In the Misty Seas: A Story of the Sealers of Behring Strait

"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."

Mr. Holway nodded. "I believe he would. In fact, he wrote me to make the skipper any recompense that appeared advisable. The trouble, however, is that things are different here from what they are in the old country, and these men earn dollars enough themselves to resent any attempt to pay them for a kindness."

"Still, it could be managed somehow," said Niven.

"Yes," said Mr. Holway, "I believe it could. We can find out if the skipper wants, for example, a good sextant, and I've a notion that the men would be pleased if you gave them a farewell dinner. It would show that you still looked upon yourself as one of them."

"Yes," said Niven, "that would be the best thing."

When they next saw Jordan he was squaring accounts with the men, and apparently too busy to do more than nod to them. They accordingly waited among the rest, who were dressed much as they were in neat, new clothes, and had only the bronze in their, faces and the steadiness of their eyes, to show they were from the sea, until at last he drew his pen through two lines on the roll on the table in front of him.

"Christopher Niven and Thomas Appleby," he said, holding out two little piles of silver coins with a few bills beneath them on a document. "Look through that, and tell me if it's all quite straight before you sign it."

Niven flushed a trifle as he said, "I don't fancy we should take the dollars, sir."

Jordan looked at him somewhat grimly. "I've a good deal to put through, and no use for talking," he said. "You made the deal the night I found you, and they're yours, my lad."

The lads took the dollars, and found Mr. Holway waiting for them when they went out. He glanced at the handfuls of coin, and laughed a little as he asked, "Whose are all those dollars?"

"They're mine," said Niven, with a trace of pride in his smile. "I've earned them, and I fancy it would astonish the folks at home. My father used to tell me now and then that I'd never have a shilling that wasn't given me. Now take me to one of your biggest shops, because I'm going to buy my mother a brooch or a bracelet with the first money I ever earned in my life."

The merchant nodded gravely. "I fancy that would only be the square thing," he said. "Now, I was keeping myself and my sister when I was younger than you."

The bracelet was bought, and during the day Niven sent a note down to the schooner, while on the next evening they and the sealers sat down to a very elaborate dinner in a big room of the Canadian Pacific Hotel. They were all of them present, and nobody appeared in any way uncomfortable or ill at ease in his unusual clothes, for the life they led had made them men, which is very much the same and occasionally a greater thing than gentlemen. In fact, Niven felt curiously abashed when before they went into the dining room he spread out before them the things he had brought. There was a silver-mounted sextant for Jordan, a knife that most sealers coveted with an inlaid handle for Stickine, a watch for Donegal, and boxes of tobacco for every one of the rest.

"I'd like you to take these little things just to remember us by," he said diffidently. "I wouldn't have asked you if they had been of any value, but it would be good of you to keep them, because you have, though of course it isn't for that, done a good deal for Appleby and me."

Donegal's eyes twinkled. "Tis twice, anyway, I've run ye round the deck wid a rope's end, and I would have licked ye often if 'twould have been of any use," he said. "Sure, we'll take them and remember ye. 'Tis not every day the son av a ducal earl goes sealing with me."

Then they went in to dinner, and when Niven had insisted on Jordan taking the head of the table most of them made a somewhat astonishing meal, that is, to those who did not know how the sealers ate and worked. Afterwards there were a few speeches, but these were to the point and short.

"Mr. Niven and boys," said Jordan. "I've had a good company with me this run, and the next time I go to sea I don't want a better one. I'm counting the lads in, and we'll feel kind of lonely without them when they go back to the old country. That's 'bout all. I'm not much use at talking."

Then Donegal stood up and rubbed his coppery hair. "Sure," he said, "'tis rough on me. They're taking my bhoys away – just when me and Stickine was licking them into men. Still, I'll be bearing it better if 'tis credit they're doing us in the old country. Boys, ye will not go back on Donegal, and if sealing has taught ye anything 'tis this that's at the bottom of the scheme: 'Thrue hearts is worth more than silver spoons,' an if that's not quite what the pote said it's what he was meaning."

It was getting late, and there was a pause in the laughter, when Niven rose up. "I wish I could talk as I want to – but now when I've so much to tell you I can't," he said, standing with flushed face and eyes shining at the foot of the table. "Still, before we go I want you to join in a last good wish with me. Boys, here's long life to Ned Jordan."

There was a roar, and the voices rang through it one by one. "The man who beat the Russians and the Americans too. The skipper who never went back on his crew. Ned Jordan of the Champlain who brought me home again!"

Niven long remembered them standing about the long table with the sea-bronze in their faces and the pride in their eyes that were turned on Jordan. At last he once more stood up awkwardly.

"Boys," he said simply, "I couldn't have done nothing without the rest of you, and with the same men behind me it wouldn't be very much to do it all again."

Then they went out, shaking hands with Niven and Appleby, who stood in the great hall of the hotel, to bid farewell to them. Last of all came Jordan, and he stopped a moment.

"I've been wrong a good many times in my life, Mr. Niven, and that makes it the easier to tell you I was more club-headed than usual 'bout you," he said. "Still, I figure there's nothing but good feeling between us now, and you'll not forget Ned Jordan if you come back again."

Then he went down the pathway, and the two lads stood still, until from out of the darkness down by the water-front a voice they knew raised a song and the last of it came faintly up to them —

"Shining gold in heaps, I'm told,On the bunks of Sacramento."

Niven glanced at Appleby, and his voice was not quite steady as he said, "Starting home to-morrow – and we'll not see any of them again. Well, I'm sorry."

"Yes," said Appleby quietly. "I feel that way too."

CHAPTER XXII

THE RESULT OF THE CHOICE

The Montreal express was waiting to commence its six days' eastward journey when Appleby and Niven stood in the C.P.R. station next afternoon. The lads, however, scarcely noticed the great locomotive and long cars, or the roofs of the city that rose row and row up the face of the hill with the ragged spires of the sombre pines towering high above them. They were looking out on the blue inlet which, streaked in places by the smoke of the mills, lay shining in the sun, with dusky forests and a lofty line of snow beyond. Broad in the foreground rode the Champlain, looking very small and dainty with her bare masts standing high above the sweep of bulwarks, and they could recognize the men stripping the canvas off her. Behind her with the beaver ensign streaming at her peak another schooner was beating in, and Niven smiled curiously as he followed her with his eyes.

"It's the Argo," he said. "We'll be off in a minute or two – and of course I'm glad we're going home. Still, it hurts a little to leave it all behind."

Appleby nodded, for he fancied he knew what Niven was feeling, and it was with a faint sigh he turned towards the cars.

"It will be a long time before I forget the Champlain," he said. "Still, you see we couldn't be sealers."

Then a big bell commenced ringing, and Mr. Holway came up. "Here are your ticket coupons right through to Liverpool, and the Allan boat will sail an hour or two after you get to Montreal," he said. "Better take your places."

They shook hands with him while the big engine panted, and swung themselves on to the platform of the nearest car. It lurched forward, Mr. Holway waving his hand to them, slid away behind, wharf and mill went by, but they still stood out on the platform looking back at the Champlain, until with a sudden roar of wheels the train swept into the shadow of the pines that shut out blue inlet and schooner from their sight. Then Niven sighed a little and Appleby looked at him with a curious little smile.

"That's the last of her, Chriss," he said. "We've got to look forward now."

They were, however, soon too occupied for any vague regrets, and that journey from ocean to ocean over British soil excited their wonder and now and then brought them a little thrill of pride. Hour by hour the cars went lurching through the shadow of great pine-forests, and up an awful chasm with a river foaming far away below, swung over dizzy trestles, and past flashing glaciers through a tremendous desolation of rock and ice and snow that no man's foot had ever trodden. Still, the valleys were sprinkled with little wooden towns from which there rose the scream of saws and the smoke of mines, while when two great engines hauled them slowly in snake-like curves up to the Selkirk passes the lads stood gazing in silent awe at the white peaks above them.

"The men who built this road would stick at nothing," said Niven with a little gasp of wonder as he glanced back at the shining metals which lay apparently straight beneath him.

Later, with a roar of wheels flung back from the dark rocks that had for centuries barred off from the prairie the wild mountain land, they climbed the Kicking Horse defile beside a frothing river, and went roaring down into the rolling hills on the Rockies' eastern side. These, too, swept back and faded, and they were racing eastwards straight as the crow flies across the prairie.