Niven, though severely bruised and shaken, recovered rapidly, and one morning a fortnight after his injury sat under the partial shelter of the weather-rail rubbing tar into a long strip of worn-out canvas with his hands. He had more than a suspicion that the canvas would never be used, and sitting still in a bitter wind while he dabbled his stiffened fingers in the sticky mess was far from pleasant, but the mate frequently found him work of that kind to do, and Niven knew that when he gave an order it was not advisable to argue.

Appleby was sitting close beside him similarly occupied, and every now and then a cloud of spray which swept the rail stung their faces and rattled upon their oilskins. Icy water came on board, too, but because they sat well aft they escaped the frothing deluges which poured over the weather bow and sluiced down the slanted deck to lee. Here and there a dripping man scrambled out of the way of them or clung fast to something in the wilder lurches, for the Aldebaran was still hammering to windward under scanty sail.

There was, however, clear, cold sunlight, and the wet canvas swayed across a patch of blue, while the lads could see the froth of the rollers shine incandescent against the flashing green over the weather-rail. The Aldebaran was shouldering her way through them with heavy plunges that buried her forecastle at times. Then she would swing it up, streaming, high above the sea, and there was a general scramble clear of the water which came splashing everywhere. The sunlight showed that the men's faces were gaunt and worn. They had for more than a month held out stubbornly, living for the most part on uncooked and soaked provisions, toiling the watch through at shifting sail, and then flinging themselves down in their drenched clothing only to be turned out half-dazed by the sleep for which brain and body craved as the screaming gale freshened again. Now they had, thanks to what the steward had gleaned in the cabin and told the cook, reason to believe that if the Aldebaran could make a few more leagues to windward the next day would see them round Cape Horn.

Still, they had been almost as near before only to be driven back to the east again, and haggard faces were turned expectantly towards the hard blueness athwart which the seatops heaved over the weather-rail. Presently Appleby glanced up sharply as the shadow of a sail fell upon him.

"Hallo!" he said, and there was a curious eagerness in his voice. "The topsail leach has come between us and the sun."

"I don't see why that should please you," said Niven. "It only makes it colder, and it's bad enough already, especially when you've had nothing worth mentioning to eat for weeks."

"No?" said Appleby. "Well, if I'm right it means warm weather, dry clothes, sound sleep when your watch is done, and the galley fire lit all day."

Niven looked up. "Oh," he said with a little gasp. "The wind is backing round – or is he only screwing her up a little?"

Both of them glanced from the straining canvas to the figure at the wheel, and the eyes of all on deck were turned in the same direction, for it was evident that only two things could have happened. Either the helmsman was jamming the ship half-a-point closer to the wind, which was unlikely, because the mate would have seen he sailed her as close as possible before; or the wind was going round. As they watched, the canvas swung further athwart the sun, and their hearts throbbed faster because they knew it was the latter. In place of thrashing to windward tack and tack, and frequently losing on one all they had made upon the other, they were now sailing almost in the direction they desired to go.

"I wish I could see the compass," said Niven. "Still, the wind must be backing southerly by the bearing of the sun. Why doesn't the old man let her go while he can?"

It is probable that every man on deck was asking the same question, for the heads of all were turned towards the poop, and nothing would have induced one of them to speak when the skipper appeared out of the companion. He stood quite still for several minutes, and then nodded to the officer of the watch as though contented, but no one moved on deck when he went below, and the attitude of the men suggested what they felt. They were, it seemed, not round Cape Horn yet, and the Aldebaran still held on plunging through the white-topped rollers close-hauled. Hour after hour dragged by, and all on board bore them in tense expectancy, until at last, when the watch was changed again, the skipper came forward to the edge of the poop with a little sour smile on his face. He spoke ostensibly to the mate close by him, but it is possible he meant his voice to carry further.

"Get a pull on the weather-braces, and the topgallants loosed. We'll make a fair wind of it," he said.

The mate came forward shouting, and for once he was very willingly obeyed. Both watches were on deck, for the one relieved had not left it yet, and the men fell over each other in their eagerness to get at the ropes, while Appleby felt his pulses throbbing and the blood surge to his face, as he watched the figure aft pulling at the wheel.

Round went the long, slanting yards, stopped, swung further, and stopped again, while the Aldebaran hove herself more upright and shook the salt wash from her as she brought the wind upon her quarter. Then there was a scurrying of agile figures, stripped of their oilskins now, for the high top-gallant yards, and when the loose canvas blew away from them, wet and weary men broke into a breathless song as they swung and fell about the feet of the masts. They had hoarse voices, and the lips of some were rent and cracked. Their bodies were raw from the constant lash of brine, but there was a light in their gaunt faces and the ring of triumph in their song. Its words were senseless rubbish, but through them the spirit of those who sang was clear, and it was the pride that comes of a hardly-won victory. They had borne almost all that flesh and blood could bear, and now they had won the gale they had defied and beaten was their ally. The Aldebaranseemed to know it, and swept north-west faster at every roll, hurling off vast folds of froth from her hove-up bows, while the foam seethed and flashed past, lapping in places almost to her rail. Still, for a ship will carry more canvas going free than she will close-hauled, her crew were not contented, and while they coiled the ropes away still watched the motionless figure on the poop expectantly.

Once more he raised a hand, and there was another scramble, more eager than before, and a rush towards the weather-shrouds, while presently great folds of canvas came dropping from the long lower yards. They spread out in a vast curve from rail to rail, and the Aldebaran, quivering to the drag of them, sped on faster than ever, with a wake that swirled and seethed far back across the long seas that now came rolling up behind her.

Then a Breton Frenchman solemnly danced upon the deck, and a little Italian cackled with shrill laughter, while a half-articulate growl of victory that was not a cheer went up from the British sailormen. They were flying faster than any but a very fast steamer, away from cold and wet and hunger, northwards towards the sun again.

For two days the Aldebaran drove along, swept by spray, at a pace which occasionally exceeded twelve miles an hour, and then, though her decks dried up and the foam sank lower beneath her rail, the pace did not diminish appreciably, for as the wind fell lighter there was a crowding on of sail. The royals were shaken out in turn, stay-sails in rows swelled between the masts, and while the long heave that was smoother now and dazzlingly blue came rolling up on her beam, she swung along, three towering spires of canvas above a froth-licked hull, with her jibboom pointing to the midday sun. It grew warmer every day, oilskins, pilot-coats and long boots were flung aside, wet berths and saturated bedding dried, and there was no more dining on pulpy biscuit because a sea had washed out the galley as well as the fire.

Then there might have been peace and contentment on board the Aldebaran had not the mate's temper apparently grown worse as the weather grew finer, until the half-cowed, sullen crew were glad to crawl away below out of the reach of his beady eyes when the watch was done. They were kept hard at work at something all day long, chipping iron, painting, scraping spars down, and the man who had only a bitter jibe for the most willing and scurrilous abuse for the tired generally contrived when nothing more unpleasant suggested itself that Niven or Appleby should carry the tar pot, while the blood would surge to their faces at the words which followed, if at any time they let fall one splash of it where it was not wanted.

The work began as soon as there was light enough to see by, and was never done. A good deal of it was brutal and much unnecessary, and it went on without intermission under the scorching sun of the equator, and was apparently no nearer finished when reaching in close-hauled one day they had their first glimpse of the great, snow-crested mountains that rise above the forests of Washington. Then the apprentices envied the men who had only signed on to Vancouver, because they at least would soon be free of the ceaseless small-persecution and hateful tyranny.

At last as they worked into the Straits of San Juan the pines of Vancouver Island lifted themselves above the horizon, and a day or two later the Aldebaran came to an anchor off Port Parry, which is where the warships lie and close to Victoria City. Vancouver, where she was to unload, stands on the Canadian coast about a day's sail with a fair wind further east, but the straits are sprinkled with islands and swept by tides, and because the wind was easterly and the sky dimmed by smoke, the skipper had gone ashore that morning to send off telegrams and if possible engage a tug. He did not return all day, and when evening was closing in Appleby and Niven sat outside the deckhouse, while the mate stood up on the poop apparently to see if there was any signal from the shore.

The evening was chilly, and a fresh breeze streaked the waters with a haze of smoke from some great forest fire which drove in thin wisps across the rising moon and now and then growing thicker blotted out the dark pines ashore. The lads had been working hard helping to send down the lighter canvas all day, and now they were aching in every limb. They were also moody, for do what they would the mate's bitter tongue had not spared them. Somebody was singing forward in the forecastle, and now and then a burst of hoarse laughter came aft, for the men there would be leaving the Aldebaran in a day or two. Niven sighed a little as he listened.

"Those fellows are well off. It's no wonder they're singing," he said. "Things are getting worse every day, and I'm very sick of it, Tom."

Appleby laughed, but there was not much merriment in his face. "Of the sea?"

"Well," said Niven slowly, "the sea is different from what I expected it would be, but that's not what I mean."

"The mate then?"

Niven nodded. "Of course," he said. "Now, he stops with the ship, and we don't know where we're going to from Vancouver. Lawson was telling me the Company's ships are away sometimes four years together. Four years of that mate, Tom. Just fancy it!"

Appleby's face grew a trifle grim. It was not an encouraging prospect, and he could see no way of avoiding it.

"It does not sound nice," he said.

"No," said Niven savagely. "If there's no improvement – and I don't expect there will be – I'm not going to put up with it." Then he glanced at his companion. "Tom, you'll stand in with me?"

Appleby looked grave. "Don't be an ass, Chriss. Wait and see what can be done when you go home."

Niven sat silent for almost a minute, and when he spoke his young face was very determined. "The point is, when are we going home? If we sail from here for England I'll try to put up with him, but if there's to be two or three more years of it I'm going to make for the bush before she leaves Vancouver. There's no use talking. I'm quite decided, and the only question is whether you will come with me!"

Appleby, glancing at his comrade, saw that no arguments could persuade him. Niven could be very obstinate, and Appleby had reasons for believing that the other apprentices also intended slipping away.

"If you go I'll go too, but I don't want to," he said quietly. "You see, there are good mates as well as brutes like this one, while I may never get another chance if I throw away the one your father has given me. I don't like the Aldebaran, but I still like the sea."

"The pater would find you a dozen better ones," said Niven eagerly, but Appleby shook his head.

"I couldn't take another favour from him if I made a bad use of this one."

Niven rose and moved once or twice wearily across the deck. "I'd get him to make you. Then you're not coming?"

"Yes," said Appleby gravely. "Whatever you decide on I shall do, but that will separate us very soon, because I will not ask your father to find me another opportunity."

Niven stopped and stood still with indecision in his face, while his voice was a trifle hoarse as he said, "Tom, you're a good fellow, and ever since I knew you have done your best for me, but now – oh, it's just because you're so decent you're stopping me putting an end to this misery."

"I'm not sorry," said Appleby dryly. "If you go, I'm coming too. Only when your father sends for you I shall stay out here and do anything I can or go on board another ship as seaman."

Niven saw he was beaten, and sat down wearily. "Very well!" he said with a little groan. "Perhaps something will happen, and I don't care what it is. Anything would be better than – this – and I simply can't bear it very much longer. Now the Dutchman's coming round the mate will be more brutal than ever."

He said nothing further, and while he sat still with a hopeless face in black dejection, the mate, who did not know all that he was doing, took his affairs in hand. Coming forward along the deck he stopped before them with a packet in his hand.

"Take the gig ashore, and put these letters in the post," he said. "Wait for half-an-hour, and then if you see no sign of the skipper, come off again. You can take Cally with you."

The lads were almost desperate, or they would not have done a foolish thing, for Appleby did not stand up.

"It's not our watch, sir," he said.

The mate swung round and looked at him with a little glint in his eyes. "You're talking again," he said. "If you're not on board the gig inside five minutes, I'll have my answer ready for you."

Appleby rose up and touched his cap sardonically, but Niven was sullen. "Very well, sir, but the gig's too big for us, and I don't know that we can pull her back against the breeze," he said.

The mate moved a little nearer with an unpleasant smile in his face. "The stream will sweep you off the land unless you do, and it should help you to pull if you remember it," he said. "That reminds me, I want Cally for something else."

Appleby saw that he had made a mistake again. Since he had spoken to the skipper their persecutor had avoided violence and harassed them with a vindictive cunning which left no room for any objection that would not put them in the wrong. So far speech had only lost them the help of a third hand who could have taken his turn at an oar and steered for them, and he grasped Niven fiercely by the shoulder lest he should answer as he turned away. The gig lay astern, and in another minute or two they had climbed down into her, and casting off stepped the mast and ran up the little sail. The wind would carry them ashore, but the gig though light was nearly twenty feet long, and, while they could row tolerably well, both knew it would cost them a strenuous effort to pull her off again.

"He's a pig and a beast!" said Niven, hoarse with rage, as he sat aft with the tiller in his hand while the boat swung over the little splashing sea. "She's not going to fetch the ship under sail coming back, and it will be no end of a fag to pull her, while I'm about done with handling those staysails all day already."

Appleby said nothing, but his face was very sombre as he slacked the sheet a little when a puff of spray flew over the weather gunwale, and the brine lapped perilously near the opposite one. He saw that the breeze was freshening, as an easterly wind often does at nightfall, and did not anticipate any pleasure in rowing back again.

CHAPTER VII
ADRIFT

When Appleby and Niven came clattering down the beach it was growing very cold and night was closing in. They had not found the skipper, and a man had told them that the little tramway between Port Parry and Victoria had stopped running. The lads had also been working hard in the sunshine all day, and because the mate had given them no time to change the light clothes they stood in they shivered a little in the chilly breeze. It came down moaning across the dark pines, crisping the land-locked harbour where two big warships lay, and when they stood on the pebbles there was a clear ringing of bugles.

"Half-an-hour, to the minute," said Appleby. "There's a tolerably stiff breeze."

"You timed us?" said Niven. "Of course, you would. Now, I could never have remembered it."

Appleby laughed a trifle grimly. "Yes," he said. "You see, I didn't want to stay here any longer than was necessary with the wind freshening. It's going to be quite hard enough work to get back as it is."

Niven groaned a little as he helped to thrust off the boat, for he was very tired, and his limbs had stiffened with the cold, while as he was about to step on board a Canadian came sauntering down the beach.

"Are you two lads going off to the barque out there?" he asked.

Appleby nodded, and the man glanced towards the swaying trees and the little streaks of froth that showed white against the dimness out at sea. "It's a tolerably big contract," he said reflectively. "You've got to go?"

"Yes," said Appleby. "If you knew what our mate was like you wouldn't ask that question."

The Canadian laughed. "I figure I can guess," he said. "Well, now, you pull up well to windward along the shore where you'll get less breeze and smoother water, and when it strikes you you're far enough to head her across pull fit to split your boots – but don't miss her."

Appleby saw it was good advice, and did his best to follow it, but his back was aching and his arms were stiff; while when Niven missed a stroke, which he did not infrequently, the wind drove them a trifle further off shore before they could pull the gig's head round again. She had been built for four men to row, and while they would have no difficulty in propelling her in smooth water it was different when with the wind against them every little lurch checked her speed. Still, they toiled for half-an-hour or so, making no great progress that Appleby who watched the trees ashore could see, until Niven groaned.

"I'm almost done," he said. "If you don't head across soon I'll double up before we fetch the Aldebaran."

Appleby glanced at the shore, and then at the barque's riding light blinking fitfully half-a-mile away.

It was no great distance, but the breeze that blew slantwise off the shore would be on their side while they headed for her, and if the boat made much leeway they could not reach her. Nor did he fancy they would have the strength to drive the gig back to windward if they once drifted astern of her.

"Shake yourself together, Chriss, and we'll make a shot at it," he said.

Niven said nothing, but he bent his back, and for ten minutes they strained every sinew while the boat lurched and plunged on the little splashing sea as they drew out from the land. Cold as it was the perspiration dripped from them, and the oars slipped in their greasy palms, while both were gasping when a haze of smoke that blotted out everything drove down upon them.

"Head her up a little," said Appleby when the blinking light faded. "Put all you're good for into it, and row. There's nothing but the Pacific before us if we miss the Aldebaran."

For another five minutes Niven rowed desperately, his heart thumping and his breath coming in half-stifled gasps, while the boat plunged more viciously with the sea upon her bow. Then he missed his stroke as the moon came through, and Appleby could not check a little groan of dismay. They were close to the Aldebaran and could see her plainly as a cold blast drove the haze away, but she was well up on their weather instead of under their lee, and he knew it was beyond the power of any two worn-out lads to reach her against the wind.

"It's no use," said Niven hoarsely. "I can't do any more. Shout if you can, though we'd be out of sight before they could get the other boat over."

They made the most noise they could, but it is difficult to shout when exhausted by a strenuous effort, and it is more than possible that the splash of the sea and sighing of the wind drowned their strained voices. Nor is the low dusky shape of a boat easy to discern from a ship's deck on a hazy night. In any case, there was no answer, and for a minute the lads watched the three tall spars and strip of hull that rose black against the moon slide away from them – and that was the last they ever saw of the Aldebaran. Then another gust brought down the haze again, and while the smoky greyness drifted past them they were alone.

"I can scarcely pull," said Niven. "Do you think we could fetch ashore?"

"I don't," said Appleby with grim directness. "Still, we can try, and it's the only thing we can do."

They rowed for about twenty minutes, the splashing strokes growing slower while the plunging grew sharper, and then stopped again as the haze thinned a little. The blink of the barque's riding light was no longer perceptible, nor could they see anything of the shore.

"Well?" said Niven dejectedly.

Appleby laughed, though his voice was not mirthful and there was a curious tremor in it. "You wanted to leave the Aldebaran– and I fancy you've got your wish," he said. "We're blowing out from land, and there's quite a sea getting up."

"Yes," groaned Niven. "That's plain enough. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," said Appleby. "It's not blowing much, and the proper thing would be to keep her lying head to with the oars until the morning. Then we'd see the land. If we kept pulling easy she wouldn't drift very much. The difficulty is that we're not fit to do it."

"No," said Niven decisively. "No more rowing for me. That's not going to work, anyway. What's the next best thing?"

"Make a sea anchor with the mast and sail and a piece of iron hanging from it, and lie to it with a long cable," said Appleby who had been reading some of Lawson's books.

"Rot again!" said Niven. "We haven't got any iron, and the few yards of rope forward wouldn't be half enough."

"Then," said Appleby with a little hollow laugh, "we can only let her drift, unless the sea gets too big for it. I don't feel like rowing any more myself."

They threw the oars in, and sat down out of the wind on the floorings, feeling very lonely, for an hour or so. The gig was long and narrow with only a few inches of her bottom in the water, and the wind did what it would with her. Now it drove her sideways, now it whirled her round, and all the while the dark slopes of water rose higher and the night grew colder. At last when a little splash of brine fell on Appleby's face he rose to his knees and saw a yellow flicker with a green blink beneath it swinging towards them through the haze.

"Get your oar out – quick! There's a steamer coming up," he said.

Niven obeyed him, but it was another thing to pull the oar. Their tired arms had stiffened, and it is somewhat difficult to row in tumbling water. The wind would also blow the gig's head round in spite of them, and little frothy splashes came in over the bow, but the lights were growing brighter, and when at last they stopped rowing a big, shadowy bow was forging through the water close in front of them.

Twice they sent up a breathless shout, while the bow drew out into a length of dusky hull. They could see the double row of deckhouses showing dimly white, and the big, black funnel high above them, but only the thumping of engines answered their cry, and in another moment the boat reeled and plunged as the steamer's stern went by. Then a little seething rush of foam lapped in over the gunwale, and Niven groaned.

"The brutes – they could have heard us if they had wanted to," he said with hoarse unevenness, and Appleby saw what was going to happen by the way his comrade flung in his oar.

"Hold up!" he said sternly. "Shake it off, and stiffen your back, Chriss. If you're going to give up we can't do anything."

"It can't make any difference," said Niven with hopeless apathy. "You know as well as I do that we can do nothing now."

It was not astonishing that his courage should desert him. He was worn out, and already the gig was taking more than splashes in over her gunwale, for they had blown well out from land and the freshening breeze had raised a little frothing sea in the more open water. It appeared very possible that the craft would roll over presently. Appleby, however, though very near it, was not quite beaten yet.

"That's where you're wrong," said he. "We can get a little sail on her and keep her running. There's not sea enough to hurt her when she's going before it, and we're tolerably sure to pick up a ship or see the land to-morrow."

It was a relief to have something to do, and Niven felt a very little easier in mind when they had stepped the mast, half-hoisted the sail and baled the boat dry. She ran well as long, flat-floored boats do, and, though there was usually a sea that looked unpleasantly big following close behind her, no more water came on board. Niven lay on the floorings by his comrade's feet where the stern kept the wind and spray off him, and Appleby sat at the tiller doing his best to keep the boat before the sea, and watching the froth swirl past her. It raced forward faster than they were travelling, rose above the gunwale on either hand, and then surged on into the darkness and was lost again. He had only this and the chill of the wind that swept over his shoulder to guide him, and by and by, when the gig swerved a little, in place of seething past, the foam lapped into her. Then Niven would stir himself and bale to free the boat of the water before more came on board her. He had, however, no great difficulty in doing it, because a buoyant craft of that kind will, so long as one can keep her straight, run before a tolerably nasty sea without shipping much water, but both lads knew they were driving four or five miles further from the land every hour.

They saw no more steamers, and very little of anything beyond the streaks of froth that went hissing by. Sometimes for a few minutes the moon shone through, but the silvery radiance was promptly blotted out by the haze again, and Appleby grew steadily colder and stiffer at the tiller. He was also getting drowsy, though he knew that if he relaxed his vigilance for a moment and let the gig swerve as she lurched forward with a sea the next would fill her to the gunwales or roll her over. At last when his head would droop a little in spite of his efforts, Niven, who was looking aft just then, rose half-upright.

"Hallo!" he said excitedly. "There's something coming up astern."

Appleby, with every nerve quivering, glanced over his shoulder, which was not wise of him, and saw a tall, dusky shape rush out of the darkness. Then the boat shot up to windward a little, and her weather gunwale was lost in a rush of foam.

"Bale!" he shouted, as he felt the chilly water splash about his ankles.

Niven grasped the baler, for there was evidently no time to lose, but as he did so a banging and rattling came out of the darkness, and a hoarse cry reached them.

"Down sail, and pull her up to us!"

Appleby let the sheet fly, and scrambled forward, and in another moment the flapping sail fell into the boat.

Then while the gig lurched perilously and they struggled to get the oars out a shadowy blur of thrashing canvas swept past them and stopped close ahead. After that he only remembered rowing savagely until a low dark hull that plunged and rolled swayed down upon the boat and smote her heavily. A man sprang down apparently with a rope, another leaning over the bulwarks clutched Niven and dragged him up, and Appleby, who did not quite know how he got there, found himself standing on a little schooner's deck. Somebody was speaking close beside him.

"She's twenty feet, anyway, and there's nowhere we could stow her."

"Then you can let her go," said another man. "Box her round with the staysail, Donegal. She'll fall off now. Let draw, and out with the main-boom again!"

There was no sharpness in the man's voice, and he spoke with a drawl, but Appleby had never seen sail handled as quickly on board the Aldebaran. Here and there a dark object hauled on a rope, and then with a swing to leeward and a swift upward lurch the schooner was on her way again. He did not fancy the vessel was a trader, because she seemed too fast and small for that, and while he wondered what her business might be the man who had spoken touched him.

"Come right along, and we'll have a look at you," he said.

Appleby and Niven followed him into the little house under the mainboom, the floor of which was below the level of the deck, and stood still with the water trickling from them while a lamp swung above them. A little stove burned in one corner, the place seemed very hot, while a curious odour pervaded it. Then Appleby's eyes rested on the man who sat down at one end of the little swing table. He was tall and lanky, and his face was lean, while his skin was the colour of new leather, and a ponderous hand rested on the table in front of him. His hair was slightly grizzled, and there was something that suggested resolution in the set of his lips and the shape of his chin. There was, however, a little smile in his eyes, which were very keen.