The Ice Pilot Part 21

The Kanaka resumed his sentry duties, but Stirling had secured a good glance at him. He was an old Arctic Ocean harpooner, and had once sailed on a whaler which had been gammed by the Ice Pilot. He was the weak link in the chain, concluded Stirling. A native would be more likely to listen to reason than any member of the _Pole Star's_ crew. There was a latent loyalty for the right in every Kanaka's breast. Many had been brought up by missionaries.

"With a dainty friend somewhere aft, and a sentry like that harpooner, I've a fighting chance," said Stirling, leaning over the savoury stew.

The pockets of his pea-jacket contained a few crumbs of tobacco and a pipe. He set down the tray with the empty tins upon the deck, leaned back, and lighted a match.

The puffs of smoke he blew toward the porthole were like salvos of shrapnel. The situation had cleared during the hours since leaving St.

Paul Island and the rookeries. Whitehouse had become genial; the grumbling voices of the crew were more or less stilled; the little skipper was in a desperate position.

Stirling sensed the general direction of the swiftly driving poacher.

The cant to port, the general steadiness of the wind in the Bering, the drifting floes-all these were points by which he guided his deductions.

Siberia and the open Gulf of Anadir should be reached by noon of the day to come. This would mean little less than twelve steaming hours. The Island of St. Lawrence lay some few leagues to the northward. The _Bear_, provided she had not given up the pursuit, might search the sh.o.r.es of that island. There were two native settlements on the western coast, and these were a likely refuge for poachers and those who lived beyond the law.

There came then to Stirling's straining ears the soft sound of a piano.

He set his pipe on a rack at the head of the bunk and moved stealthily toward the door. Pressing his ear to the panel of this, he listened. He heard the shuffling of the sentry's feet, and above this sound lilted a thin, pure note which could come only from a woman's throat. It rose, fell, and was raised once more into a remembered song:

"Whither, oh, splendid s.h.i.+p, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, Thou fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?"

Stirling breathed with deep intakes of close breath. He caught the swing of the words as if they were attuned to his own thoughts, and they steadied him in his determination to remain aboard the _Pole Star_ and ascertain what manner of woman or girl lived in the after s.h.i.+p. She was related to Marr-that much was evident. He wondered if she were his wife, sister, or ward. One of the three would explain her being aboard. None would explain why she seemed to be almost a prisoner.

He listened for more music, and now and then the piano throbbed a vibrant note. At last it was still. There alone remained the swish of the waves, the creak of blocks, the sliding footfalls on the quarter-deck, to mark their pa.s.sage.

The last light of day died from the surface of the waters, and the first bright star lay horizon down. It came up grandly out of the east and from the direction of Alaska, s.h.i.+ning through the open porthole like an eye of promise. Stirling rose from the seat he had taken on the bunk and turned out the electric light. He leaned back and studied this star, finding solace and resolve in its white rays.

Daybreak, at the early hour of two bells, brought Stirling out of his dreams and into the grip of a coming dawn. He washed himself and glanced ruefully at his unshaven features, but there was no way to remedy the matter. Seamen in the Bering and Arctic often went for an entire season without shaving.

He thought of the girl and her song as he idled through the hour which followed. She had grown closer to him in some manner. It was as if there were two prisoners on one s.h.i.+p. Her voice had contained the vibrant note of anxiety. She had asked in a manner which he could fathom, where the tall poacher was going? She, too, was gripped by the mystery.

The first glimpse of the haze-surrounded sun, which rose over the Bering Sea, was the magnet that drew Stirling away from his thoughts of the girl and to the open porthole. The sea was specked and laced with drift ice and whale slick. Old "grandpas" floated by-grimy and honeycombed from the action of the brine. Walruses and seals dived from these ancient ice cl.u.s.ters. Birds wheeled away from the course of the fast-driving poacher.

The course had been changed overnight, this Stirling detected with a guilty start as he noted the position of the sun. They were now well within the Gulf of Anadir, and the ice which floated about had just been detached from the sh.o.r.e. Its surface was partly snow.

Seven bells brought the first glimpse of land to Stirling. A dark promontory lifted into the Arctic sky, and this was crowned with a hedge of Northern pines. Green moss grew down the folds of the headland. A tundra stuck out from the lower silt. They were skirting the wild coast of Anadir.

"Siberia," said Stirling. "What a land!" He turned from the porthole and studied the interior of the cabin. The little revolver which the girl had given to him was still within the grip of his garter. He reached downward and loosened it, examining its b.u.t.t and silver-plated barrel.

It was loaded.

He eyed the door leading to the alleyway, and pocketed the revolver as steps sounded outside.

Whitehouse shouted in through the keyhole: "Hold steady and wait, old man. I'll see that you're well fed by eight bells. No 'ard feelings, eh?"

Stirling did not answer. He moved about, however, and otherwise let the mate know that he was still aboard the s.h.i.+p.

Eight bells did not bring the promised food. Instead, the s.h.i.+p slowed down, and at last glided across the sea with her screw still.

The sound of running feet came to Stirling who sprang to the porthole and glanced out. They were rounding a rocky wall whose fissures gushed white from descending torrents of snow water. The s.h.i.+p ported, steadied in slow circling, and entered a mountain-encompa.s.sed harbour as lovely and as lonely as any in all the world.

Her taper yards sc.r.a.ped the stones to starboard and port, her keel once touched a sandy split, but she went on by the billowed pressure of the wind on the canvas. The way opened to a glen in solid granite and schist, and here the anchor chain was let go with a rusty clank. The stern swung, almost touching a narrow shelf, up from which an agile man could climb, or down to which he might lower himself.

A jubilant voice rolled throughout the sheltered s.h.i.+p. It came from Whitehouse, who had danced upon the quarter-deck planks in his glee.

"All 'ands aft to spice the main brace!"

Stirling understood this last order. The crew, the engine-room force, the stokehold gang, and the steerage crowd were invited to empty a case of whisky.

Marr's toast to his fellow conspirators was given with a bold attempt to hold their confidence. "Drink hearty, mates!" he exclaimed. "Drink to the eternal confusion of the revenue cutters!"

Stirling hardly smiled, but sc.r.a.ped his pockets and found some few crumbs of tobacco. These he pressed into his pipe and lighted with a sulphur match. "I'll smoke to that promise," he said, simply. "A bear never lets go when its grip fastens."

CHAPTER XX-THE MOVING SHADOWS

Landlocked and secure, the crew of the _Pole Star_ worked out the day by odd jobs about the deck. Stirling heard them swabbing down, and caught the c.o.c.kney accent of the mate raised in cheerful encouragement as the skipper sent forward more grog.

The long Arctic day died slowly out over the waters of the Bering and the Gulf of Anadir. The waves which beat upon the rocky headlands, b.u.t.tressing the tiny harbour, curled inward and ran with seething foam up a shelving beach.

Marr had made one trip to the outer sea. He returned and called Whitehouse to the p.o.o.p. Their voices were raised incautiously, and Stirling heard the _Bear_ mentioned. The boastful laugh which followed showed that the revenue cutter had gone by without being aware of the harbour's entrance. The view from the sea was one of solid rock and towering headland.

It was at five bells that Stirling heard steps within the alleyway. The sentry had been sleeping on duty, and he woke as Marr's voice broke the stillness of the s.h.i.+p. The lock of his door clicked, and Stirling switched on his electric light and waited, his breast exposed, showing the hairy ma.s.siveness of his shoulders and the supple muscles beneath.

Marr came in with cautious eyes, glanced about the cabin, stared at the porthole thoughtfully, then lifted his chin to Stirling. "How are things with you?" Marr asked. "Getting along all right?"

"As well as could be expected on this criminal s.h.i.+p!"

Marr frowned and sat down on the edge of the bunk. "Don't take it that way," he said, fingering the horn b.u.t.tons of his natty pea-jacket. "Come over with us and see the thing through. We'll wait around here a few days more, then--"

The pause was suggestive. Stirling backed slowly to the skin of the s.h.i.+p and lowered his hands to his sides. "Then what?" he asked.

"Ah, there is a wide world to roam in. There are many ports of call."

Stirling clenched his fists; his eyes were levelled toward the a.s.sured skipper. "I think you had better get out of here!" Stirling said, sharply. "I don't want to listen to suggestions from you. Brave men do not raid the rookeries. They don't lock up a man for doing his duty."

Marr smiled, and Stirling studied him. The little skipper had come into the cabin for some reason other than the one he had stated; he was far too genial and condescending.

"What do you want with me?" the Pilot inquired. "Out with it and then leave. I'll trouble you to allow me this small s.p.a.ce for myself. It's not much to ask."

"I want your good will, Stirling. The fact of the matter is this--"

Stirling saw the smile vanish from the skipper's lips, and the face which peered out from the shadow of the bunk was not nearly so a.s.sured.

"The fact is this," repeated Marr: "there's a person aboard who is interested in you. I have made the argument that you will join us sooner or later. I am going to make it to your interest to join us."

"Who do you mean?"

"That I can't say now! This person, however, believes that you will be very dangerous to my interests in the future. In other words, you are standing out for the foolish laws of the sea. If you persist in this stand, there can be only one finish to you."

"What finish is that?"