"Oh," says he, rising as he spoke and ramming on his cap as though to affront us, "I'm not here to barter like a down-town Jew. If you won't have the fair, you shall take the foul. This lay is mine, and the man who disputes it with me must look out for himself. I give you fair warning. Share with me, and I'll show my generosity; but try to queer my pitch, and I'll blow your ship to hell as sure as the sun is rising. That's my last word, so help me God. You may take it or leave it, gentlemen."
He asked for no answer, but bounced out of the cabin and went straight to the boat that waited for him. We, however, continued to sit about the table, and for many minutes we did not utter a word. When Roderick spoke at last, it was good to hear the sound of a voice.
"That's a man who knows what he wants," said he. The skipper took it up.
"We should join him there," he said, with a comical look somewhat foreign to him. "I want one thing very much at this moment, Mr. Stewart."
"And what's that, Captain?"
"The permission to take such steps as I please for the safety of this ship—the command ashore as well as afloat for the time being."
"Oh," said I, "that's fair enough. What do you propose, Captain?"
"To change the anchorage, if I think fit. Next, to discover what Mitchell himself is doing. There I count upon you, Mr. Strong. But you shouldn't go until sunset, which is a manner of speaking in this pretty country. Let me say that you don't go until it can be done with discretion."
"I understand. We shall be watched."
"And must find an opportunity of watching. I'll think it out during the morning. Meanwhile, there's breakfast. That wouldn't be a bad beginning, gentlemen."
He rose as he spoke, and we followed him very willingly. The whole ship was awake by this time, and little Mary herself—the "trimmest craft afloat," as old Dan remarked—waiting for us at the table. We sat down as though it were a common day, though we knew well enough that the glove had been cast down and that the momentous hour was at hand.
CHAPTER VII
THE GREAT STONE ROLLS BACK
There had been a promise made to Mary that she should go ashore with her skis as soon as might be, and, much to my surprise, I heard the Captain say that she could go when breakfast was done, if she had the mind. Naturally, she accepted in a girlish outburst which put down all argument, and five bells in the forenoon watch had not been struck when we were in the launch and Mr. Farquharson at the tiller.
I thought it a little strange that the first officer should go upon such an errand, and so did Roderick for that matter; but we held our tongues about it, and presently we headed straight across the fiord for the snow slopes upon the farther shore. It was there I first began to perceive the Captain's object, and made some remark upon it.
"This place would not be charted, Mr. Farquharson," said I. He admitted that it was not.
"And you came with us to take some soundings," said I. He would not deny it.
"Yon berth's a little too rock-bound for the Captain's likings, Mr. Strong. I think he'll be moving the ship."
"Ah," said I, "he'd he snug here, Mr. Farquharson."
"And be able to cock an eye at visitors before they dropped in upon him, sir."
He nodded his head significantly, and no more was said. The shore itself proved to be but a rough "hard" of solid ice, and it was droll to watch Mary casting longing eyes at the snow-fields so far above us. As for her skis, she might as well have brought a tennis-racket, and she was not backward in telling us so.
"Mark, are you not thoroughly ashamed of yourself for bringing me here?" she asked. I was indeed, but I would not have told her so for a fortune.
"Why, Mary," said I, "you have only to walk about five miles over those hills, and you will find a whole continent of snow. There's nothing else in Greenland but snow. Write and ask Dr. Nansen when we get back. This is too near the sea, that's all. Now can I help it?"
Well, she was very angry, and came as near to sulking as I can remember. Our little climb to the summit of a snowy hill near by did something to pacify her, for therefrom she could descry the distant mountains and have a vista of the eternal snows through the mighty ravines the glaciers had cut. In this way we passed an hour or two until it was time to return to the ship for lunch, and when next the boat was put overboard but Roderick and I and Billy Eight-bells were aboard her.
Now, that would have been about six o'clock of the afternoon. Nothing beyond the ordinary had happened on the ship during the day, nor had there been any sign on the Captain's part that he was aware of the existence of a certain adventurer of the name of Mitchell. Thus it came as a surprise to every man aboard when, at three bells in the first dog-watch, the hands were turned up and the ship moved to a new anchorage. Half an hour afterward the launch was made ready, and we embarked as I have said.
Whither were we going, and upon what errand? I would tell you in a word that we were going ashore, secretly, if we could, to discover the truth of Dead Man's Cave and the meaning of the letter which the mad Osbart had written to us. Knowing well that Mitchell's men would be on the look-out, we headed the launch as though for the open sea; then ran straight for the great headlands of the outer harbour, and did not cease to run until their spurs hid us from the observation both of those in the ship and on the shore. So, at last, we called an easy, and, taking rifles in our hands, Roddy and I leaped ashore as we could and left Billy alone in the launch.
"We shall be a couple of hours gone, and perhaps more, Billy," I shouted after him. "Stand by here if the light's strong, but we'd sooner have you in the bay if you can manage it. Mr. Farquharson will show you where we went ashore this morning. We'll look for you there to begin with—here if you fail us."
He bawled back that he understood, and headed the launch for the open sea. A raging tide surged between the headlands and made it none too safe for an open boat. Roddy and I had leaped to the rocks anyhow; but when I looked back at the swirl of the sea below, the sharp, jagged reefs, and the steepness of the place, I could well wonder that we had got to the shore at all.
"It will have to be the bay, Mitchell or no Mitchell," said I to Roddy; "we'd never board the launch here. Let's pray that Billy has some sense in his head, for he's as like to look for us in London as anywhere."
He agreed to it, though, for that matter, I think the wonder of the scene, the grandeur of the steep above us, and the awful solitude of the headland were in his thoughts more than our safety or that of the launch. And well they might have been. I, who knew the place well, shuddered at its barren loneliness. And what must Roddy have thought of it?
"We'll have to skirt the bluff and work round by the snow glacier at the back, Roddy," I said to him; "we should then come out at the lake-side, and be able to make the cavern. I'll know the place well enough if you put me at the water's edge; it's the getting there I fear."
"To say nothing of Jo Mitchell going fishing on a fine April evening, Scribe. I don't like the look of it, old chap. I never saw such a dead man's land in all my life."
"Well," said I, "it was alive enough when Black was here. These rocks could tell some fine tales, Roddy. I wonder how many poor devils lie in the snow beyond them. Dante never beat this in his wildest dreams. It's just as though we had left the world altogether."
He would not dispute it: the spell of the place lay heavy upon him as upon me. Every step upward, every advantage we gained upon the steep was a new rung in the ladder of a weird enchantment. The danger of our ascent hardly occurred to us. I think we feared that a voice would speak to us out of the bowels of the rock and that we should flee in terror.
Of course, we did nothing of the kind. A man can accustom himself to most things if he gives his reason a chance; and we were soon happy amidst the desolations all about us and ready