes of water that rolled up towards them, and shook his head solemnly.
"We can't let them drown," he said. "Get your maintopsail up, but let it lie below the gaff, and shake loose the outer jib. We'll want them when we come to beat her out again."
"Square away?" asked Montreal at the helm.
Jordan nodded. "Out main-boom, boys. Slack up everything."
The long boom swung outboard, the schooner swung round, and as she swept in for the reefs with the wind on her quarter now the lads realized as well as the others did, the risks the skipper was quietly taking. It was easy to run for the boat, but to beat out again would be a very different affair, and Appleby fancied that only a very handy vessel would do it once she felt the grip of the sea that grew higher as it swept forward through shallowing water to crumble on the reefs. It was also unpleasantly evident as he watched the white spouting that swimming would not be much use to him if she did not succeed. Still, he had confidence in the lean, grim-faced man who stood quietly by the house. The men in the boat would have taken the schooner from him and ruined him if they could, but Appleby knew that so long as the Champlain's spars and canvas would hold out, Jordan would not let them drown.
In another few minutes it was also apparent that the Russians were in sorest need of help, for each time she swung up the boat seemed closer to the surf. The men were pulling desperately while the spray that blew in from the streaming bows whirled about them, but every one could see they were making no headway, and the reefs were close astern. At last Jordan signed to Stickine.
"You've got to be handy, boys," he said quietly.
Appleby was at the rail, and saw for a moment the straining bodies swing with the thrashing oars and the white upturned faces, as the schooner rushed by the boat. A great wreath of foam frothed about her as she swung over the top of a sea, but in another second she had passed astern, and every man on board the Champlain became busy when Jordan raised his hand. Down went the helm, in came the long boom, there was a great rattle of blocks and banging of canvas, and as the schooner swept round a voice rang through the din.
"Get a holt of them. Up gaff topsail and jib while she's shaking!"
Appleby, as it happened, was at the topsail halliard, and could see very little as they ran the sail up. He, however, knew the schooner had run to leeward of the boat, and now when she lay to, he had a momentary glimpse of the Russians. They were flying towards her with the boat hove up on the back of a sea, but the Champlain rolled heavily and he lost sight of her. In another moment or two there was a thud and a shouting beneath him to lee, and struggling with the topsail tack, he could dimly see black figures leaning down through the shrouds and apparently clutching at something in the sea. Then bedraggled objects came scrambling over the rail, and Montreal was whirling the wheel round while something drove away astern.
"They're here. Haul staysail," said Jordan.
It had taken less than a minute, and now the Champlain, heaving her bows out of a seatop, was going on again nobody seemed to consider that they had done anything unusual, though it was evident that it might still cost them very dearly. The reefs were waiting close astern, there was also an ominous spouting in front of them, and black seas that had grown steeper came seething out of the dimness to weather. The schooner was hove down by her canvas until the lads could scarcely stand upon her deck, but she must carry the last inch of it if she was to beat off shore.
On she went, deluging her jibs at every plunge and drenching her foresail half-way up, until the reef was close ahead, and Jordan signed with his hand. Then with canvas banging she swept round head to wind, and, while the men, who needed no telling, grasped the jib-sheets, hung there a few breathless moments, for everybody on board her knew that if she would not stay, or come round on the other tack, she would be on the reef in another minute. Appleby cast one brief glance at the tumultuous spouting and chaos of crumbling seas, and then turned his eyes away, for he had seen rather more than was good for him.
"Let draw staysail. Lee-sheets," said somebody, and she was coming round with them.
Dripping men grabbed at the ropes, there was a banging of canvas, and she was thrashing out on the other tack when Jordan, turning to the blue-eyed officer, held out his hand.
"It's kind of fortunate we came along just then. I'll fix you up by and by," he said.
There was still just enough light to see by, and Appleby afterwards remembered the cloud of spray that blew into the foresail, the white seething of the reefs, and the two figures beneath the drenched canvas on the Champlain's deck. The Russian stood erect in his wet uniform, Jordan swaying a little, uncouth and ungainly in his spray-wet canvas and greasy furs, but the two shook hands as men and equals, and Appleby dimly realized that a great deal was implied by that grasp. One was, up there, an outlaw, the other an officer of the Tsar, but the likeness between them was greater than the difference of race, and Appleby commenced to understand things he had heard and read that had once been incomprehensible to him. Men, it seemed, were much the same wherever they came from, and neither varying speech nor colour could make them less than men, while the pride that set the nations at each others' throats was an evil thing. Then there flashed into his memory lines he had once been made to learn, and had straightway forgotten, "When the battle flags are furled."
In the meanwhile he was wanted to get another pull on the staysail-sheet, and when that was done all his attention was occupied by the reefs and the schooner. Hove down by her canvas she put her bows in every now and then, and her deck ran water, while the masts were groaning under the pressure, and the surf seemed very little farther away. Once or twice when a white sea smote her it seemed to both the lads who clung tight to what was handiest that she was going over, and Appleby saw that Montreal glanced at Jordan as though asking a question from the wheel. The skipper, however, shook his head.
"We've no time for luffing. She has got to take what comes," he said.
For several minutes it seemed scarcely possible that the Champlain could resist the overwhelming heeling stress of her canvas, and her deck was swept fore and aft during them. Then there was a lull in the wind, and as she lifted her rail a little, Stickine glanced at the boat astern of them.
"She's most swamped, and a big drag on us," he said. "Shall I cut the painter?"
Again Jordan shook his head. "Not unless we have to. We'll want her to-morrow."
For an hour they thrashed to windward before they could clear the reefs, and when at last the horrible white seething swept away behind them, and they swung the topsail and mainsail peak down it was with a great contentment that the lads, who were drenched through, crawled away below. Niven laughed excitedly as he stripped off his dripping clothes.
"I'm glad we got them," he said. "Still, I wouldn't like to do this kind of thing often."
In the meanwhile the Russian officer had gone with Jordan into the cabin, but the bluejackets were put into the hold, and though nobody could understand them they smiled and nodded to the sealers and took all the tobacco that was offered them. Next morning the wind had once more fallen, and a little grey smear, which was apparently an island, showed on the hazy horizon. The lads knew that Brulée had taken an unusually good breakfast into the cabin, and Jordan and the Russians came on deck together. Montreal, at a sign from the former, span round the wheel, and the Champlain came up head to wind. She lay there for ten minutes while the Russians emptied and dried up their boat, then water and a bag of provisions were lowered into her, and Jordan smiled at the blue-eyed officer.
"There's not going to be much wind for three or four hours, and you'll be ashore by then," he said. "It's a good pull, but you'll be that much longer sending the gun-boat after me."
The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed and clapped the skipper's shoulder. Then he glanced down at his uniform with a deprecatory gesture.
"It is my affair," he said in French. "But, my captain, what you do for us we others do not forget."
Then he went over the side, and the boat slid away when he spoke to his men. Jordan signed to Montreal and the schooner went on again, but looking aft they saw the blue-eyed officer for a moment standing upright bareheaded, as the boat lurched over a swell. They saw no more of him, but when they sat at dinner Stickine came grinning into the hold.
"That fellow left a little silver box with some pencil writing in it on the cabin table," he said. "Brulée's been down worrying out what it means, and it's quite a long while since I saw Ned Jordan so proud of anything."
CHAPTER XXI
IN VANCOUVER
It was, as Donegal observed, in American waters, but far enough outside them, that the Champlain fell in with the last holluschackie herd, and that day bright sunlight shone down on the gently heaving sea. There was not a boat that returned without its load, and tired as they were the men seemed unusually cheerful as they pulled back to the schooner when dusk was creeping in.
"The seals were a long way out to-day," said Appleby when they stopped pulling for a minute or two. "Except when we first came up we haven't found them so far from the beach before."
Donegal nodded as he shifted his brown hands along his oar. "'Tis getting into training they are. They'll be off south to where they come from by and by, the same as us," he said. "When is it we're taking the road, Stickine?"
Stickine laughed softly as he glanced towards the north across the long heave, and a little cold breeze fanned the lads' faces as they followed his gaze.
"I don't know. Jordan hasn't told me yet, but I guess we'll be shoving her along for Vancouver the first time the wind frees us," he said.
"It's fair now," said Niven with a curious eagerness.
"Is anybody telling you different?" Stickine said dryly. "It's time we were getting our supper, boys."
They went on again, and though they had rowed since morning the stroke was faster than it had been before, while all seemed expectant when they lay waiting for the other boats to give them room close by the rolling schooner. At last they hove her in, and there was a curious silence when Jordan moved a pace or two forward and glanced at the trysail with a little smile in his face. The schooner was just creeping through the water under it and her jibs.
"We'll have it down and the mainsail up. It would be a kind of pity to waste a slant like this," he said, and stopped a moment while the men watched him expectantly with the twinkle showing plainer in his eyes. "I don't know any reason you shouldn't give her the topsails too. She'd be that much nearer Vancouver to-morrow, boys."
In a moment the deck seemed covered with scrambling men. Blocks rattled, brawny backs were bent, great folds of rustling canvas swayed aloft, and as it swelled and banged Stickine's voice rose up, "Blow, boys, blow!"
The peak of the big mainsail tilted faster, with a fresh rattle the foresail stretched out too, and the lads' cheeks were flushed and a light was in their eyes when with voices hoarse from excitement they swelled the roaring chorus —
"Blow, boys, blow for Californio,
For there's shining gold in heaps, I'm told,
On the sunny Sacramento."
It grew louder and faster, and they pulled with feverish eagerness as they sang, while when at last one or two gasped and stopped, their voices were replaced by the wheezing of Brulée's accordion as playing with all his might he capered on the hatch.
"Way oh, Sacramento!" the voices rose again, and stopped when Montreal turned on Niven, who was dragging a sail after him.
"We've no use for that thing. Get the biggest yard header. We're starting home," he said.
Then they sent the topsail up, and the schooner was sliding south with a merry splashing at the bows when the last refrain floated out to leeward, and was lost in the silence that crept up across the sea, from the frozen North they had turned their backs upon.
"Shining gold in heaps, I'm told,
Down there in Sacramento."
"Now I guess we'll fix these pelts up," said Jordan quietly.
Without a thought of weariness they worked most of the night, and the lads did not even notice the horrible smell, while when at last the deck was swilled down Niven went forward and leaned a moment over the rail in the bows. The jibs swung blackly through the night ia front of him, the sea frothed white below, and the breeze was fresh and cold now, but the lad's face was flushed, for with every lurch that flung off the creaming foam the Champlain was bearing him so much nearer home. Then he turned and, because a half-moon hung low in the sky, noticed that there was another dark figure close beside him. It was Tom Allardyce, and when the man moved his head his face still showed worn and drawn, but his eyes seemed to shine, and it was with a curious little sigh that bespoke a great content he stretched out his hand and pointed to the south.
"She's footing it bravely – and taking us home," he said. "Many a time I've wondered what it would feel like – up there – when there wasn't much use worrying over things of that kind."
"It must have been beastly," said Niven, feeling that this very inadequately expressed his sympathy, and the man's voice was a trifle strained as he answered him.
"It's behind me now, and the folks I left down there in Vancouver are alive and waiting for me. It's – kind of wonderful, but Ned Jordan fixed it all. Well, I'm not the only one who'll bless the Champlain and him."
Niven felt curiously moved as he went down into the hold, and long afterwards the memory of the lonely man staring south across the dusky sea from the bows of the Champlain returned to him. Just then, however, his blood was tingling with exultation. He, too, was going home, and there were folks in England waiting to welcome him.
Next day it was blowing tolerably fresh, but though the spray whirled about them and the seas frothed white behind, not an inch of canvas was taken in, and it was with a little smile in his haggard face that Tom Allardyce held the wheel. As it happened the favouring wind swept south with them, and one morning a cry brought every man on deck.
"There, that's British Columbia," said Stickine when the lads stared over the rail. "She'd most have licked the C.P.R. steamer."
Looking east the lads could see a great white rampart lifted high against the sky. Drifting mists cut it off from the world below, and here and there the fires of sunrise burned up from behind it through the hollows between the peaks. No light, however, touched the western snow as yet, and it shone ethereally majestic in its blue-white purity. Then a single golden ray streamed heavenward like a flash of a celestial beacon, and the lads watched it in wondering silence held still almost in awe, and forgot the limitless sweep of prairie, rock and forest that lay between those mountains' eastern slope and Montreal, until Stickine'e voice reminded them that they had still work to do.
"She'd go home faster, boys, with another foot of main-sheet in," he said, cheerily.
It was a week later when one night they crept past Port Parry before a faint wind. Ahead the lights of Victoria blinked at them, and every now and then a smoky haze drove athwart the moon, while Appleby, watching the dusky shore slide by, could almost have fancied it was once more the night he and Niven had been blown away from the Aldebaran. She was not there, however, and though the scene was the same he and his comrade had changed. They had seen things few men have looked upon up in the misty seas, and the spirit of the silent North had set its stamp on them, giving them gravity in place of boyish exuberance, and for the quality Niven had esteemed as dash the sterner, colder courage of steadfastness.
Presently a sailing-boat came flitting towards them, and a man in her waved his liaud.
"Hello, Jordan! Going straight across?" he said.
"Oh, yes," said Jordan, who seemed to recognize the voice. "I'm getting along as fast as I can, though there's not much wind. Have you anything for us?"
"No," said the man. "I just wanted to make sure of you. Holway of Vancouver asked me to wire him if I saw you pass."
"Well," said Jordan, "what has it to do with him?"
"I don't know," said the other man, as the boat dropped astern. "Still, he seemed quite anxious to hear when you were coming."
Jordan turned to Stickine. "There's something I don't understand. I don't owe a dollar to Holway or anybody."
Niven heard a little chuckle, and drew Appleby away as he saw that Donegal was grinning at them. "I fancy Ned Jordan will get a surprise to-morrow. It's you and I Holway is anxious about," said he.
An hour later Jordan called them into the little cabin. "We'll be in to-morrow, and have got to have a talk," he said. "Now, I've a use onboard the Champlain for lads like you, and would be open to take you again next season, but" – and he looked at Niven – "you'll be hearing from your folks in the old country?"
"Yes, sir," said Niven, checking a smile with difficulty, as he glanced at Appleby. "I fancy they will want me home again."
"It would cost a good many dollars to take you there, and this is a great country for a young man who wants to make his living," said Jordan. "You figure they will send you them?"
"Yes, sir," said Niven gravely. "I believe they will."
"Well," said Jordan, "in the meanwhile you can come home with me. That leaves your partner out, and he turned to Appleby. "Now, if you're open to sail north again it's quite likely I might get you something to do this winter on the wharf or in a mill, and I guess Mrs. Jordan could find room in the house for you."
Appleby felt the kindliness which had prompted this offer to one whom the skipper evidently believed to be a destitute lad, and his face flushed a little.
"It is very good of you, sir, but I fancy my contract with the shipowners is binding still," he said. "Anyway, I would like to write and ask Mr. Niven."
Jordan nodded. "One has to do the square thing. Take your time, my lad, and I'll put you in the way of earning your keep in the meanwhile."
Then Niven stood up. "I fancy he will go ashore with me to-morrow, sir," he said. "That is why, as I may not have another opportunity, I want to thank you for the kindness you have shown us both. I believe that others, as well as Appleby and I, will always be grateful to you."
Jordan looked at him curiously, and then made a little gesture of impatience. "Now, that's a kind of talking I've no use for, and you've earned everything you got out of me. You'll let me know what you're going to do to-morrow, Appleby."
They went back to their duties, Niven chuckling over something with evident delight, and it was next day when they crept past the pines on Beaver Point, into view of the clustering roofs of Vancouver. As they slid into the blue inlet a boat came pulling towards them, and while the mainsail peak swung down a gentleman climbed on board. Jordan, who recognized him as one of the wealthiest merchants of that city, nodded in salute, and then stared at him in astonishment.
"You'll know me, Captain Jordan, though I've not had the pleasure of talking to you before," he said. "I've come for the two lads you picked up, and with your permission I'd like to take them now. Niven's father has asked me to look after them, and you'll find them at my house any time you want them the next few days."
Jordan seemed to gasp, Stickine nodded, and Donegal smiled curiously as he glanced at the skipper.
"I could let them off their work to-day, though they're not through yet," said Jordan. "Still, I was figuring on their going along with me. They might worry Mrs. Holway, and my wife is used to lads from the schooners."
The merchant, who laid his hand on Niven's shoulder, laughed a little. "I scarcely fancy they'll go to sea as sealers again," he said. "Boys, we'll go right along, and you needn't worry about your things. We'll get you an outfit at a store in the city."
The lads shook hands with Jordan, who had apparently not yet recovered from his astonishment, and only looked at them gravely when Niven said, "Thank you for letting us off, sir, and I'll just bid you good-morning now, because we're coming down to see you and the boys again."
Then they sprang into the boat, and Jordan shook his head bewilderedly as they pulled away. "Well, I'm jim-banged – and that lad was talking straight all the while," he said. "Going along to stay with one of the biggest men in Vancouver City!"
"Sure," said Donegal, "an' who would take better care av the son av a ducal earl?"
In the meanwhile Niven and Appleby went home with Mr. Holway to a very pretty wooden house on the hill above the city, where they revelled in the luxury of a bath with hot water and clean towels, and new clothes, though it took them an hour or two to get used to the tight collars that galled their necks. The merchant and his wife were also very kind to them, and when they concluded the recountal of their adventures late that night, Niven said, "Now, there's one thing I would like, and that would be to do something for all of them. I feel quite sure my father would be pleased with it."
