The Ice Pilot placed the captain as he listened to the apology—Marr was of a nature to brook no excuse. He had determined upon sailing the Pole Star for a voyage of discovery and profit, and he had acted outside the law in order to obtain a crew. This was not unusual upon the Coast of Barbary. Stirling, as honest as a dollar, had seen the same method employed before, and he puzzled his brain for a deeper motive, which might be behind the little skipper's steel-gray eyes.
There seemed no fathoming the beard-hidden face of the captain, and Stirling leaned back, dropping his eyes to the rug at his feet, where he studied the polished points of his shore boots.
"We go with the tide at sunup," said Marr. "This is the reason, and the only one, that we took matters in our own hands and obtained a complete crew. Whalers must have a bad odour in these waters, from all indications."
Stirling glanced up. He nodded.
"We go North," continued Marr, rubbing his hands together. "North, for a season of seven months, to whale! Mr. Cushner knows who I am. The mate, Mr. Whitehouse, is ashore. He'll be out very soon, and he'll attest to my financial responsibility. Roth & Co. have outfitted the Pole Star. They know me! I'll take Mr. Cushner's word that you are a first-class ice pilot. You sign on with me and I'll see that you get a thousand dollars in minted gold when we drop anchor at Frisco. In addition to that bonus, I'll give you the lay of the mate—a one-twenty-fifth of the proceeds of the voyage. Is that satisfactory?"
Stirling considered the figures mentioned. The amount was at least a captain's share in the old days of whaling.
"That's handsome enough, captain," he said. "That suits me. But one thing—I'm plain spoken—is this ship going whaling, or something else? I want to know."
Marr smiled pleasantly. "Why did you ask?" he said, stroking his Vandyke beard with slender fingers.
"Only to know. You see, I can go ashore and sign on with one of Larribee's ships. Larribee knows me. I brought in many a head of bone for him."
"And you'll do the same for me!" exclaimed Marr, resting his hand on Stirling's shoulder. "Sign on and I'll promise you that there will be no regrets. All's honest and aboveboard. Whitehouse—Mr. Whitehouse is an English gentleman. He talks like a cockney, but that is an affliction. You'll get along with him. He's new to the Bering."