Chapter VII: Bonanza (4)

Hardly had he spoken when the man himself came out of the cabin, and began to pace the deck on the opposite side to us. His cassock was held up behind by a safety-pin, and he wore the hard felt hat in which he had landed at Gull. He carried his disguise well.

That he was promenading with a motive beyond mere exercise was soon made evident; he gave a side movement with his head. I could not be sure that he was signalling me, but when I made no response, he boldly beckoned me with his hand.

“See what his game is, but don’t let him fool you, or take you from deck,” said MacCaskill.

“If you go to him I shall come with you,” said Akshelah, flinging down my coat, her eyes lighting. “He will overcome you with his eye, and throw you into the water.”

“Stop where you are,” I ordered, quite sharply, but apparently young women delight in disobedience.

Akshelah immediately rose up and accompanied me.

I felt a sense of shrinking as I came up to the big, strong-willed man. His keen eyes passed over me, before he spoke in his courteous manner.

“Can we not dispense with the--er--young lady, Petrie?”

He was not going to play the priest with me, because he understood that I had seen through his disguise.

Akshelah faced him at once.

“I am going to stay here,” she said angrily.

The adventurer nodded and smiled at me.

“A positive young Xantippe, my dear fellow. Do you speak French?”

I did not know what he meant, but rightly replied in the negative, and motioned Akshelah to stand a little aside. She took her stand to the right of me, watching Redpath unflinchingly. Farther along I could see the factor’s straw bonnet bobbing up and down excitedly.

“Have you anything to say to me?” I said, feeling how much rather I would openly fight with this man, because when it came to a contest of tongues I had no chance.

“In the first place, I have to congratulate you upon your escape from Olaffson and his gang of rascals,” said Redpath heartily. “I did what I could for you. Little, I confess, but I was powerless to do more. By the way, did this disguise deceive you at all?”

“Yes, at first.”

I tried not to be staggered at his coolness.

“I never intended to deceive you. I was compelled to assume these--er--priestly habiliments in order that I might be able to conceal my identity from our mutual enemies. The plan succeeded well enough with these unobservant creatures, though I never flattered myself that I had misled an intellectual and social equal.” He was playing with his false beard while he spoke. “I had more than one narrow escape myself, which I will tell you of later--these wretched men are so suspicious.” He came a little closer, his glance falling upon MacCaskill in the distance. “You think your servant is to be trusted?”

I knew that he was playing with me, yet I could not retaliate upon this calm, cynical gentleman. He managed to exert a marvellous power over me. I answered him as meekly as possible.

“He is my friend, and I know I can trust him.”

Redpath looked surprised, and a little concerned.

“My dear fellow,” he said, in a deeper voice, “are you quite prudent? Pardon me. I do not question the sincerity of your motives, but do you think you are wise? The man is palpably not of our station in life. He looks simple and good-hearted, but it really never pays to take a man of so humble an origin into full confidence. I feel sure you have acted for the best, but, as your partner in this enterprise, I feel called upon to offer a word of advice, if not warning. You must remember I am older than you, and I have been deceived so often.” He sighed, and shook his head mournfully. “It is pitiful to think how often I have been deceived. Even your own father, Petrie--better man never breathed, and yet he wronged me bitterly, dear fellow! How often I have sighed the reproachful utterance of the old poet, ‘It was even thou, my companion!’”

He turned from me, and fixed his false eyes upon the flickering lights and colours of the water.

All that I could say was:

“Are you going to keep up your disguise all the trip?”

“I have no choice,” came the answer. “Only you and your--I should say our--servant, with this young lady, will know that I am not Father Lacombe, of the upland mission. My dear fellow, I am exercising all my ingenuity to conceal my identity from Olaffson and Leblanc, the latter a loose-tongued scoundrel who knows far more than he ought, and who goes about the ship dropping hints among his miserable associates. Any one of them would murder either of us cheerfully if they were to gain by doing so.”

I pulled myself together.

“You were with them in Tommy’s Restaurant. You were playing poker with them.”

If I had thought to abash him, I had made a mistake.

“Yes,” he said, with his quiet, kindly smile. “It was all I could do for you, my boy. I kept the three scoundrels engaged, hoping you might escape in the meantime, and as events transpired, you succeeded in doing so. I understand that some of the priests do mix with the men upon their stations, and play cards with them, in order that they may get into closer touch. I chose that place because it happened to be well away from Gull, and I was the less likely to be noticed. It was somewhat of a strain to sustain my character before men who know me as myself, but as you managed to escape, I am amply rewarded for the endeavour.”

My reasoning powers fell to pieces. Both MacCaskill and I had recognised Redpath in the gambling compartment, because he was sitting in the light, with his hat off, and we could see the upper part of his face. The mere fact of his being shut up with Olaffson and the two sailors was sufficient proof for us. The man could hardly want to deceive his own confederates. My disgust at the impudence of the lie gave me courage to say:

“You tell me that you were playing poker with the men, while they never knew who you were?”

“My dear fellow!”--he had a superior, yet pleasant, way of saying this--“of course they knew. They still believe, all three of them, that I am the Reverend Gabriel Lacombe, head of the upland mission of Three Points, a very worthy priest, although sufficiently worldly to take a well-earned holiday--shall we say gold-hunting?”

EVENING

Akshelah looked very handsome as she sat on a clean brown coil of rope, with all the colours of the evening playing round her head. I had been silent for so long that my maid at last sought to learn the cause. I told her that I had been thinking of home, and I was sure that Antoine would allow the thistles to take possession of my clearing. Then Akshelah told me a secret.

“After you had gone away my father called the people together,” she said, with startling gravity. “The new factor lent axes, and the men were cutting the logs along Split Leaf Creek when I came away in my canoe.”

The girl looked at me and laughed, and I had to ask what she meant.

“The chief promised that your new home should be ready before the ending of Nepin; and when my father says a thing, it is done. But Antoine said you would never come back.”

These were the people who had sworn to give me their friendship! Akshelah went on regarding me with her fawn-like eyes.

“Ah, I know,” she said quickly, delighted at having caught the impression. “You see no owls.”

She meant I was suffering from home-sickness. When a camp moves to new ground there are no owl visitors at first, and the people think of their late home where the birds came each night.

“I am glad,” said the girl; but when I asked why, she only said again, “I am glad,” and laughed and sang until MacCaskill came up, large and hot.

Now Akshelah was not overwhelmed with affection for MacCaskill, whom she considered too serious a being for her world; so she went on singing, by way of protest at his having added himself to our company, and called down upon herself the rebuff, “Quit your noise, gal!” Then she said petulantly:

“It is the song of the god of the green mantles.”

“Well, quit it,” said the factor. “I’ve no use for it. Gals are always a-worryin’ ye,” he muttered morosely. “They’ll worry on the Day of Judgment, an’ after that if they ain’t stopped. Don’t matter where ye go, there they are, a-waitin’ to worry ye, first chance, or no chance at all.”

The old fellow was upset. He had been scouting below, and had encountered Olaffson, resting after a spell of stoking. The Icelander had answered every question with astonishing readiness. He had owned that he was following the fortunes of Father Lacombe, but having no money, was working his passage. Men were not plentiful, and the great majority preferred the well-paid labour of the lumber and fishing stations to the poor pay and hard life upon the dangerous sea. The unprincipled Olaffson had reiterated his willingness to devote himself, body and soul, to our service, and finally had sworn entire ignorance as to the whereabouts of Redpath.

“I thought the little skunk was a fool,” MacCaskill burst forth, “guessin’ Redpath supplied the brains of the business. It ain’t so, Rupe. Olaffson swore how Redpath had left him before they got to Gull, promising to meet him there, but never came to time. Swore he hadn’t set eyes on him since.”

“He’s lying,” I said.

“Course he’s lyin’. It’s the way he does it that worries me.”

A party came to join us, Lennie, the mate, Dave second engineer, and the steward, old and greasy, with fish scales clinging to his bare arms. Before the convivial plug of tobacco had finished its first round, the mock priest himself appeared, holding the skirt of his cassock in a long white hand. The officers of the ship obsequiously made space.

“What a magnificent evening!” murmured the adventurer, as he took his place among us.

What was his plan?

I was too well accustomed to the radiant atmosphere of my country to give particular notice to the sunset. The warmth was perfect; the ship slipped freely through the tinted water; there were scarcely any insects; over the west blazed the red, the gold, and the blue.

Lennie extended awkwardly the ragged plug torn by many teeth, with the invitation:

“Will ye chew, father?”

“I never chew,” came the answer. “But I am not prohibited from smoking.”

MacCaskill peered across, and grunted audibly.

Beside the starboard beam behind me some sailors were coiling ropes, and I heard a hoarse voice exclaim, “Gimme a match!” so I knew that Jim Morrison was near.

The presence of the supposed priest stopped conversation. Having lighted his pipe, Redpath looked over the silent group in his gracious manner, then, clasping his fingers together, leaning forward, looking at the sunset, he said:

“Let me hear the experiences of some of you. The mind is necessarily active at evening time. Having lived much in the solitude, each one of you must have felt, at some time or another, the power exerted by solitude upon the imagination.”

The men looked unhappy, because this kind of talk was far beyond them. Dave slewed his head round, and whispered to me:

“If the father would curse a bit, I’d make him out, maybe.”

Then Lennie stirred, and spoke for the credit of his position and his ship.

“I ain’t used to company wi’ priests, father,” he said apologetically, “but I did run agin a reg’lar boss one time, and I guess it’s the sort of experience you’re after. ’Twas away down Grande Marais, time they struck that find of copper. One evening I walked around to take a look at the place, an’ struck an oldish chap, a-settin’ on a heap of wash, an’ a-rubbin’ his leg. He was in long leggings, an’ a soft hat, an’ a flannel shirt, an’ a strap ’bout his middle, an’ I made out he was a miner, though I allow he didn’t talk like one. We give each other the nod and the good weather, an’ I said to him, ‘What’s your line, stranger?’ an’ he said, sort o’ bashful, ‘Well, I’m a bishop come to visit the miners.’ I got a-laughin’ at that, an’ course I wasn’t a-goin’ to be beat, so I spoke up. ‘Ye don’t want to talk about it, ole boy, but I’m jest a crowned head come around to patronise the circuses.’ Then he set a-laughin’ fit to choke. But I tell ye, anyone could have folded me up small, an’ stuffed me away inter a hand-grip, when the boys come to tell me that same night how the ole chap was a bishop.”

A short laugh went up, but evidently the men belonging to the ship had heard the story before.

“You have not altogether grasped my meaning,” went on the soft voice, in mild reproof. “It was my idea to learn how solitude affects your minds individually. Let me give you a personal illustration.”

He kept his eyes upon the ever-changing colours on the water, and the men looked at one another in distress.

“Experience in a lonely mission, even with much to occupy my thoughts, has shown me that solitude makes a man dream. They are strange things these dreams, and harmful if allowed to dominate the mind, but the unhappy part of it is that they pass rapidly, leaving merely a sense of melancholy, which, I am ashamed to say, will sometimes interfere with duty.”

The adventurer bent his head, coughed, then proceeded:

“One cannot hold and retain these fancies, any more than one can detain and fasten down a shadow. The entire charm of a dream is for the dreamer. He can think over it and enjoy it, but if he be rash enough to undertake a description he will find he can neither begin, nor continue, nor end. He has, in short, nothing to talk about. We have this dream-like picture of Nature around us now.” He threw his two hands away from him. “Let us suppose that the most graphic writer the world knows should pen a description of this scene, and that the same should be given us to read. We should find it wanting, and although we may be comparatively illiterate, our imagination, quickened by living long in the solitude, would be able to supply all the deficiencies in this description, so long as we kept to our thoughts.”

“Say!” exclaimed Dave miserably; “what language is it, anyhow?”

Was there anything going on in another part of the ship?

The pleasant voice made me sleepy, despite my suspicions.

“I may say that my own temperament is artistically affected by, firstly, such a coloured evening as this; secondly, by moonlight upon the water; and thirdly, by music. How often have we watched the burning pathway of the moon! How often have we longed to take our boat along that road, which we have thought may lead to some unknown land of happiness! You follow my meaning?”

MacCaskill was laughing behind his hand.

“Quite a priest!” muttered Dave admiringly.

“I kin understand a young feller a-settin’ out in the moon,” said the steward ponderously. “Did it meself one time, when I was worryin’ ’bout me little gal, though it only come to her marryin’ a feller wi’ a tidier face than mine.”

The adventurer resumed his high-flown talk. What he said might be nonsense, but it succeeded in producing the impression he desired, and in bringing the majority of his listeners under his influence. Had I not known the real identity of the speaker, his musical voice and delightful manner would have captured me with the spell that held the others.

I closed my ears and used my eyes. The first thing I noticed was that Akshelah had gone fast asleep. My second discovery showed me that the mate was standing behind me, his face perfectly vacant. Redpath still talked, and his sentences became more elaborate. MacCaskill was smoking heavily, his hat tilted over his eyes.

Suddenly an extraordinary impulse caused me to exclaim loudly:

“Who’s at the wheel?”

An ominous silence followed, during which I became conscious that my voice had not been untouched with suspicion. Redpath stopped in the middle of a parenthesis, and his head came round. I felt small and weak when his eyes met mine.

Sandy woke up, and Lennie opened his mouth in indignation:

“You’re runnin’ this ship since when? What you want rattlin’ the father when he’s preachin’? Ship’s all right, ain’t it?”

“The young man is excitable,” said Father Lacombe magnificently.

“The Icelander we took on at Gull’s at the wheel,” said Sandy, addressing the captain. “I gave it up to him for a spell. He steers good enough.”

MacCaskill shifted himself sharply, and I was sure the idea of treachery entered his mind also.

I had not lived with Nature all my life without learning how to interpret her moods. The silence had become unnatural; the throb of the screw was intensely loud; the atmosphere was as motionless as a sheet of glass; the water had become stagnant; a single mosquito hovered overhead, and gave out a noise like a trumpet. My glance went to the south, where trouble arises. A livid cloud, shaped like a snake, ascended slowly from the water-line, its “tail” wriggling madly. It was the time of my triumph, and I pointed with a warning cry.

The colours of the sunset settled into a uniform haze of a deep red so intense as to be almost black.

Lennie was up in an instant.

“Dave!” he shouted, his voice pealing fearfully into the hollow silence, “slow her down.” He turned to Sandy. “I’ll take the wheel.”

Only a minute back we had been in daylight, but already gloom had begun to settle, and the air was full of insects.

“A bad night to follow,” said Redpath resignedly. It was the night he had looked for. “There will be neither moon nor stars to cheer us on our way.”

A crash sounded from the wheel-house, the smash of shivered glass, the thud of a weighty body upon deck, an awful commotion in the overwhelming silence, and the ship swerved off her course like a tired horse.

Lennie ran forward, and almost collided with Olaffson, whose white face looked horrid in the gloom. He carried a big stone, shapeless and water-marked.

“Fell from heaven!” he gasped, “outer the clouds, an’ near fixed me. Fell right inter the compass and smashed it up.”

The adventurer put out his long hands and took the stone.

“A meteorite,” he said slowly. “Such accidents have occurred before.”

He turned, and heaved the fragment overboard. I had seen plenty like it upon the beach at Gull.

Lennie was shivering with superstition as he spun the wheel round.

“Stone from heaven above beats all,” he muttered. Then he called: “Sandy, bring the spare compass outer my cabin! Get a move on.”

The mate went, and was soon back. The compass was not to be found.

Lennie swore desperately, resigned his charge of the wheel, and searched himself, but with the same result.

“You must have mislaid it, captain,” suggested Sandy, while the great silence before the wind was heavy upon us.

Then Father Lacombe stepped forward, and extended a small, toy-like thing with his unfailing courtesy.

“I have here, captain, a little compass, which I carry to guide me in my journeys through the forest,” he said, anxious for the safety of the ship. “If it will be of any service to you in determining your course, consider it entirely at your service.”

SEEKWAH, WHO BLOWS GOOD TO NO ONE

A murmur passed through the air, and the last tinge of red light succumbed to the hot haze, while the dry storm raced up, and the cloud came well away from the water, whirling more slowly because its bulk had increased.

I was superstitious enough to feel afraid when Akshelah, her face pale and small with fear, assured me that a priest was one who controlled the occult sciences, and that Redpath had undoubtedly obtained the power by the mere assuming of the character. All evil comes from the south, according to native belief. It is the south wind, Seekwah, who blows good to no one.

“Rupe, I’m going around the ship,” said MacCaskill hastily.

He went one way, and I the other.

Approaching the stern hatchway, the figure I feared rose suddenly, and there was no avoiding the black-clad man, who greeted me affectionately.

“My dear fellow, we are doing excellently. You were admiring my scheme and my scholarship, were you not? Very neat, eh? Altogether beyond those fools, whom we could have held there half the night. You timed your interruption capitally. By Gad! we are working well together.”

My courage came up in arms.

“You’re not going to keep me here now,” I said defiantly.

He moved from the hatchway, all smiles and good humour.

“Good man, you set me a splendid example of keenness! Ah, you have youth and energy to back you! I shan’t ask your plan, because I feel convinced we can best attain our end by acting independently. We understand each other. Keep a sharp look-out below, old man. They are a rascally lot, and accidents easily happen during a storm. See you presently.”

What was the use of me thinking I could fight this man!

I watched him move away, and was about to descend when a cold pressure came across my face. The water, which had spread away like oil, broke at the same moment into a shiver; the surface ruffled, as though rain were falling. This disturbance was quickly gone, and the stagnation and heat continued, but I knew, by this premonitory breath, that the wind was very near to us.

The lanterns had not yet been lighted below, but a dull gleam suffused from the engine-room, where I could hear the cord-wood dragged up to feed the furnace. The blue light of a sulphur match flickered, and when I came to a standstill a gaunt head popped over the barrels, and a coarse voice called guardedly:

“Is it O. K., Bill?”

“Yaw,” replied the voice behind the blue light still spluttering. “The priest’s gone. Gimme some smoke tobaccer.”

Just as I reached the two men the big shape of MacCaskill loomed upon us. Leblanc shifted, but not in my direction. Morrison smoked on imperturbably.

“Got a picnic here?” snorted the factor. “Say!” he called to the half-breed, who turned unwillingly, “I’ve ben wantin’ to chew the rag with you. You mind being this part wi’ old man Fagge one time?”

It was dark, but when Jim Morrison drew at his pipe I could see, by the glow shed from the bowl, the white terror upon the face of the half-breed. He had shown that fear before.

“Never was jest this part,” he said hoarsely.

“You come along the coast, I guess? Now, see here. Jim Petrie never fixed old man Fagge?”

Leblanc gave a faint growl, and I could make out he was shaking his great head.

“We know old man never died natural,” went on the cunning factor.

“Talk to ’em, pard!” exclaimed the gruff voice of Morrison. “They ain’t a-gettin’ no rope around your neck.”

“Jim Petrie was around,” growled Leblanc. “An’ Redpath an’ Olaffson, they were around.”

“Maybe Redpath could tell?” suggested MacCaskill.

“If he was here, which he ain’t.”

A hissing filled my ears, and for one moment I thought steam was being released from the engine.

“He’s not so far off, I guess?” said MacCaskill.

Leblanc looked excited, and Morrison interested. They had the look of men who expected to obtain some long-desired information. Both were about to ask a question, when I staggered, fell against my partner, cannoned him over, and the two sailors fell over us, while my ears were filled with noise; the ship creaked dismally, lurched irresolutely, and finally righting herself, settled into the wind and rushed with it. The south wind had broken loose. In that hollow space the noise was so terrific that shouting was ineffectual.

We disentangled ourselves, and crawled away.

The _Carillon_ gave me the idea that she was flying up and down a succession of hills. On regaining the deck it was difficult to stand; the wind streamed down, not in heavy blasts, but with one unvarying torrent. The surrounding haze was as dry as a blanket. The current brought strangely to me the voices of invisible men.

“Look at yon cloud in the south! Watch it!” This was Sandy’s voice.

Through the overhanging screen I could just see the purple bank threatening from the black line of the horizon. Occasional ghastly patches of foam swept along; lake, sky, and atmosphere were mixed, and whirled together; the _Carillon_ plunged and panted through the gloom to the infernal music of the mighty whistling.

Sandy’s voice reached me again: “No electricity yet.”

I could imagine Lennie struggling with the wheel, and the mate holding Redpath’s tiny compass up to his eyes. The haze pressed upon us, like the roof of a cave. To the side I could watch the livid water heaving and roaring against an almost black wall of its rival element. Akshelah found me out, and clung to me, the terror of her racial superstitions upon her.

“We shall go down into the water, and it will choke us!” she screamed.

I had only known my own little river of Yellow Sands, always gentle and pleasant. I had seen Lake Whispering under a storm, but I had never known what it was to fight the violence of its waves. Water now appeared to me for the first time as a power, as a tyrant capable of destroying life with one stunning blow of its wave. It was the same as the sand upon the beach. Lying idly, I could gather a handful, and let it trickle through my fingers in its fascinating way, and it would leave my hand as lightly as so much water. But when the gales of Tukwaukin came, that fine yellow dust would leap into the wind in a rage, and then I could not face it, because it would choke, and sting, and blind. The Indian belief in a mighty beast, whom the Creator cannot destroy, which spreads along the bottom of the lake, all eyes and jaw, waiting to snatch and devour the men whom the water overwhelms, recurred to my memory.

A deeper sound broke crashing behind the screaming of the dry tempest, and a sheet of fire sprang suddenly into the south.

“We are safe,” said Akshelah gravely. “See! The Great Spirit is there. They say he is everywhere, and though he has no power upon the water, he sits upon the rock lighting his pipe, to show us he is there.”

The first torrent of wind had passed, and the stream became far less violent. When the _Carillon_ came up from an abyss, as though she had been hurled by a mighty hand, I saw a low island, chiefly of basalt, where a few pines grew and some sparse vegetation. Akshelah pointed at the land when we came up the second time. The lightning played about the pines, making the scene as distinct as an evil dream.

Akshelah had her lips against my ear.

“Tell me what they do with the thing which was broken by the flying stone?”

“They find which way the ship must go.”

“Which way do we go to reach the river?”

“North-east.”

“Then we have lost our way.”

I pulled her more closely to me, to make sure of her words, and called on her to explain.

“We are going where the ghost-lights are born.”

Due north!

I asked how she knew.

“By the tree-moss on the island,” said she, and I was silenced.

This peculiar moss is an unfailing guide to the traveller, because it will only grow upon the north side of trees. Akshelah’s wonderful eyes had caught the information as we swept past the ghostly island.

Redpath had destroyed the compasses, and Lennie was steering the ship by the inaccurate instrument the adventurer had provided. We were off our course, and Redpath was having us borne to his own destination.

I told Akshelah to stay while I went in search of MacCaskill, but she disobeyed me as usual. We fought our way along, bending before the wind, but the deck was clear. I came to the wheel-house, and clung to it to keep myself perpendicular. Within I saw two frightened faces--Lennie clinging to the wheel, his coat off, his muscles swelling, his black eyes staring from a perfectly pallid countenance; Sandy struggling with one hand to control a smoked lantern, with the other to hold the lying compass, so that the captain might see it. Both men were more terrified than suspicious.

I was so injudicious as to yell a suggestion that the storm had carried us out of our course.

Lennie never put his eyes on me. I swung myself round to the mate’s side, and the little man shouted:

“See the island?”

I answered in the affirmative, and horror came into his eyes.

“It weren’t real. We’re right on our course, an’ there’s never an island there.”

I saw Lennie’s lips moving, and I knew he was still cursing.

“Where’s the priest?” shouted Sandy.

I was as anxious to know as he was.

Sandy yelled on:

“I don’t believe in ’em, but I’d like him handy now. If we’re a-goin’ to drown, I’d like to be drownded close beside him.”

Lennie threw himself upon the wheel, and when it was steady, tugged at the cord communicating with the engineer. By his doing so it occurred to me that our speed was excessive, despite the wind. The engines did not respond to the order.

A great shout came from Sandy, and the glass of his lantern shivered against the wheel. He put out his hand, and the captain’s face went ghastly, and his eyes half closed with a shudder.

To the left of us, bathed in floods of electric light, I saw a ragged outline of rocks, with black trees battling above, and a great bed of snow-white surf raging beneath.

“Petrie,” wailed the mate, out of that tumult, “we’ll meet maybe in another world, though I hold to me doubts. Get below anyhow, an’ chain up Dave and Pete afore they get any crazier.”

I went for the hatchway, and dived down, Akshelah always following. Where was MacCaskill?

The darkness swallowed me. The lanterns had never been lighted. As I set foot below, there came to me out of the darkness, and the blended noises of storm and machinery, furious laughter as of men revelling.

“Muchumeneto is here to-night,” said Akshelah, and the girl was right. The Evil Spirit was indeed aboard.

The gong in the engine-room pealed incessantly, but the engineer took no heed. A dark figure controlled the life of the ship, and a long white hand held the lever at full pressure. Pete was not there, Dave was not there. Redpath was engineer, and Olaffson was his fireman!

CAPTAIN CORN WHISKY

Olaffson looked up and grinned contentedly; Redpath glanced at me sideways. Before him the furnace whirled in white vapour, and the tamarac logs heaved and melted like fat. At the first inward step I saw a human shape pushed away in the corner, and this unconscious figure suggested the chief engineer, his arms and legs secured by wide straps.

Redpath was peering at the indicator as I came in, and reducing the pressure. Then he walked out of the blast of heat, unfastened and pulled off his cassock, removed the hard hat and false hair, and stood up before us by the gleam of the furnace as the English gentleman he professed to be. I thought the Icelander would have fallen in sheer amazement. The adventurer’s gentle voice became audible, but its tone no longer suggested friendliness when he addressed me.

“I have told you the truth. He thought I was the priest, and as such has been serving me. I have played the game by myself--always the safest way. You see I have done very well.”

“Where is MacCaskill?” I shouted.

Redpath stroked his flabby chin very gently, his eyes upon me all the time. I was ashamed to show fear, but I hesitated, even when Akshelah pushed me slightly forward. Without raising his voice, the masterful man made his words perfectly distinct.

“We shall reach shore before morning, I hope. For our mutual convenience, I shall then recommend a parting, as I find we have not so many sympathies in common as I had supposed. I shall proceed to discover Bonanza. You will travel back to your aboriginal home. My advice is sometimes worth following.”

His large face never moved; the cold words seemed as though spoken out of a mask. I could merely repeat my question:

“Where’s MacCaskill?”

Again he ignored the question, but he smiled when he said:

“The men, I understand, are enjoying themselves. They appear to have organised a small conversazione, or something of a very similar nature.”

A shiver ran along the ship, as a slight resistance met her speed, and she raced on again.

“Sand or gravel?” called Redpath coldly, and Olaffson sulkily called back, “Sand!”

The wind had been dropping all the time, and now singing and hoarse laughter sounded above all the noises of the ship, warning me that I was neglecting my duty and my partner. Redpath went back to the engine.

“I cannot imagine that you propose to resist my plans,” he said, in the superior cynical style; and, as I left, he called after me, “Excuse me for troubling you, but if you should meet the second engineer, will you be good enough to ask him where he keeps the oil-can?”

The smoke-room of the men was placed well up in the stem. The bounding and plunging became shorter as we worked along, dodging the rolling barrels, until a lantern swung from a rafter overhead, and I pulled Akshelah back so that I might command a view of the cabin, where the oaths and jests became continually louder. The ship might have been freighted with wild beasts.

I saw MacCaskill sitting between a couple of inebriated human parrots; he was diplomatically taking his share in the conversation, and although practically a prisoner, inasmuch as he was detained against his wish, no harm would be likely to befal him so long as he made no attempt to escape. The men were in the mood to be aggressively friendly with anyone who would agree with them, and would be just as ill-disposed should their inclinations be crossed. My hopes began to run very low. The command had been taken out of Lennie’s hands. The master of the _Carillon_ that night was Captain Corn Whisky.

Who but Redpath would have worked such a beastly plan into effect? He had methodically smuggled the forbidden stuff on board, had kept it hidden, and had distributed it among these hopeless lake drunkards at what was for him the favourable hour of the electric storm.

Some scud raced across the sky, and between the rack and the lightning came the smoky gleam of the aurora; the wind was so dry as to be stifling when I met it upon deck; the haze was rolling up, and the light increasing.

Lennie stood over the wheel, tired and silent. Sandy advanced cautiously, and said when we met:

“I was jest a-comin’ down meself. They’ve got her a-goin’ pretty good now, but while ago she was racin’ full rip. Captain’s mad enough to kill. You felt that sand bar, eh?”

“Come over here,” I said, wishing to take him from the dark-looking captain; and the mate looked at me quickly, and came.

We stood over the hatchway, and I told him to bend and listen. He inclined his ear, his face towards me, and soon I saw a change working in his features. I expected him to act instantly, but he had been frightened before that night, and he was badly frightened now. He went on staring at me, his face stupid.

“There’s only one thing what starts men inter that sort o’ noise.”

“Sandy,” I said--“captain, you, and I are sober, and Mac, who’s kept below, and Redpath and Olaffson, who’re running this ship, and Pete, whom they’ve knocked stupid.”

The little mate was grey under the quivering lights.

“Redpath! What? Who’s Redpath?”

“Father Lacombe, he called himself, and he’ll shoot as soon as look.”

Sandy moistened his lips.

“Lucky the storm’s passin’,” he half whispered. “I must tell captain, though he won’t do good while he’s mad. I tell ye I don’t like it.”

There was no need to go for the captain. A hoarse shout came to us, and that same moment the ship swerved mightily. There was no one at the wheel; Lennie lurched over the deck, his hands feeling as though he were blind, mastered by his fear and his superstition.

“We’re off our course--ben off hours!” he shouted, swaying about the deck, and once I thought he meant to throw himself over. “How many times have ye ben in these waters?” he yelled, swinging upon me as though I had contradicted him. “What do ye know of this part, you liar? Look at yonder, would you?”

“Let him work it off,” muttered Sandy.

Where the smoky mist was blown a little aside, I made out the grim outline of the shore, with its trees, directly ahead.

“There’s no passage here!” raved the captain, hitting at me. “We shan’t ever reach that land. This is shallow water--sand an’ rocks all the way. I’ve seen ’em peepin’ outer the waves as black as Satan, an’ I’ve pulled her off jest in time every half minute. We’ll strike a reef next thing, an’ be playin’ of harps an’ wearin’ of crowns by morning--”

He was interrupted by a shrill cry from keen-eyed Akshelah. The haze had broken behind, where she pointed wildly with both hands.

“Muchumeneto!” she screamed. “See him! He has been with us, and now he follows. His dominion is upon the water. He watches us. Look! His eye! his eye following us!”

Lennie staggered forward towards the stern, gazing blankly, both hands above his eyes, and panting like a broken horse. I stared into the lessening wind, between the ghost-lights and the gloom, where the tossing dark-blue water came up, and simultaneously we saw the bright eye--red, as if bloodshot--flash, and go out, and flash again as a great wave surged up from the south.

The wind rushed, carrying along far north a weird sound, the voice of that creature, while points of light, like fireflies, darted suddenly into the distant veil of mist, and went out immediately, the creature panting forth its fiery breath as it sweated in pursuit.

Sandy divested the monster of all supernatural attributes--another steamer, undoubtedly the vessel which had come into Gull, too late, as the mate now understood, to catch the _Carillon_. She was flying after us along the line of the storm, knowing that wherever we passed it would be safe for her to follow. The red eye went on flashing, and the whistle chirped, as the mate expressed it; but we had no lights to show that night, and our whistle would not chirp back.

“They’re crazy!” shouted Lennie, swinging back. “Same as us! Where’s Pete?”

As he seemed more in a mood to take the information, Sandy gave it carefully.

It seemed to daze the captain, but it had at least the effect of bringing him to his senses.

“Where’s Dave?”

“Raddled!”

Lennie nodded, as though it were the answer he had expected, but his face was full of vengeance.

“Pigs don’t feed alone,” he grimly suggested, stopped, and the mate nodded.

The captain swore very quietly.

“What’s the man who works the racket?” he said; and now it was my turn to answer.

He quickly cut me short.

“Get to the wheel, Sandy. Keep her off the rocks if ye can. I’m a-goin’ to stop her, or blow her up. Boy, fetch me up that bar!”

I lifted the iron bar used for stretching the ropes, and gave it to the captain.

He made a hurried movement towards the hatchway, but before he could begin to descend the hull crashed upon a reef, and we all went down rolling. The ship lifted, groaned with the effort dragged herself free, and leapt forward into deep water, game to the end, her pace diminishing because of the shock and the ragged rent which the rocks must have made along her.

Lennie picked himself up, took the bar, and again made for the hatchway, but now with murder on his face.

“Best have a plan, captain!” I called, to conciliate him; and he looked back, stopped, and joined me, possibly because he thought I was more of a fighter than himself.

A MAN FOND OF LIFE

The stricken ship staggered on through unknown waters, doomed to become a derelict.

Lennie’s madness had left him, now that the worst was known; indeed, it was in quite a subdued manner that he said:

“They’re fightin’ below.”

An uproar that might have meant mutiny or the simple devilry of drunkenness broke suddenly at the stem, and we reached the hatch in time to drag MacCaskill upon deck out of the invisible hands of the men.

The language arising from the darkness was terrific and inhuman, and I heard also the drunkards scrambling and struggling to make their feet secure upon the steps.

“Keep ’em down!” shouted MacCaskill, as he began to mop his bleeding head.

“How does she go, Mac?”

“Sinkin’, I guess.”

A head loomed up, and two huge brown hands felt for the opening.

I lifted my foot, and drove it down upon this head, and the sailor went falling among his companions, who, unable to distinguish ally from enemy, received him with resounding blows.

Sandy ran up with the covering of the hatch, a grin of triumph on his face, and we clamped it down, while the men battered hopelessly.

“The stern passage is open yet,” panted the little man.

“Fasten it,” growled Lennie, in the same subdued manner. “We’ll keep ’em below, be Jerusalem! an’ drown the crowd.”

“There’s Pete!”

“He shouldn’t let hisself be took,” snarled Lennie.

The men were tumbling about, making through the darkness for the stern hatchway.

Sandy and I raced them, but as we passed the hot funnel, where the smoke came beating down, a large figure sauntered quietly along to meet us, and the soft voice which I had grown to hate and fear observed:

“So the wind has altogether blown itself out. It was a short storm, and a cheerful one.”

The mate stopped and stared, struck dumb.

I shouted at him to come on, lest the men should escape and complicate matters, and he did so, breathing quickly; while the badly-built figure strolled towards the bows, gently stroking his chin, as was his custom.

We jammed down the hatch in time, secured it by padlocks, and raced back, sweating in the dry air.

Redpath was standing in the centre of the deck, his legs apart to maintain his balance, one hand behind him, the other wandering over his flabby face. He greeted our coming with his amiable smile.

“Capital idea,” he said. “I was just remarking to Captain Lennie--a capital idea! Your little plan, Petrie, I’ll wager. It is quite necessary for our safety that the men should be fastened between decks. In fact, I came up to suggest it.”

I awaited the outburst from Lennie, but only silence followed. There was plenty of sound from the wind and the sea, from the poor ship shivering under us, and from the drunkards fighting together like trapped forest-cats, but not a word from the captain. Lennie’s face looked small, and his figure dried up. He tried to stare Redpath in the eyes, but failed. MacCaskill sat upon a skylight, a little spent after his exertions, and from the manner in which his mouth twitched I gathered he was trying to say something. Had Redpath been a man of our own stamp, a man of our own “outside” land, we might have understood him, and we should have certainly beaten him by mere numbers. His superior manner and his calm cynicism frightened us; his powerful will crushed ours; his well-turned sentences, with never an oath in them, spoken so faultlessly, and his magnificent air, made it difficult for any of us to oppose him either by word or deed. Had it been Olaffson, Lennie would probably have gone mad, and given him what he deserved with his iron bar. But Lennie stood mildly before Redpath like a servant before a hard master.

I cannot imagine that Redpath would ever have shown that he was either disconcerted or encouraged. When he tired of the silence which his presence had imposed, he went on:

“It is my duty to report to you, Captain Lennie, that one of your sailors, the half-breed, Leblanc, taken on by you at Gull, there conceived the dastardly plan of capturing this ship, his fellows aiding and abetting, and of sailing her, after the present company, myself included, had been put ashore--marooned is the expression used upon the salt seas, I believe--of sailing the _Carillon_, I repeat, to a certain locality, where he believes gold is to be found. Before putting away from Gull, he smuggled on board a quantity of liquor, with which he intended to stimulate the courage of his men at the critical moment. As you are aware, captain, these men cannot move far, or indulge in the simplest mental process, without having recourse to spirits. It was fortunate that I discovered Leblanc’s plot some time back. I assumed the disguise of a priest, as I was determined to frustrate this mutinous and piratical plan, and deceived not only the sailors, but your far more acute selves. To my sorrow I found myself outwitted, though I overcame the chief engineer when he was mad with liquor, and have since done my best to run the ship into safety, until the happening of the deplorable catastrophe which now threatens to sink us. It was impossible to stop the ship, because the mechanism became unworkable owing to an accident arising from my own ignorance.”

Redpath turned and fronted the factor.

“I have an apology to make to you, sir,” he went on. “By an unfortunate and inexcusable error, I imagined that you were in league with the mutineers.”

Redpath stopped as abruptly as he had commenced. He had spoken his carefully-prepared sentences with the air of a man who has done much good in his time, but who would scorn to seek after praise.

Akshelah pushed me aside impatiently, and stood out before us, small and determined. A bright colour animated her face, and her eyes were scornful.

“You stand and listen to him, and call yourselves men,” she said angrily. “That man is a liar. He is laughing at you, because he knows he is stronger than you all. You are cowards, but he is the greatest, because he only dares to fight with his tongue.”

Then I saw Redpath’s face change, and a faint flush rose under his loose skin. He gave one short laugh, and set his glance full upon the girl; but his power did not help him there.

Akshelah stepped out firmly, and stopped when within reach, until I went cold with dread lest he should put out his hand and suddenly shoot her. But Akshelah had no such fear, because she understood the man.

“I will show them,” she said fiercely, showing her little teeth, this strong young cat--“I will show them that you are not a man at all.”

She lifted her shapely brown hand, this Indian maid of mine, leant gracefully forward, and punished the English gentleman in the manner I have since seen described as boxing the ears. It was no light touch, because she struck only once, and I have no doubt but that the man’s cheek stung him.

Redpath made no motion of retaliation, but he laughed easily, took off his hat to the girl, raised his big shoulders, and muttering something about “mixing in savage company,” walked away, with an eye behind, and leaned carelessly against the side to await the next turn of events. Akshelah had beaten him before us all, had made a fool of him, as the saying goes, and our nerve improved in consequence.

It was only when we set ourselves to think of action that we discovered our helplessness. There was nothing to be done, except to wait and drift until the land should stop us. Evidently the water was gaining slowly. The pursuing steamer had slackened speed, perhaps because she was sure of us, or perhaps, as Sandy suggested, she, too, had been crippled.

Lennie, with all his spirit gone, mourned the loss of his ship and his reputation. He was almost in tears, and I overheard him muttering to my partner:

“Ben on the water all me time, an’ never made more’n a livin’. Never lost any other boat, ’cept a steam-tug ten year ago, an’ she was cranky. Now I’m gettin’ old, wi’ nothin’ saved. Never get ’nother job. May as well go down wi’ the ole ship, an’ be bit by fishes.”

“Shake ’em off, Bob,” advised the factor. “Things ain’t so messed, if ye come to watch. We ain’t a-going to sink. We’re a-going to run on sand yonder, and the ole ship’ll be better than ever when they’ve fixed a patch across her.”

A chill entered the wind, as the atmosphere shifted and the light became stronger. Looking out, I beheld a fine sight. Across our bows ran the land in a curving line, a bank of trees without a break, with the water white below, and the aurora above. An island ran out to port; here a narrow passage of smooth water led up to a broad silver beach. Any idea of running the ship through this passage and beaching her upon the sand was precluded by the sight of a shoal of rocks guarding the entrance effectually against anything larger than a canoe.

The keel dragged once upon sand in passing, but there was not enough to stop us. We passed so close to the rocks that I could see the green slime dripping off the black jaws, and some great pines, hanging forward at an angle that looked impossible, brushed upon the mast, and rained bunches of spines and small cones upon deck.

The broken-down captain refused to make any effort; Sandy had taken the wheel, and was doing his best to keep us off the visible dangers. When I came up, he jerked his head back, with the question:

“How’s she comin’?”

Afar along the white haunt of shadows, I saw the ghostly object, riding up and down, her single light twinkling, and a gust passed, bringing the deep sound of her panting.

“She’s not gaining,” I said.

“I guess,” said the mate gravely--“I guess we’re the first steamer what’s ever fooled over these waters, an’ she’s the second.”

“Where are we?” I asked, but the mate did not know. He gave his opinion that we were coming to territory never before visited by white men.

When I looked upon the silent shape of Redpath, I doubted the statement. Probably three men on board were visiting this mysterious region not for the first time, and my dead father had probably been here, with the old man, Joe Fagge, the gold-finder.

“She’s slowin’ all the time,” said the mate, with dreary triumph. “Maybe the fire’s gone out. Say! Listen below.”

Shouting and blasphemy had turned into yells of terror, and the battering upon the hatches became furious.

“The water’s worryin’ ’em,” muttered Sandy.

Then Redpath considered it his turn to play. A change had certainly come over the strong-minded man; he was frightened, and he could not altogether hide it; his hands worked uneasily, and he continually cast side glances towards me, as I thought, but I came to realise that I was standing on the line between his eye and the pursuing steamer. It was astonishing that he had not noticed her before.

“Captain Lennie,” he said loudly, “I appeal to you, in the cause of humanity, to unfasten the hatches.”

Lennie made no sign of hearing, but MacCaskill said gruffly:

“You was wantin’ ’em closed down yourself not such a while ago.”

“I considered the men might be dangerous,” said Redpath. “Now they are too frightened to do us any harm.”

“There’s Pete below,” muttered Lennie remorsefully. “Pete was allus a good pard.”

“And I guess you took him foul,” exclaimed MacCaskill boldly. “I guess you knocked him down, and then came up to tell captain he’s drunk.”

“As a gentleman, it is impossible for me to reply,” said Redpath.