Sitka (17 page)

“The entrance is narrow,” Kohl advised, “right abeam of the island.” It opened before them as he spoke and he conned the schooner into the opening between island and shore. Trees came down to the water and there was a fringe of ice along the shore. Inland, over the trees, they detected a column of smoke.
 
“This Skayeut,” Kohl said, “he’s a mean old blister.”

“Can we go on in?”

“The passage is narrow, and there’s only three feet of water over the rocks at low tide, but you could make it at high tide, and inside it’s deep enough.” “We’ll stay here.”

Two canoes put out from shore and circled the Susquehanna just within hailing distance. There were four men in one canoe, two in the other, but no movement showed on the shore, although all knew Indians were there, studying the schooner. These Indians had suffered too much from the greed and rapacity of the Russians.

The dark green walls of the forest closed them in, and the schooner lay like a ship in a dream on the still, cold water. There was a faint slap of paddles on water as the canoes circled closer. The Indians stopped rowing.
 
“Where’s Skayeut?” Kohl shouted.

The Tlingits said nothing. The schooner was new in these waters. One Indian shaded his eyes to stare at Kohl. “You Boston men?” “Sure! Come aboard!”

They hung off, reluctant to risk it. One of the Tlingits indicated LaBarge. “Who that?” he called.

“LaBarge!” Jean called back. “You tell Skayeut that Jean LaBarge has come to see him!”

The paddles dipped deep and the canoe shot shoreward. Two of the men in the larger canoe turned to stare at LaBarge and Kohl turned to his captain. “They acted like they knew your name.”

“They know it,” Jean replied blandly, enjoying Kohl’s mystified expression. “He knew me, Barney.”

Just before noon a half dozen bidarkas shot out from shore, each packed with Indians. In the first was Skayeut, a tall man with a wide, deep chest and massive bones. He thrust out his hand to Jean and they looked into each other’s eyes, and then they both smiled.

Trade was brisk. The Tlingit Indians were born traders. Even before the arrival of Captain Cook they knew the value of the land trade routes and their economic value to the tribe. At one time the tribe had traveled three hundred miles to stop the establishment of a Hudson Bay post where it would interfere with their own trade with tribes from the interior.

Of this Jean knew, and that old Skayeut could give him information about the interior. The old chieftain was about to learn that information itself could be a valuable item of trade.

For three nights they remained at Elfin Cove, and each night LaBarge noted down the results of his talks with the old chief and the procession of Tlingits and Salish the chief brought to talk of Alaska. Later, alone in his cabin, Jean noted down what he had heard for future reference.

... the gold is known to the Russians. An effort was made to mine it without success and for some reason further attempts were discouraged, probably they did not wish to attract attention to a territory so insecure in a military sense.
 
Old Skayeut knows where more gold can be had and will trade for iron. The iron here is in small deposits and difficult for the Tlingits to work. They are a superior people and the blankets they weave of dog hair or cedar bark are equal to the best, anywhere.

For a month the Susquehanna worked her way south, down Saginaw Channel into Stephens Passage, pausing at this island or that village. As planned, they touched a dozen villages where no traders had been in some time and soon the hold of the schooner was filled with prime fur.
 
Occasionally they sighted some native canoe, but heard of no other vessels in the area. Yet Jean was nervous, for the channels were narrow, allowing no chance to maneuver, and steep mountains rose on either side to about fifteen hundred feet in solid banks of forest before giving way to bare rock or snow. The presents he had sent north were paying off, for everywhere he was welcomed as an old friend.

The seventh week of trading was ending when Kohl came to the cabin where LaBarge was busy adding more information to his books. “Cap,” Kohl said abruptly, “I’ve mastered my own ships and I’m not one to butt in, but the crew are getting nervous. We’ve been lucky this far; now let’s head for home.” “You know Kasaan Bay?”

“Sure.”

“That’s our last stop.”

Kohl dropped into a chair and shoved his hat back on his head. “I’m not one to show the feather, Cap, but this trip worries me. Maybe it’s the fool luck we’ve had, cutting that square-rigger so close aboard you must have scared them out of a year’s growth. I know you scared me. You done it deliberate, too ... and she couldn’t have come around in a half hour, not to chase us, she couldn’t. But it’s fool luck we’ve had, every village loaded with prime fur, and no patrol ship in sight. You know what I think?”

“Let’s have it.” Jean tipped back in his chair.
 
“They’re waitin’ for us, Cap. Zinnovy will be to the south, knowing we’ve got to go that way, and he’ll be lyin’ where he can cover the best routes. He’ll have both the Lena and the Kronstadt, and men staked out to cover every passage.” “I think you’re right.”

“Look.” Kohl bent over the crude chart on the table before them. “We’re heading down Clarence Strait. Once we cross the bay down here we’ll be in Canadian waters, but that won’t stop Zinnovy. Only right there some ships would head for open sea and a straight run to Frisco. So what does he do? He waits for us in the mouth of the Strait.”

“Just where do you think he’ll wait?”

“My guess is right off Duke Island, but maybe a little south so he can check both channels.”

Kohl had made a point that disturbed him. LaBarge was not sure that Zinnovy had even bothered to make a search, for such news travels from island to island and village to village by swift traveling canoes. It was likely Zinnovy was doing just what Kohl suggested, patrolling the outlets to the south.
 
He did not tell Kohl that he had been, for days, worrying the problem as a dog worries a bone. “Barney, if you’ve got it figured straight, we’d better stand ready for action.”

“You’ll fight?”

“I won’t be taken. We’ll run if we can, but when we can’t run any more, we’ll fight.”

Kohl went aft with a small grin on his lips. He had begun the voyage in a surly mood, hoping LaBarge would get his belly full and decide that San Francisco life was better. But as the voyage progressed he grew to like the man more and more.
 
He had nerve, and he had brains. He still did not understand LaBarge’s vast knowledge of the islands.

Later, they discussed the question again. “There are channels,” Kohl said, “but too many dead ends and some of the channels are filled with ice. A man needs local knowledge.”

The lantern above their heads swayed with the gentle roll of the schooner. Her timbers creaked and they studied the chart. It offered few alternatives.
 
“This island?” LaBarge put his finger on a large mass of land ahead and to the east. “That’s Revjllagigedo, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. You can call it an island, Cap’n, but nobody knows whether it is or not.”

“Ever see a Russian chart?”

“A dozen. On their charts it’s part of the mainland.” “Good.” He got to his feet. “That was what I’d hoped. Understand now, Barney, no fighting unless we have to. Until then we play hide-and-seek around the islands.”

Suddenly, there was a shout from aloft, and running feet on deck. Then the cry, “Sail, ho!”

“Where away?”

“Dead ahead, an’ comin’ up fast!”

“Well.” Kohl grinned at LaBarge and rolled his quid in his jaws. “Here’s where we start to run.”

Together they went up the companion to the deck and studied the oncoming ship through the glass. A flag was climbing the halyard and when it was caught by the wind it was easily seen. It was the flag of Imperial Russia.

The Susquehanna fell off before the wind. Standing in the waist, Jean LaBarge watched the oncoming ship. It was the Lena. Although a patrol ship she was only a middling fast sailer, quite fast enough for the average ship in these waters but not in the same class with the schooner.

He wanted to draw her deeply into Clarence Strait, for from her present position she could cover both the Strait and Revillagigedo Channel, a position fatal to his plans.

On the east side of the Strait, only a short distance off, there was the mouth of a channel opening between Gravina and Annette Islands, which in turn opened on Revillagigedo Channel. From there several openings offered themselves, but of five possible openings three were dead ends. If he could win to the head of Nicholas Passage and disappear, the Lena would have small chance of finding him unless Zinnovy was shrewd and patient enough to return to the former position and wait. And once the quarry was sighted, Jean did not believe Paul Zinnovy would be patient.

The sky was overcast, the sea gray. Lying close offshore he waited, hoping to draw the Russian ship deeper and deeper into the Strait. The shores were thick with forest except where cliffs of gray rock jutted out. White water broke over Hidden Reef. The wind was good and he allowed the schooner to loaf under reefed sails while the Russian ship came on. Jean waited, judging the distance.
 
“All right,” he said suddenly, “let’s go!”

In an instant Kohl was shouting orders and the crew exploded into action.
 
Eagerly, as if welcoming the chase and knowing what was demanded of her, the schooner answered to the wind. There was a low cheer from the crew as her sails filled and she started to run for it. From the Russian ship there was the dull boom of a gun, a warning signal, an order to heave to. She was much too far away for a cannon shot.

Jean took the wheel from Larsen and when the schooner was rolling along he put the wheel over and headed into the passage that led to Smugglers’ Cove. From behind them the gun boomed again, impatiently. Standing at the wheel Jean watched the shore line, and suddenly glimpsed the lightning-blasted pine of which he had been told. Three minutes later by careful count he put the wheel over and slid between Hidden Reef and another rock patch, unnamed as yet. Then he was in full channel and reeling off a good eight knots.
 
“If we can make the head of the Passage before he rounds the point,” he told Kohl, “we’ll be all right.”

“I hope you know what you’re doin’.” Kohl was worried. “This is dangerous ground.”

“I know.”

He hoped he did. There was a chance despite his endless checking that the information in the little black book was wrong. Beside the channel the somber walls of timber closed them in, virgin timber, untouched by man or fire. Ahead of them the outlet was filled with dangers, and there would be little margin of safety, yet if he could make the turn...

He glanced back ... nothing in sight. Sweat broke out on his brow despite the wind. If they were trapped in a cul-de-sac they would have no chance, for Zinnovy could stand off and shell them to pieces, and with the greatest enjoyment.

He stood with his legs spread to the roll of the ship, taking his time.
 
Whitecaps dotted the sea, and a cold wind came down off the mountains. Nobody said anything until Larsen, glancing over his shoulder, said, “I think we make it.”

Momentarily, Jean resigned the wheel to him. He walked forward, scanning the sea and the marks on the cliffs. The distance was slight, but if the Lena had continued her pursuit she should be rounding into the Passage by now.
 
“Head her toward the island.” He pointed. “We’ll get behind it and out of sight.”

Kohl was in the stern with a glass to his eye, anxiously watching the point on Annette Island beyond Hidden Reef, but there was no sign of the patrol ship. The dark green shores of the island were close aboard now, and he could make out details of the trees. There was a white streak of quartz in the rock at the island’s end and a cluster of bedraggled pines.
 
Kohl called out suddenly. “She’s on our tail, Cap! She’s comin’!”

“Think they saw us?”

“I doubt it. If they didn’t they’ll have to look in those other inlets before they come up the Passage.”

“Zinnovy knows I’m not the waiting type. He’ll come on.”

Out of sight of the pursuing ship, Jean conned the schooner around the kelp.
 
Ahead of him was a strip of dark water and he pointed into it, muttering a wordless prayer that it was deep as it looked. The schooner slid through with yards to spare on either side, and then swung into the Tongass Narrows that divided Pennock Island from Gravina. Before them lay thirteen miles of clear water and Pennock was more than three hundred feet high and good cover for him.
 
Even if Zinnovy had guessed right there was still a chance they could reach Behm Cannal before they were seen.

The black battalions of clouds lowered above storm-gored ridges, and the gray-furrowed sea licked at narrow beaches of sand and bare, black rocks. It was a strong land, a good land, unchanged through thousands of years. Off to the right the black, glistening arch of a rock showed momentarily above the water like the back of a porpoise and brown streamers of kelp trailed their mute warning into the gray of the sea.

The Narrows opened and the great bulk of Pennock fell behind. Kohl paused at the companionway rubbing the back of his neck. He hated to leave the deck, yet he knew fresh men would be sorely needed later. He stumbled down the ladder and fell into his bunk and was asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.
 
Duncan Pope, the sour-faced second mate, was on watch. He was a slovenly-appearing man with a cast to one eye, yet long since Jean had learned he was a capable officer whose lean, almost scrawny body possessed an amazing resistance to hunger, cold, and long weary hours on watch. Pope was a man who kept his own counsel. He did not like Russians. He did not like the thugs of Sydney Town. He disliked most ship’s masters on general principles, and he cared for few things aside from standing watch, reading his Bible, and fighting.
 
LaBarge was scarcely aware Pope had taken over. He was watching the Narrows open out before him, and soon he would make the turn around Revillagigedo where his information told him there was a passage. He was gambling everything on that, and hoping Zinnovy would continue the pursuit. If his luck held he would pass by within a short distance of where the patrol ship had originally waited and the Lena would be lost in the maze of islands, channels and inlets that lay behind.
 
An hour and a half later, with no evidence of pursuit, he rounded the corner and started north. Ahead of him was a wooded island with a yellow cliff, which would be Tatoosh. He kept close in so the ship would be invisible against the island if anyone was within sight.