Chapter XVII

When Molly had gone, Jeff had a feeling that he had rather overdone the business on the bridge. Such emphasis as he had expressed had hardly been called for. He wished vaguely he had not covered so much territory in his condemnations. It was a cheap way out at best to relieve his own self-fury by storming at the girl. Possibly his strong words to Molly did not in the least palliate his disloyalty to the South, but rather enhanced it, in that by so speaking he had been false to the South’s most treasured tradition, that of chivalry. Two wrongs never yet made a right. Possibly it would have been better to have saved his thunder for other ears.

He was a tender-hearted boy; and very soon he was really sorry that he had expressed himself so bluntly. He hoped he had not hurt Molly’s feelings. If the subject were not acutely painful to him he would attempt to apologize. Of course a brave, self-reliant girl like Molly was not likely to be easily hurt; yet this fact did not excuse his own inconsiderateness. How really deep the hurt was Jeff Sharp did not dream.

He found himself speaking entirely politely to Captain Skinner who joined him on the bridge. “Well, we got through that safely enough, thanks to you and the boys,” the skipper observed. “Jeff, that was a narrow squeak. We pretty near lost our skins as soon as we got ’em, and wouldn’t that old Boston skipper had a laugh on us then—only he’d laugh out of the wrong side of his mouth.”

“I don’t believe they would have taken them,” Jeff answered rather coldly—yet with none of the fire he had heaped on Molly.

Captain Skinner did not seem to hear him. His thoughts were down in the hold with the bales of glossy treasure. “It was mighty lucky for us them Britishers didn’t know what we had,” he went on. “I don’t blame ’em for not wanting to risk their lives when they thought maybe they wouldn’t get nothing but a bunch of coarse island fox and a couple of skunks to pay for their trouble; but for a thousand sea otter—my boy, we’d ’a’ been fighting yet.”

“I don’t believe we’d have had the least trouble if we had let them come aboard in peace,” Jeff argued. “I can’t help but think we took a serious risk in repelling them when they were in their rights.”

“Well, you sure are hard to convince. Jeff, they wasn’t in their rights.”

“They had a right to come and see our papers.”

“I’ll admit that, but not to bring an armed force alongside. You think Captain Lennox would ha’ turned around and stepped off polite and nice, and left them furs in the hold? He’d laugh at you for thinking any such foolishness. We’d be mighty lucky if he wouldn’t seize the ship as a prize.”

“Of course his crew might have mutinied at the sight of all those skins. I’ll admit that such is possible. But I’m just as sure as can be that no English gentleman like Lennox would do such an unsportsmanlike thing as to board us ostensibly to see our papers and then seize our cargo by force.”

“You don’t know some of these here English gentlemen. A lot of ’em act like us common folks when they see a thousand sea otter skins.”

“Well, we got through safely. We don’t have to fear anything at Sitka, at least. I did not know Lennox, but I do know those Russian noblemen.”

Captain Skinner did not argue the point, but as he walked away, he made a curious snorting sound which Jeff could hardly interpret. He seemed to infer that he took all kinds of noblemen with a grain of salt.

If Jeff had doubted his own words, certainly he was reassured when in an early evening the _Ethan Allen_ pushed again into the Sitkan harbor. The picturesque old Russian town lay dreaming in the twilight, its lights subdued, its bold lines softened, its roofs and spires blending into the dusk; and its Old World charm and peace were for all to know and love. The harsh, wild Alaskan background was forgotten, and to-night this town belonged to old Europe instead of raw America. It was a quaint and gentle place; and crime and violence in connection with it were simply unthinkable. Jeff resolved that Skinner was an alarmist of the worst type, and that likely the skins were safer here than they would be in an American port.

The first day in Sitka seemed to bear out this supposition. No one came to marvel at the treasure in the hold. Life resumed its normal, happy course, except for one minor change: Molly seemed to avoid his presence. Somehow he had fallen into the habit of spending a great deal of time in her company; but this first day of his return to Sitka he scarcely glimpsed her from morning until night. Indeed it was a small matter, not to trouble one of his tastes and interests, yet it was annoying that she would absent herself on a day when he most needed her company. Why did he need it particularly to-day? Because everything seemed to go wrong, somehow, and the minutes took their places like carriages in a parade—with long, aggravating pauses in between.

She was doubtless in a huff from his ill-selected words of the day before, but since she was just Molly she would likely be herself again soon. He could hardly reconcile a girlish sensitiveness with one so capable and self-reliant, a tomboy and hale-fellow-well-met like Captain Skinner’s niece. Except for his firm resolve to keep all thoughts of his late madness out of his mind—his inexplicable attitude in the crisis of two days before—he would make some sort of apology to her; but for the sake of his own pride and self-satisfaction he could not bring himself to mention the matter again. Anyhow, she would certainly be herself next day.

He believed this as surely as he believed in the continued safety of the otter skins. The long afternoon had worn away, never brightened with a smile or a moment of gay talk from Molly, before he guessed that he had been altogether too optimistic regarding her. This was not the worst. When another gray twilight lay over the sea he was brought face to face with the fact that he had been similarly optimistic in regard to the otter skins.

Late in the afternoon the _Queen_ had come into port, and after the supper hour there were official visitors on the deck of the _Ethan Allen_. No less a personage than Spaskii, the Czar’s commissioner, accompanied by Count Yanovisk and young Lord Staritsa came in file up the gangplank for a short conference with Captain Skinner and the American correspondent.

They were all exceedingly courteous, and indeed were a courtly and polished trio. They bowed low over Jeff’s patrician hand, as well as the horny appendage with which Captain Skinner pulled lowly ropes. They made pleasant remarks concerning the weather and urged that the Yankee sailor and the Southern gentleman pay them early calls. It was at this point in the proceedings that Jeff felt a faint touch of annoyance, almost of suspicion. It was wholly fitting that Cavalier Spaskii should wish to entertain him, a Southerner, but when he also invited this hardy, ill-spoken Yankee sailor, his sincerity was open to question. It was also vexing to make out the dim form of Baron Karl, tramping up and down the docks as if waiting for the official party to return.

“As a mere matter of form, we have presented ourselves to talk with you regarding your dealings with Captain Cooper, of the _Boston Dame_,” Yanovisk got to business at last. “His Majesty’s commissioner will assure you it is a mere matter of form only, yes?”

Spaskii could not speak English, but he evidently recognized a cue. He said a few words in soft, purring, soothing Russian. Certainly (so Jeff thought he said) this visit was a mere matter of form!

“Of course in addition to the pleasure of renewing our acquaintance—strengthening an already warm friendship,” Staritsa observed.

“You had certain negotiations with Captain Cooper, the commissioner understands,” Yanovisk went on.

“I understand so, myself,” Captain Skinner replied in obvious American. “What about ’em?”

“As a mere trifle—a mere matter of form—we would like to see what cargo you removed from his ship. This inspection is required on all goods taken into Russian-America, to provide against importation of contraband. If it meets with your esteemed favor we should also most like to see such papers as Captain Cooper put in your hands.”

He addressed these remarks to Jeff, who answered before Captain Skinner could put in a word. It would be quite like the old sea dog, given to untoward suspicion of his betters, to employ some sort of subterfuge to conceal the otter skins from the Russian’s eyes, perhaps leading them to some other part of the hold to show less valuable cargo. Sometimes the barrel-chested Yankee seemed well-named. Jeff felt certain, however, that only trouble would result from any attempt to deceive the officials—there were likely other channels through which they could learn the real nature of Cooper’s goods—and besides, Jeff had no real reason to suspect unfair dealing. Surely these gentlemen were not pirates.

“Of course you may see the stuff,” was the Southerner’s reply. “It is immensely valuable, and we are trying to guard it with care. If you want to take my word for it, instead of climbing below, it is—a thousand sea otter!”

The two Russians who understood English did not speak, plainly because they could not. They were not used to such tidings. In such moments the delicate mental functions necessary to translate excited Russian into courteous English were quite too much for them. They merely stared blankly, with eyes straight ahead; and Captain Skinner—perfectly aware that a half million in otter skins was no laughing matter—almost chortled in their faces.

Cavalier Spaskii was aware that something was going on beyond him. The startled silence was significant, and in one glance at his friends’ faces he was sure he had missed a trick of which he should have knowledge. He spoke a few Russian words in a questioning and somewhat excited tone.

Yanovisk replied, stating the Russian equivalent of a thousand sea otter skins; whereupon there were three noblemen in the same, strange, pathological condition—no longer courtly, no longer garrulous, but all three temporary victims of instantaneous paralysis.

Of course they recovered almost instantly, but they had set Jeff to thinking. He could understand how Count Yanovisk, a man of humble means, might be stricken breathless at the thought of a half million haul of furs. That Staritsa and Spaskii were similarly stricken was unintelligible. He had idealized these men—at least he had tried to—and their mercenary instincts shocked him. Skinner, on the other hand, thought he understood perfectly. An old seafaring friend of his had once told him that, contrary to rumor, Americans were less gold-crazy than any people in the world, and that for sheer excitement at the sight of some actual money, the foreign count led all the rest; and now Skinner believed him.

Staritsa seemed to be particularly affected. He was the last man of the three to make complete recovery. Did he not know it was never becoming to one of noble blood to show such base interest in mere wealth? Could he not remember that high birth put him above such thoughts? And now Jeff was not only shocked, but vaguely uneasy, too. There was suddenly a most disconcerting gleam in Staritsa’s eyes.

Neither this, nor the little hard lines on the young Muscovite’s face, nor yet his intense preoccupation were lost on Captain Skinner. The latter paid no more attention to the Russian-American conversation. He watched Staritsa.

“Prime?” Yanovisk asked suddenly.

“Yes. They seem to be first class, and all mature otters.”

“Our Lady of Kazan!”

Shortly after this Spaskii bowed himself away, but obeying his look, neither Staritsa or the Governor’s secretary followed him. He seemed to have forgotten the formality of looking over Captain Cooper’s permits. However, he was gone only a few minutes, during which Staritsa and Yanovisk looked at the furs.

Not long thereafter they heard the thump of heavily shod feet on the dock, and certain hoarse and unintelligible commands battered into the hush of the twilight. Four Russian soldiers, armed with muskets and bayonets, marched up in the command of a Muscovite corporal. They came to a noisy order-arms just below the plank.

Even Captain Skinner, scarcely famous as a pacifist, did not so much as consider offering resistance to the Russian half-squad. He was in the Sitkan harbor and therefore subject, within certain limits, to the officials of the port; and besides, he could not whip the entire Alaskan garrison. As yet he did not know the run of the cards, so he quietly awaited the next deal. His only regret was that he had ever returned to Sitka; yet if he had read aright the smoke on the horizon behind him, no other course had been open. The _Queen_ was a fast ship, and she had some long-range guns. Jeff also waited, and a spark that had lit in each of his black eyes was of deep significance to Skinner. For the present, at least, he had ceased to deplore his warlike stand of a few days before.

Cavalier Spaskii advanced up the gangplank, and bowing profusely, spoke a few words which Yanovisk immediately translated. “His Excellency begs your indulgence for his absence of a moment ago, yes,” the latter explained. “He compliments his friends from the great American Republic.”

“What else?” Captain Skinner asked, evidently failing to appreciate the fine points of the Russian’s address.

“He says he is most regretful, but for the time being, until the goods can be legally cleared, he is required to post a guard of four Russian soldiers over the ship—purely as a matter of form.”