The schooner was moving slowly, but it was moving. The rigging of the snatch block had increased the strength of the pull by several times and the schooner was inching up on the skids. The remainder of the crew were trimming felled trees for skids to be used further along.
Jean walked along the line of travel with a rifle under his arm, but from time to time he took an ax and spelled one of the crewmen. Kohl was himself taking a place at the capstan … day would soon be breaking. Would the fog lift? With the schooner high and dry they would have no choice but to abandon it and take to the woods, and that would mean destruction of the schooner and their chance of escape as well.
Not far from the schooner was a promontory covered with forest and easily ascended from the shore side. Taking several men from the crew, Jean had their one gun lowered over the side and hauled to a position among the trees on that promontory. From its position it commanded the approach to the head of the inlet. A few shells might stand off the patrol ship for a short time at least. By daybreak the schooner was completely clear of the water, holding its position with guy wires running to trees on either side of the portage. The hauling tackle was shifted then to a new set of trees and the men resumed their position at the capstan bars. Gant struck up a chantey and slowly and steadily they plodded around the capstan, and inch by slow inch the schooner began to move once more.
At midmorning there was a sudden shout from the woods, followed by a cheer from the crew. Led by Duncan Pope and Boyar a swarm of husky Tlingit Indians hustled toward the schooner. In the van was Katlecht himself, grinning broadly. He thrust out his hand as he had seen white men do, and with the fingers of the other plucked at the red flannel shirt LaBarge had sent him from San Francisco a year before. He also carried a bowie knife Jean had sent and displayed it proudly.
The exhausted sailors resigned their places at the capstan to the Tlingits, and twenty powerful Indians took over. Others hauled and pushed at the hull while still others cleared brush ahead of the moving schooner. And the fog held, gray, drifting streamers of it lurking among the trees like lost ghosts. The air was damp and cold.
Helena had joined the cook in making tea and serving Tlingit and seaman alike, working from a fire beside the portage. By noon, with the fog showing no change, the schooner had advanced its full length out of the water. Sweating and tired, Jean accepted a cup gratefully. Holding it in both hands he warmed his numbed fingers, his breath forming a little fog of its own. “You’re all woman, Helena,” he said. “I never thought I’d see a princess serving tea to my crew.”
“Why should a princess not care for her”—she had started to say “man” but caught herself in time—“men as well as any other woman?” She walked around the fire to him. “Jean, can we do it? How does it look now?”
“If the fog breaks we’re in trouble. Otherwise … well, we’re making progress.
I think we can do it or I’d not have tried.”
“Was there another choice?”
“No.”
The schooner moved at a steadier pace. The Indians had brought grease from their camp, barrels of it that came in their bidarkas, and they were slapping it liberally on the skids. The Susquehanna, unnaturally tall now that she was out of her natural element, towered above them. Once a small gust of wind came through the pines and the fire guttered, and all waited, holding their breath, but the wind disappeared and the fog held.
Jean returned to the capstan and took his place, plodding steadily for an hour. When Kohl relieved him, he returned to superintending the shifting of the tackle and the guy wires. Also, with apprehension for what might happen, he had two tall poles cut to make a shears in the event they needed to grasshopper the schooner. He had never seen it attempted with a craft of this size but as a boy he had seen the heavy river schooners grasshoppered over sand bars on more than one occasion, and knew that at last resort this would be the method to use. Yet once the schooner reached the far side of the portage they must skid it into the water. Mentally he calculated the times of the tides. They worked within narrow limits of time and their only hope lay in the fog. If the fog held they could do it, but if it did not…
Small men trooped to the fires for tea and warmth. Twice Jean had rum broken out and laced their coffee when the switch was made to that beverage. During the late afternoon Katlecht sat by the fire sipping his coffee and rum when he suddenly looked up at LaBarge who had stumbled wearily to the fire. “Fog go,” Katlecht said. “Fog go soon.”
Jean glanced at Kohl, and their faces were grim. Indians were excellent judges of weather; if Katlecht was right their time was short. He sent a messenger to the men at the gun to stand by for trouble, then had guns brought from the ship’s armory and passed around to the men to be kept close to hand in the event of attack.
Despite their weariness the men returned to their labors with a rush. The water ahead of them meant escape and freedom; to be caught here meant death or worse, a Siberian prison camp. The Tlingits, filled with their age-old hatred of Russians, fell to with a will and to the tune of chanteys they shoved and pushed on the capstan bars. It was slow, painstaking, backbreaking labor, but the schooner moved and the water lay ahead of them, only a short distance away now. But the fog was thinning…
Jean glanced up and saw a star … then other stars. “Pope,” he said, “take the gunner, Gant and Turk, and go out and relieve the men at the gun. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, but do what damage you can.” He hesitated. “Wait until she’s close, Pope, and for God’s sake, hurt her.”
Within the hour the fog was gone and darkness had come. Once more torches were lighted and the heavy blocks were shifted again, new anchor trees had been chosen and marked out. The shifting of the gear took less time now that the movements had become familiar. Once again the capstan was manned. The schooner was moving.
Taking his rifle, LaBarge started back toward the Tenakee side, Helena walking beside him. Bundled in furs against the penetrating chill of the night, she walked easily beside him, showing little of the exhaustion she must feel. “Can we get into the water before daylight?”
“If the men hold out. They’re weary now; how they keep going I can’t guess, and Indians never work like this, anyway.”
The skids had been torn up and taken to the opposite side to use again, and there was little evidence of what had been done except the cut brush and the trampled earth. Standing together they looked out upon the dark and silent water. There was no sound but the soft rustle of the water on the shore, and above them the vast sky, studded with stars. The sounds of working men, the creak of tackle, the groaning of the schooner’s timbers and occasional cries of the men seemed farther away than they actually were. A coolness came off the water. Somewhere out on the inlet a fish splashed. “Even if we make it here,” Jean said, “we’ve far to go.”
“I’ll be in my own country, and I’ll be safe.”
“Siberia is not Russia,” Jean replied bluntly. “You know that as well as I do. It’s full of thieves and renegades with a corrupt administration to whom it won’t matter at all that you’re a niece of the Czar … if they believe you they’ll be afraid of what you might report.”
“There’s still no reason for you to come.”
“I’m coming, so don’t bother your head about it.” They stood hand in hand watching the stars above the dark rim of the pines. There had been too few moments like this, and life without them was nothing. Their love was like no other love, for they could not speak of it, and each was on guard against desire. A word, a touch, it would take so little. Nearing the lighted area, LaBarge suddenly quickened his step. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
The men stood about, muscles heavy with weariness, their faces showing their despair.
Kohl came toward them. “Captain,” he said, “we’re in trouble. Fifteen feet short of the downhill side and she won’t budge an inch. We just don’t have the power to take her over the hump. We’re stuck!”