"Well, you'll make one if you join us. There's Marr and Whitehouse, who just came by rail. That puts me back to second mate. Then there's Sanderson and Manley—third and fourth. Besides, there's Maddox and Baldwin of the engine-room force. It's a good outfit. Fair play and money to be had."
Stirling rubbed his nose, lifted his eyes to the rigging, squared his shoulders, and turned toward Cushner. "How about all this?" he asked with a wide sweep of his arm. "Kind of queer, eh?"
"Well, no," drawled the big mate, tugging at his long beard. "No; not that I know of, Stirling. Everything's on deck as far as I can see. The old man is a part owner—it's a private venture. He and Whitehouse know their business. Just keep your tongue spliced and say nothing. The old man will be in the cabin at six bells. We'll talk to him then; if you want to go ashore, you can. If you stay, I'll promise you some fair game on a man's sea."
Stirling took a turn about the quarter-deck of the Pole Star, then came back to the rail and leaned over. Marr had disappeared.
A bell struck over the misted waters of the city, and was followed by others. A roar sounded to the westward, where the surf beat upon Seal Rocks and the entrance to the harbour. A salty gust stirred the standing rigging of the ship, and it filled the Ice Pilot's lungs with remembered calling. He braced his shoulders, lifted his head, and felt like a man who has shaken off a bad dream. He was going North again, on a good ship with a staunch crew.
Stirling turned toward the big mate, who stood under the shadow of a long, white whaleboat. "I'll join," the Ice Pilot said, simply. "Let's go below and see Marr. It's six bells and more. Like as not he and I can get along. I ain't a hard man to please. Only, this has got to be an honest voyage. I ain't in for anything downright crooked. It ain't my nature!"
"Mine, neither," said Cushner. "Come on!"
Stirling followed the second mate across the deck to an ornate companion close by the taffrail, and they descended by turning, in the manner of seamen the world over. Stirling removed his cap and stood rooted in the doorframe as his eyes gathered in the details of the cabin.
A soft electric cluster shone overhead, and walls and bulkheads were hung with draperies. The deck was covered with Persian carpets, while here and there—scattered in haphazard fashion—gleamed the tawny yellow pelts of wild animals.
Athwart the ship, from inner skin to inner skin, the cabin extended, with staterooms fore and aft of the companion stairway. The round portholes, covered with silken curtains, alone remained to tell that the room was upon a ship.