He did not know yet whether the ship was entering some unknown straits
or the mouth of a narrow land-locked bay. If the latter, the presence
of the distant glaciers and the nearer torrents warned him of a
possible bar, on which the Kansas might be lost within sight of safe
anchorage. Not inspired guesswork now, but the skill of the pilot, was
needed; this crossing the bar in broad daylight was as great a trial of
nerve in its way as the earlier onward rush in the dark.
Wind and sea had abated so sensibly that the Pacific rollers raced on
unbroken, and it was no longer a super-human task to make one's voice
heard along the deck.
So the captain aroused Walker with a sharp order: "Go and see if the donkey-boiler has a good head of steam. We may have
to drop the stream anchor quick, and both bowers as well. If
Tollemache is doing his work properly, go forward, and keep a sharp
lookout for broken water. Clear off the tarpaulins, and be ready to
lower away the instant I sing out."
Walker, who had been gazing spellbound at the majestic haven opening up
before the ship, hurried on his errand. He found Tollemache seated on
an upturned bucket, in which the taciturn one had just washed his face
and hands.
"Have you seen it?" demanded Walker, gleefully, while his practised
eyes took in the state of the gages and he overran a number of oil taps
with nimble fingers.
"Seen what?" asked Tollemache, without removing his pipe.
"The land, my bonnie lad. We-ah wunnin' wight in now."
"We've been doing that for hours."
"Yes, but this is diff'went. The'aw's a fine wiv-ah ahead. Have ye
ev-ah seen the Tyne? Well, just shove Sooth Sheels an' Tynemouth a few
hundwed feet high-ah, an' you've got it. Now, don't twy to talk, or
you might cwack yo' face."
With this Parthian shaft of humor he vanished towards the forecastle,
whence the ubiquitous donkey-boiler, through one of its long arms,
would shoot forth the stockless anchors at the touch of a lever.
Tollemache, who had already glimpsed the coast, strolled out on deck
and bent well over the side in order to look more directly ahead. He
could see one half only of the view, but that sufficed.
"A respite!" he growled to himself. "Penal servitude instead of sudden
death."
And, indeed, this was the true aspect of things, as Courtenay
discovered when he had successfully brought the ship past three ugly
reefs and dropped anchor in the backwater of a small sheltered bay. He
speedily abandoned the half-formed hope that the Kansas might have
run into an ocean water-way which communicated with Smyth Channel. The
rampart of snow-clad hills had no break, while a hasty scrutiny of the
chart showed him that the eastern coast of Hanover Island had been
thoroughly surveyed. Yet it was not in human nature that he should not
experience a rush of joy at the thought that, by his own efforts, he
had saved his ship and some, at least, of the lives entrusted to his
care. He was alone when the music of the chains in the hawse-pipes
sounded in his ears. The Kansas had plenty of room to swing, but he
thought it best to moor her. Believing implicitly now that he would
yet bring his vessel into the Thames, he allowed her to be carried
round by the fast-flowing tide until her nose pointed seaward, and she
lay in the comparatively still water inshore. Then he dropped the
second anchor and stepped forth from the chart-house. His long vigil
was ended. Some of the cloud of care lifted from his face, and he
called cheerily to Joey.