"This is Horace Stirling!" blurted out Cushner, with a voice like a bull. "He’s the best all-around whaler and ice pilot in the game. I didn’t recognize him in that room in Frisco. We landed a bigger fish than we thought. I reckon he can go ashore if he wants to. We can’t keep him unless he wants to stay."
Stirling fingered his cap, but he had already made up his mind. The ship suited him, Cushner was a good mate, and the North called with all the strength of the wide places.
"I’ll sign on," he said, simply. "Like as not I couldn’t do better. I don’t like the way you shipped part of your crew; outside of that, this suits me, if it’s honest."
"The crew," said Marr, softly, "was a serious problem. I wanted a few more men, and just at the time I saw no other way to get them than by straight, old-time shanghaing. It worked!"
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."
"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?"