Chapter XIX. In Which a Mutiny is Threatened - Page 2

win at any price; yet he shrank, with a moral cowardice which made him inwardly writhe, from owning that Cherry had made the sacrifice at which Clyde and the others had hinted. If it were indeed true, it placed him in an intolerable position, wherein he could express neither his gratitude nor his censure. No doubt she had read the signs of his mental confusion, and her own delicate sensibility had responded to it.

They remained side by side on the bridge while the day died amidst a wondrous panoply of color, each busied with thoughts that might not be spoken, in their hearts emotions oddly at variance. The sky ahead of them was wide-streaked with gold, as if for a symbol, interlaid with sooty clouds in silhouette; on either side the mountains rose from penumbral darkness to clear-cut heights still bright from the slanting radiance. Here and there along the shadowy shore-line a light was born; the smell of the salt sea was in the air. Above the rhythmic pulse of the steamer rose the voices of men singing between decks, while the parting waters at the prow played a soft accompaniment. A steward summoned them to supper, but Boyd refused, saying he could not eat, and the girl stayed with him while the miles slowly slipped past and the night encompassed them.

"Two hours more," he told her, as the ship's bell sounded. "Then I can eat and sleep--and sing."

Captain Peasley was pacing the bridge when later they breasted the glare of Port Townsend and saw in the distance the flashing searchlights of the forts that guard the Straits. They saw him stop suddenly, and raise his night-glasses; Boyd laid his hand on Cherry's arm. Presently the Captain crossed to them and said:

"Yonder seems to be a launch making out. See? I wonder what's up." Almost in their path a tiny light was violently agitated. "By Jove! They're signalling."

"You won't stop, will you?" questioned Emerson.

"I don't know, I am sure. I may have to."

The two boats were drawing together rapidly, and soon those on the bridge heard the faint but increasing patter of a gasoline exhaust. Carrying the same speed as The Bedford Castle, the launch shortly came within hailing distance. The cyclopean eye of the ship's searchlight blazed up, and the next instant, out from the gloom leaped a little craft, on the deck of which a man stood waving a lantern. She held steadfastly to her course, and a voice floated up to them:

"Ahoy! What ship?"

"The Bedford Castle, cannery-tender for Bristol Bay," Peasley shouted back.

The man on the launch relinquished his lantern, and using both palms for a funnel, cried, more clearly now: "Heave to! We want to come aboard."

With an exclamation of impatience, the commanding officer stepped to the telegraph, but Emerson forestalled him.

"Wait, they're