The Ice Pilot Part 6

The shaftlike light from the open cabin companion grew pale, then was blotted out by a descending figure. A slide closed with a loud slam, and the ship plunged on, leaving Stirling no wiser for his impressions. He turned with a half grumble and hurried forward.

Cushner was emerging from the deck house, having stolen a trip inside to the cook's galley, where coffee was always steaming.

"Good morning!" he exclaimed, recognizing Stirling's form on the deck.

"Sun's clear and wind's abeam-almost. Light wind and a flowing sea. Good morning, I said!"

"Who changed the course?" asked Stirling, point-blank. "We're not headed right. We can't make Dutch Pa.s.s or anywhere near it on this tack. What does Marr mean?"

Cushner scratched his head, raised his hand, and pointed astern.

"Whitehouse gave me the new course when the watches were changed," he said. "That's all I know. It's a long way from where we expected we were going, Stirling."

"Jumping bowheads, yes! It's toward the great-circle route. Another half point and we'll be on it. What does that mean, Cushner?"

"I'll be skull-dragged if I know!"

"The great-circle route leads to j.a.pan and northern China. We'll sight Rat Island on this route, and miss the only good pa.s.s to the Bering by five hundred leagues. That ain't right!"

"Thar's a lot about this ship what ain't right!" declared the Yankee.

"We're in the hands of Captain Marr."

Stirling reached for his pipe, gathered together a palmful of cut plug, struck a sulphur match on the rail at his side and held the flame to the bowl till it glowed. He drew in the smoke, then squared his jaw and clamped the amber stem.

"We'll keep our eyes open!" he said through white teeth. "I think I saw the woman on the p.o.o.p. I think it was a woman. She wouldn't answer the man at the wheel. She had Marr's clothes on. That's mighty queer doings for a simple whaler bound after bowheads and trade stuff!"

Cushner thrust out a calloused hand. "Put it there," he said. "We'll see this voyage through and find out what's wrong if it takes three seasons.

I'm just almighty curious to know!"

CHAPTER VII-DRIFTERS AND DERELICTS

Stirling kept a careful record of the changes given in the course of the _Pole Star_, and found that the little skipper was reaching for the true great-circle route to Yokohama. This was checked by Cushner, who was a good rule-of-thumb navigator.

They kept their observations from Whitehouse. The mate was a frugal soul who spent much of his time driving the crew over the decks or keeping them polishing the bra.s.s work with a sand-and-paste preparation which was homemade and cheap.

"Hit keeps 'em from thinking of their troubles," he had declared to Stirling. "Now that the skipper has taken charge of the p.o.o.p, there isn't much for them to do."

Stirling bided his time and kept a close watch on the quarter-deck. He often saw Marr striding from port to starboard and back again directly aft the wheelsman, though the canvas that had been rigged shut off most of the view of the taffrail and the jack-staff. A position in the crow's-nest, however, was a fair one to observe the after part of the _Pole Star_. From this coign of vantage Stirling watched developments with eyes which had been sharpened by suspicion and a determination to find out the truth about the unknown woman.

Cushner climbed up through the lubber's hole on the third day of the outbound pa.s.sage, lifted himself over the edge of the crow's-nest, and dropped down beside Stirling.

Their course had been changed a half point by Marr's orders. The wind was southerly and came over the port quarter in soft billows of warmth.

It had been tempered by the j.a.pan Current.

"Got a chew?" asked the second mate, resting his elbows on the edge of the crow's-nest and squinting aft to where the mizzen sail billowed, with the yard set sharply around.

Stirling pa.s.sed over a plug. "Save me some," he said, slowly. "Go easy, Sam. I don't often use the weed, but I may have to do something desperate if Marr keeps changing his course. We're almost on the j.a.pan route. Another half point will see the great-circle route. That takes us far up and out in the North Pacific. Wouldn't wonder if it was a rendezvous."

"What's that?" asked Cushner, clamping his huge jaws on the plug and parting his icicle-like beard for a second bite.

"A meeting-place. A gamming spot in the ocean!"

Cushner understood the last. "Gamming" was a term used only by whalers.

It meant visiting another ship or being visited by the afterguard of a whaler.

"Maybe, Stirling. Maybe. Who could we gamm out in this ocean?" The second mate swept an arm to the northward. A wild waste of harrowed waters, stirred into whitecaps by the southern breeze, extended to a linelike horizon. There was no speck or sail to gladden the view. It appeared like a stretch which would reach infinity.

"How about seals?" continued Cushner.

"Ain't likely we're going after them," said Stirling.

Stirling turned and stared down upon the quarter-deck. The wheelsman-a Kanaka-hung on the spokes with his dark eyes glued into the binnacle; the canvas shield was too high to allow a view of the taffrail and the cabin companion. Once only Stirling saw moving shadows against the light, as if more than one body had pa.s.sed from starboard to port. He frowned and turned away, as there was no way to discover the exact situation.

Cushner borrowed the plug of tobacco for a third bite, pa.s.sing it back without thanks. He stared at Stirling, lifted one huge leg over the edge of the crow's-nest, waited till the ship steadied, and then was gone.

Stirling remained. He glance ahead over the wilderness of Northern waters, and the soft rush of their pa.s.sage charmed him. The neat manner in which the whaler cleft the seas, the throbbing of the sweet-running engines, gladdened his heart, and he began to whistle a little tune of the West coast. After all, he decided, the world was not such a bad place for a man to fight in and conquer. He had made many mistakes. He should have commanded a ship instead of being an ice pilot. The chicken venture and the wiping out of his scanty fortune had been unfortunate.

It had set him back five years in his ambitions.

His face lighted and grew resolute with the wine of living. He had a code, which was the code of right. He had always played fair with seamen and natives, and decided to see the voyage out, earn every penny he could, then try for a ship of his own. Whalers would stake him to almost anything. Marr might be open for an investment. The thing to do was to keep the little skipper's good will, and watch developments, which came fast enough.

On the seventh day after leaving the Golden Gate, a gleam of light was thrown upon the mystery of the great-circle pa.s.sage.

Stirling, Cushner, and Whitehouse stood in the waist of the ship with nothing more to do than watch the crew lolling forward in indolent respite from their light labours.

The sun hung high in the south with gray clouds creeping up to it like a closing hand. The wind had veered to the south and west, and canted the whaler ever so slightly, as all yards were braced fore and aft.

"What is the exact position?" asked Stirling, turning toward Whitehouse, who had shot the sun and finished his figuring.

"I make it 49-52 and 179-58! We're near the Aleutians and close to the one hundred and eightieth meridian!"

Cushner glanced at the sun. "We're about that!" he said with Yankee shrewdness. "I can smell my position in these waters. I smell sh.o.r.e stuff-fish and moss."

"It comes down the wind!" snorted the c.o.c.kney with a burst of disgust.

"All the same, I don't need no s.e.xtant. All I need is a lead line and experience."

Whitehouse gulped at this and worked his brows up and down like a gorilla, then turned toward the after part of the ship. "Seen the skipper?" he asked. "Seen the old man? 'E's been shaved-'e 'as! 'E looks fine-'e does!"

"Shaved?" exclaimed Stirling, wheeling and staring at the quarter-deck.

"What do you mean? Has he taken off his beard?"

"You're blym well right, 'e 'as! I wouldn't know 'im! Looks like a regular, 'e does. All spick and span. 'E was askin' about our position not a bell ago. 'E's expectin' to meet with something on these seas.

Likely it will be another ship!"

"You and he are rather thick," suggested Stirling.

"As thick as costermongers-once! Now 'e's retired from view like a loidy of the music 'alls. I don't know what to think."