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

Harold Bindloss

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

CHAPTER I

JIMMY'S DUCK

"The sea!" said Bluey, the Nova Scotian, sitting up on his pillow. "Oh, yes. It's kind of pretty, but the only use I've got for it is for bathing in."

There was laughter and a growl of disapproval from two beds in a corner of the dormitory, for nobody could go to sleep at nine o'clock, especially on the last night of the term, though retiring at that hour was compulsory at Sandycombe School. Pearson, the assistant master, had not, however, come round as yet to turn the lights out, and the gas-jet blinked fitfully in the big wire cage which apparently protected it from unlawful experiments. It did not, however, do so in reality, because Niven had discovered that the cage could be unscrewed, and it was not difficult to curtail the hour of preparation in the morning and evening by blowing strenuously down the pipe in turn. There were, of course, risks attached to this, but Niven had pointed out that anybody caught at the operation would suffer in a good cause, and it provided work for the Sandycombe plumber, who was voted a good fellow because he would smuggle in forbidden dainties for a consideration.

"The sea," said Appleby, "is everything that's fine. What do you know about it, Bluey?"

"Well," said the Nova Scotian in his slowest drawl, "I do know quite a little. You see, ours is a kind of hard country, and most of our folks go in sea now and then when they can't do better. Sometimes it's fishing way out on the Grand Banks where you got lost in a fog in the dory boats and starve before the schooner finds you, and if you don't it's quite likely a liner steaming twenty knots runs bang over you. Or it's carrying dried cod south in little schooners in winter time, with your long boots stuffed with straw to keep your feet from freezing, while you run for it under a trysail that's stiff with ice, with a full-size blizzard screaming behind you. No, sir. Going to sea isn't any kind of picnic, and that's why I'm sorry for Niven. The fellows who wrote those books 'bout cutting out pirates and catching slavers are dead, and it's 'bout time they were."

"Bluey's not going to stop to-night. Throw a pillow at him, somebody," said Niven, and there was a thud as the Nova Scotian's slipper, which was quicker than the pillow, alighted within an inch of the speaker's head.

Niven, however, took it good-naturedly, and he would have resented a better shot less than the remarks which had preceded it. He was going to sea, and had been describing his apprentice's uniform, and the life he fancied he was to lead on board a sailing ship, to an appreciative audience. His contentment had only one alloy, and that was the fact that Appleby, who had read Marryat and others with him under a gorse bush on sunny afternoons when he was presumed to be playing cricket, was not coming with him too. Nobody, however, was apparently willing to pay Appleby's premium, and Niven pinned his last hope on the possibility of his comrade being able to ship on the same vessel as ordinary seaman. Appleby, whom Niven privately considered somewhat slow and over-cautious, did not appear very enthusiastic about the scheme.

"To your kennels!" said somebody, and there was a footfall on the stairway, while two cots rattled as a couple of scantily-attired forms alighted upon them with a flying leap. They had been lying prone upon the floor giving a realistic representation of Niven swimming ashore with the captain in his teeth, though the lad who played the part of skipper protested vigorously that there was no necessity for his being grievously bitten.

"That was fine," said somebody. "When Pearson's gone we'll have it again. You could pour some water on to him first to make it more real."

"Then," said the skipper, "you'll get somebody else in the place of me. It was a good deal nicer the last time I was nibbled by a ferret, and I'm not going home with hydrophobia to please any of you."

After this there was silence whilst the footsteps grew nearer, and presently the assistant master came into the room.

"You are all here?" he said as he swept his glance from bed to bed.

Then he gave a little sigh of relief, for he had a good deal to do that night, and they were all there, and apparently very sleepy, while it was not his fault that he did not see that two of them wore their outdoor clothes under their night gear. Appleby and Niven had business on hand, and they had discovered that with the aid of contributions levied from their comrades it was possible to lay out a suit of clothing that sufficed to pass a hasty inspection on their chairs. Pearson, however, glanced round again, for he had been taught that there was need for greater watchfulness when his charges were unusually quiet, and then turned out the gas.

"Good-night, boys. If there is any breach of rules some of you will not go home to-morrow," he said.

Two minutes later everybody was wide awake again, and a voice was raised in a corner.

"Let's have a court-martial and try Bluey for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman," it said. "You'll be president, Appleby, and we'll make Niven executioner."

"Sorry," said Niven, "but we can't. You see, Appleby and I have got another assize on to-night. We're going to put an habeas corpus on Tileworks Jimmy's duck."

"More fools you!" said Bluey. "I'm sorry, too, because I've a few fixings handy that would double the court-martial up. Anyway, you'll only catch red-hot trouble instead of Jimmy's duck."

"What's that about a duck?" asked a lad who had come up in the middle of the term, and a comrade proceeded to enlighten him.

"It is by this time ancient history, and it may have been a drake," he said. "Anyway, this is Appleby's story. He stays here in the holidays, you know, and he made a catapult thing during the last ones."

"It wasn't," said Appleby. "It was a crossbow, and Pearson thought so much of it that he took it from me."

"Well," said the other, "Appleby went out shooting, and shot a wild duck, but it was a tame one, and Tileworks Jimmy's. Now if he'd been wiser he'd have buried it, but he took it to Jimmy's house. Jimmy wasn't in, and Appleby forgot, but a few days later Jimmy came round to see the Head, and wanted ten shillings for his duck. Took an affidavit that it would have won prizes at a dog show anywhere. The Head, who should have kicked him out, gave him five shillings, and stopped it out of Appleby's pocket-money, and Appleby went back to Jimmy's to ask for his duck. Jimmy told him how nice it was, and that he'd eaten the thing to save it going bad. That, I think, is Q.E.D. Appleby."

Appleby laughed softly. "You're not very far out, but it wasn't the duck but the principle of the thing that worried me," he said. "The one I shot was a common one worth one-and-six, and I didn't even get it, though when Jimmy took the money he sold it me. Now I don't like to be cheated by anybody."

There was a little laughter, for Appleby was known to be tenacious of his rights.

"It was better than a circus when he made the Aunt Sally man fork out the cocoa-nuts he won," said somebody.

"Well," said Appleby slowly, "it was right, and sixpence has to go a long way with me. I don't get so many of them as the rest of you."

He slipped out of bed as he spoke, and there was another rustle when Niven followed him, while a lad in the cot nearest them sat up.

"You haven't told us how you're going to get the duck," he said.

"That," said Niven, "is going to be almost too easy. I throw big stones on Jimmy's roof, and when he comes out after me Appleby slips in and gets the duck. With a little brains a fellow can do anything."

Next moment they were out in the dark corridor, and Niven held his breath as they slipped past the half-open door of a lighted room where the Head of the school was busy making out the bills. The treatment at Sandycombe was at least as firm as kind, and the Head was known to have an unpleasantly heavy hand. Nobody heard them, however, and in another minute or two they were crawling about the dark passage where Charley, the boy of all work, had laid out a long row of boots. Niven, it was characteristic, took the first pair that seemed to fit him, while Appleby went up and down the row on his hands and knees, until his comrade fancied he would never be ready. Then Niven shoved up a window.

"Get through while I hold it. There isn't any sash-weight," he said.

"Then who's going to hold it for you?" said Appleby. "There'll be no duck catching if it comes down with a bang."

Niven growled disgustedly. "Your turn! I never thought of that," he said.

"Then," said Appleby, "it's a good thing I did. Put this piece of stick under it."

It was done, and they dropped into a flower bed, slipped through the garden behind the hollies, across a quaggy field, and came out into the road just beyond the village. It was drizzling, and a bitter wind drove a thin white mist past them. Niven stood still a moment ankle-deep in mud, and glanced back towards the lights of the village blinking through the haze.

"It doesn't look quite so nice now, but we had better go on," he said.

Appleby said nothing, but laughed a little as he plodded on into the rain and mist, and, though the plan was Niven's, this was typical of him. Appleby was not very brilliant at either work or play, but he usually did what he took in hand with a slow thoroughness that occasionally carried him further than his comrade's cleverness. He was also slow to begin a friendship or make a quarrel, but those who drove him into the latter usually regretted it, and his friends were good. Nobody but Niven knew anything about his relations, while it was but once in the term, somebody sent him a few shillings for pocket money. Niven on the contrary could do almost anything he wanted well, and came back each term with several hampers and a big handful of silver in his pocket.

"It's beastly cold, and one of these boots is coming off. I'm not sure it's my own," he said. "It would be a good joke for the other fellow if I lost it."

"It wouldn't be for me," said Appleby dryly. "If I lost mine I would have to go home with you in my stockings, but we'll have to get on faster than we're doing."

They could scarcely see the hedgerows, and the mud got deeper. Now and then a half-seen tree shook big drops down on them as they went by, and there way a doleful crying of wild fowl from a marsh not far away. The drizzle also beat into their eyes, and Niven, who felt distinctly sorry he had ever heard about the duck, presently stopped altogether with his feet in a pool.

"We could still go back, Tom," he said.

"No," said Appleby dryly. "I don't think we could, though because I could manage it myself there's nothing to stop you if you wanted to."

There was not much mirth in Niven's laugh. "I'm not very anxious, if you put it like that," he said.

They went on again, getting rapidly wetter, until Niven fell down as they clambered over a dripping stile. "We're a pair of splay-footed asses, Tom," he said.

Appleby nodded. "Still, we'd be bigger ones if we did nothing after all this. I wouldn't sit there in the mud," he said.

Niven scrambled to his feet, and presently they crawled through a hedge into a rutted lane with the lighted window of a cottage close in front of them, and the radiance shone upon them as they stopped to glance up and down. Appleby stood square and resolute with decision in his face, and he was short and thick, with long arms and broad shoulders. Niven shivered a little, and leaned forwards turning his head this way and that with quick, nervous movements. He was lithe and light, with a graceful suppleness that was not seen in his companion.

"Tom," he said softly, "there aren't any stones. Still, I could heave a lump of stiff mud through the window, and that would fetch him."

Appleby shook his head. "There are tiles yonder, and they would do as well," he said. "You see, we are entitled to the duck, but Jimmy's window is another thing. Give me a minute, and then begin."

He slipped away into the gloom of a hedge, and it was evidently high time, for a dog commenced growling. Niven felt very lonely as he stood still in the rain, but the depression only lasted a moment or two, and in another minute he had flung a big tile upon the roof. When the second went banging and rattling down the slates he raised a high-pitched howl.

"Jimmy, come out," he said. "Come out, you shuttle-toed clay stamper, and be a man."

He was not kept waiting long. The door swung open and a man stood out black against the light in the opening. He was peering into the darkness, and apparently grasped a good-sized stick, but when another tile crashed against the low roof above his head he saw the object deriding him in the mud.

"Ellen, loose the dog," he said as he sprang forward.

Niven promptly darted up the lane, but there were two things he had not counted on, and one of them was the dog, for Jimmy had not kept one when they last passed his cottage. The other was even more embarrassing, for while Niven could run tolerably well on turf in cricket shoes the deep sticky mud was different, and one of the boots which were somebody else's would slip up and down his foot. Still because Jimmy was not far behind him, he did all he could, and was disgusted to find that a tileworks labourer could run almost as well as he did. Indeed, for the first Five minutes he had a horrible suspicion that Jimmy was running better, but presently it became evident that the splashing thud of heavy boots grew no louder, and he saw that he was at least maintaining his lead. Still, he could not shake off the pursuer, and while he held on with clenched hands and laboured breath an unfortunate thing happened. One foot sank deep in a rut, Niven staggered, blundered through another stride, and then rolled over in the grass under a tall hedge. That was bad, but it was worse to find that he had now only a stocking upon one foot. Jimmy was also unpleasantly close, and Niven, seeing he could not escape by flight, rolled a little further beneath the hedge.

Then he lay very still while the man came floundering down the road, and held his breath when he stopped as if to listen close beside him.

"The young varmint has made for the hedge gap," gasped the man. "If I cut across to the stile I might ketch him."

He went on, and when his footsteps could no longer be heard Niven crawled out and felt in the puddles for the boot. It was not to be found, and rising with a groan he worked round towards the back of the cottage. The dog was growling all the time, and he could hear a woman's voice as well as a rattle of chain, but presently he saw a dark object gliding along beneath a hedge. When he came up with it he noticed that Appleby had something in his hand.

"I've got it," he said.

Niven looked at the object he held up. "It's very quiet," he said.

"Of course!" said Appleby. "You wouldn't make much noise without your head. Killing anything is beastly, but there was a billhook handy. We've no time for talking now. It's a good big dog."

They crossed a field, and Niven's shoeless foot did not greatly embarrass him until they crawled through a hedge into recent ploughing, while as they plodded over it the growling of the dog drew nearer.

"Come on!" gasped Appleby. "She has got him loose at last."

The beast was close at hand when another hedge rose up blackly against the sky before them, and Niven swung off a little towards an oak that grew out of it.

"It's a horrible brute, but it can't climb a tree. I'm going for the oak," he said.

Appleby grasped his shoulder. "Jimmy could," he said. "Go on, and try if you can pull one of those stakes in the gap up."

In another minute Niven was tearing out a thick stake, and felt a little happier when he saw the end of it was sharpened, while Appleby had clawed up a big clod of stiff clay from the ploughing.

"He's only a cur, any way, and I think there's a stone in it," he said.

They could now dimly see the dog, and it was evident that it saw them, for it stopped, and then commenced to work round sideways in their direction, growling as though a little disconcerted by their waiting.

"It's an ugly beast," said Niven, whose heart was in his mouth. "It would get us if we ran."

"We're not going to run," said Appleby quietly, though his voice was a trifle hoarse. "Howl at him, Chriss."

Niven commenced a discordant hissing, and the dog growled more angrily. They could see it black against the ploughing, and it looked very big. Appleby was standing perfectly still with something held up above his head, and drew back a pace when the brute came creeping towards him.

"Here's something for you, Towser," he said, flinging his arm up.

Then a howl followed, and next moment Niven was tearing up the clay, and hurling it in handfuls after something that seemed fading in the dimness of the field. When he could see it no longer he stood up breathless.

"We've beaten him," he gasped. "It's about time we were going."

They went at once, and did not stop until they reached the road, where Niven leaned against a gate, and glanced down ruefully at his foot.

"It wasn't so bad on the grass, but I don't know how I'm going to get home now," he said.

"Put up your foot," said Appleby. "We'll tie our handkerchiefs round it."

He was quick with his fingers, but when they turned homewards Niven was not exactly happy. He was wet and very muddy, while, as he afterwards observed, walking a long way on one foot is not especially easy. It was also raining steadily, and a little trickle from his soaked cap ran down his shoulders, while the bare hedgerows seemed to crawl back towards them very slowly. The mud squelched and splashed underfoot, and there was only the crying of the plover in the darkness.

"I never fancied it was such a beastly long way to the tileworks," he said as he limped on painfully.

At last when the knotted handkerchief hurt his foot horribly a light or two blinked faintly through the rain, and presently they plodded into the silent village. Nobody seemed to see them, the window they had slipped out of was still open, and crawling in they went up the stairway and along the corridor on tiptoe with the water draining from them. Niven had expected to find his comrades asleep, and was too wet and dispirited to wish to waken them, but there was a murmur of sympathy when he crept in.

"I wouldn't be you," said somebody. "The Head came in to ask how many panes in the greenhouse Nettleton had broken, and he saw you were away."

"And he came back, and threatened to keep the whole of us here to-morrow, if we didn't tell him where you were," said another lad. "It was very nice of you to let us all into lumber."

"Did you tell him?" asked Appleby.

"Of course!" said a third speaker sardonically. "It's just what we would do. I'll thank you for that to-morrow, and I'd get up now only the Head would hear us, and he's breathing slaughter."

"Tearing around," said Bluey the Nova Scotian. "Cutlasses and pistols, and the magazine open! You know the kind of thing you're fond of reading."

Niven, who was tired out, groaned. As he told his comrades afterwards he had enjoyed himself sufficiently already, and one wanted to brace up before a visit from the Head.

"What are we going to do, Tom?" he said.

Appleby laughed softly. "I'm going straight to bed," he said. "The Head's busy, and there mayn't be anything very dreadful if he sends Pearson."

He was undressed in another two minutes, and as Niven crept into bed somebody said, "Did you get the duck?"

"We did," said Niven solemnly. "And be hanged to it! That's enough for you or anybody, and don't worry me. I want to be asleep when the Head comes."

"You needn't be afraid he'll mind waking you," said another lad. "I'd rolled up my jacket, so it looked just like Appleby's big head, and when he saw it wasn't, he got speechless mad."

Ten minutes passed, and Niven was just feeling a little warm again when there were footsteps in the corridor. They drew nearer, and with a little gasp of dismay he swung himself out of and then under his bed. A swish and a rustle told him that Appleby had followed his example, and a voice from under the adjoining cot said, "He'll go away again if he doesn't find us, and we may tire him out before the morning."

Next moment the door was opened, and while a light shone in somebody said, "Asleep, of course, all of you! Have Niven and Appleby returned yet?"

Niven, glancing out from under his cot, saw a robust elderly gentleman holding a candle above him, while he swung what looked like a horse girth suggestively in his other hand, but a snore answered the master's question, and he laughed unpleasantly.

"We have had sufficient nonsense," he said. "You can either tell me at once where your comrades went, or improve your memories by writing lines the rest of the night."

Here and there a sleepy object sat up on a bed, but there was still no answer, and the head of Sandycombe School tapped his foot impatiently on the flooring.

"I'm not in a mood for trifling, boys," he said. "You have another minute to decide in, and nobody in this room will go home to-morrow if you do not tell me then."

There was for several seconds a silence that could be felt, and though all of those who heard him knew the head of the school would keep his word, nobody spoke. Then there was a rustle under a bed, and Niven caught a low murmur, "Keep still. If he get's one of us he'll forget the other."

Next moment Appleby was speaking louder. "I'm here, sir," he said.

The master lowered his candle as something wriggled out from under the cot, and then swung up the strap when Appleby stood very straight before him in his night gear.

"Where is Niven? It was you who took him away?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Appleby. "I did, but he came back all right."

"Very good!" said the master. "You seem to be proud of it. Hold out your hand."

Appleby glanced at him, and did not move for a second or two while he thought rapidly. He did not like what he saw in his master's eyes, and now he had delivered his comrades it was time to shift for himself. He and Niven were leaving school early on the morrow, and he fancied he might escape if he could tide through the next ten minutes, because the head of the school had a good deal to attend to on the last night. The door was also open, and not far away, the candle was flickering in the draughts, and swinging suddenly round he darted for the opening. He was, however, a second too late, for the great strap came down swishing, and coiled about his shoulders, but he was in the corridor before it rose again, and making for the head of a short stairway. The master, however, seemed to be gaining on him, and Appleby fancied he heard the swish of the strap when a yard away from the first step. One taste had been sufficient, and bracing every sinew he went down in a flying leap. As he alighted there was a thud and a crash, and the candle suddenly went out. Still, nobody fell down the stairway, and surmising that the pursuer missing him with the strap had driven the candle against the wall, Appleby did not wait for a recall but went on, and into the great, dark schoolroom underneath. There he listened until heavy footsteps overhead seemed to indicate that the master had gone back to his room, when creeping up another stairway, he regained the opposite end of the corridor through a class-room. In another few minutes he had crawled back into his bed.

"Does it hurt, Tom?" said Niven sympathetically. "I'm owing you a good deal for this, but I know you don't like that kind of talk – and did you forget the duck?"

Appleby laughed softly, partly to check the groan, for there was a horrible tingling round his shoulders.

"I've had a lighter tap, but I've got the duck. It's here under the bed," he said.

CHAPTER II

OUT OF DOCK

Appleby went home with Niven next morning, as he had done once or twice before, for he had no home to go to, or relations who seemed anxious to invite him anywhere. Mr. Niven was a prosperous Liverpool merchant who had, however, made his own way in the world, and he and his wife had taken a liking to the quiet, friendless lad. Chriss Niven also wrote to his mother every week, and, though Appleby did not know this, had mentioned more than one difficulty out of which his comrade had pulled him.