"That's fine!" Marr exclaimed. "We'll fill the bunkers there. Now everybody stand up and we'll drink a final toast to the success of our venture. What'll the toast be?"
"To a full hold of bone!" Stirling suggested.
Marr glanced at Whitehouse. The mate winked and stared at his glass. "I'd say," he muttered, "that there's a better toast. Let's all drink to success at Disko Island, where the seals are."
Stirling grew thoughtful. Again the subject of seals had come up, and he glanced from face to face about him. The circle of men who comprised the afterguard of the Pole Star would have supported most any desperate enterprise. None was a young man; all were experienced.
Stirling set down his glass. Marr had stepped toward the after bulkhead of the cabin, and rested his hand on the piano.
A slight bump, as if a small boat had touched the outer run of the ship, sounded, and this was followed by steps on the deck overhead. Voices echoed, and a low call drifted through the open portholes.
The captain turned with a quick jerk and glanced upward, his hand lifted for silence. There came a knocking on an after door. This knocking was repeated.
"Good-night, gentlemen!" Marr exclaimed. "Get to your bunks and turn in. I'll expect you at sunup. We'll sail then!"
Stirling followed the big second mate, who knew the run of the ship. As they stood at last in the waist where the shadow of the dark deck house lay across the planks, two riding lights shone through the mist, and a flare marked the cap of the rakish funnel. High steam was in the Pole Star's boilers.
"Who came aboard?" asked Stirling with directness.