Fortune has her cycles, whether for good or ill. The Kansas, having run the gauntlet of many dangers, seemed to have earned an approving smile from the fickle goddess. A slight but perceptible veering of the wind, combined with the increasing power of the sun’s rays, swept the ocean clear of its storm-wraiths. Soon after passing the pillar rock, Courtenay thought he could make out the unwavering outline of mountainous land amid the gray mists. A few minutes later the waves racing alongside changed their leaden hue to a steely glitter which told him the fog was dispersing. The nearer blue of the ocean carpet spread an ever-widening circle until it merged into a vivid green. Then, with startling suddenness, the curtain was drawn aside on a panorama at once magnificent and amazing.

Almost without warning, the ship was found to be entering the estuary of a narrow fiord. Gaunt headlands, carved on Titanic scale out of the solid rock, guarded the entrance, and already shut out the more distant coast-line. Behind these first massive walls, everywhere unscalable, and rising in separate promontories to altitudes of, perhaps, four hundred feet, an inner fortification of precipitous mountains flung their glacier-clad peaks heavenward to immense heights,—heights which, in that region, soared far above the snow-line. The sun was reflected with dazzling brilliancy from their icy summits, and wonderful lights sparkled in rainbow tints on their slopes. Delicate pink deepened to rose crimson; pale greens softened into the beryl blue of stupendous glaciers, vast frozen cataracts which flowed down deep and broad clefts almost to the water’s edge.

Above these color-bands, the dead-white mantle of everlasting snow spread its folds, with here and there a black ridge of granite thrusting wind-cleared fangs high above the far-flung shroud. But, if the crests of peak upon peak were thus clothed in white, their bases wore a garment of different texture. Save on the seaward terraces of stark rock, with their tide-marked base of weed-covered boulders, the densest vegetation known to mankind imposed everywhere a first barrier to human progress far more unconquerable than the awesome regions beyond. Pine forests of extraordinary density crammed each available yard of space, until the tree-growth yielded perforce to hardier Alpine moss and lichens. This lower belt of deepest green ranged from five hundred to one thousand feet in height, as conditions were adverse or favorable; waterfalls abounded; each tiny glen held its foaming rivulet, rushing madly down the steep, or leaping in fine cascades from one rocky escarpment to another. Courtenay, after an astounded glance at the magnitude and solemn grandeur of the spectacle, had eyes for naught save the conformation of the channel. The change in the wind was caused, he found, by the northerly headland thrusting its giant mass a mile, or more, westward of its twin; but he quickly discovered, from the conformation of the land, that the latter was really the protecting cape of the inner water-way. He reasoned, therefore, that the deep-water channel flowed close to the northern shore until it was flung off by the relentless rocks to seek the easier inlet behind the opposite point.

He did not know yet whether the ship was entering some unknown straits or the mouth of a narrow land-locked bay. If the latter, the presence of the distant glaciers and the nearer torrents warned him of a possible bar, on which the Kansas might be lost within sight of safe anchorage. Not inspired guesswork now, but the skill of the pilot, was needed; this crossing the bar in broad daylight was as great a trial of nerve in its way as the earlier onward rush in the dark.

Wind and sea had abated so sensibly that the Pacific rollers raced on unbroken, and it was no longer a super-human task to make one’s voice heard along the deck.

So the captain aroused Walker with a sharp order:

“Go and see if the donkey-boiler has a good head of steam. We may have to drop the stream anchor quick, and both bowers as well. If Tollemache is doing his work properly, go forward, and keep a sharp lookout for broken water. Clear off the tarpaulins, and be ready to lower away the instant I sing out.”

Walker, who had been gazing spellbound at the majestic haven opening up before the ship, hurried on his errand. He found Tollemache seated on an upturned bucket, in which the taciturn one had just washed his face and hands.

“Have you seen it?” demanded Walker, gleefully, while his practised eyes took in the state of the gages and he overran a number of oil taps with nimble fingers.

“Seen what?” asked Tollemache, without removing his pipe.

“The land, my bonnie lad. We-ah wunnin’ wight in now.”

“We’ve been doing that for hours.”

“Yes, but this is diff’went. The’aw’s a fine wiv-ah ahead. Have ye ev-ah seen the Tyne? Well, just shove Sooth Sheels an’ Tynemouth a few hundwed feet high-ah, an’ you’ve got it. Now, don’t twy to talk, or you might cwack yo’ face.”

With this Parthian shaft of humor he vanished towards the forecastle, whence the ubiquitous donkey-boiler, through one of its long arms, would shoot forth the stockless anchors at the touch of a lever. Tollemache, who had already glimpsed the coast, strolled out on deck and bent well over the side in order to look more directly ahead. He could see one half only of the view, but that sufficed.

“A respite!” he growled to himself. “Penal servitude instead of sudden death.”

And, indeed, this was the true aspect of things, as Courtenay discovered when he had successfully brought the ship past three ugly reefs and dropped anchor in the backwater of a small sheltered bay. He speedily abandoned the half-formed hope that the Kansas might have run into an ocean water-way which communicated with Smyth Channel. The rampart of snow-clad hills had no break, while a hasty scrutiny of the chart showed him that the eastern coast of Hanover Island had been thoroughly surveyed. Yet it was not in human nature that he should not experience a rush of joy at the thought that, by his own efforts, he had saved his ship and some, at least, of the lives entrusted to his care. He was alone when the music of the chains in the hawse-pipes sounded in his ears. The Kansas had plenty of room to swing, but he thought it best to moor her. Believing implicitly now that he would yet bring his vessel into the Thames, he allowed her to be carried round by the fast-flowing tide until her nose pointed seaward, and she lay in the comparatively still water inshore. Then he dropped the second anchor and stepped forth from the chart-house. His long vigil was ended. Some of the cloud of care lifted from his face, and he called cheerily to Joey.

“Come along, pup,” he said. “Let us sample Dr. Christobal’s cookery. You have shared my watch; now you shall share my breakfast. We have both earned it.”

It was in his mind to knock loudly on Elsie’s door and awaken her; therefore he was dimly conscious of a feeling of disappointment when he saw her, in company with Christobal, leaning over the rail of the promenade deck, and evidently discussing the weird beauty of the scene spread before her wondering eyes.

The ship was now so sheltered by the shoulder of the southern cape that the keen breeze yet rushing in from the sea passed hundreds of feet above her masts. There was nothing more than a tidal swell on the surface of the water, in which the heavy-laden vessel rested as in a dock. In the new and extraordinary quietude the light thud of the donkey-engine sounded with a strange distinctness, and Elsie and her companion heard Courtenay’s approaching footsteps almost as soon as he gained the deck.

Instantly she ran towards him, with hands out-stretched.

“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” she cried, her cheeks mantling with a rush of color and her lips quivering with excitement. “How wonderful of you to bring the ship through all those awful reefs and things! No; you must not say you have done nothing marvelous. Dr. Christobal has told me everything. Next to Providence, Captain Courtenay, we owe our lives to you.”

Courtenay felt it would hurt her were he to smile at her earnestness. But he did say:

“Surely it is not so very remarkable that I should do my best to safeguard the ship and such of her passengers and crew as survive last night’s ordeal.”

“I know that quite well. Even I would have striven to help when my life was at stake. But the really wonderful thing is that you should have guessed an unknown track in the dark; that you should actually be able to guide a helpless ship through waters so full of dangers that it would be folly to venture in their midst in broad daylight and with full steam-power.”

Then Courtenay took off his sou’wester, and bowed.

“I had no idea I had such expert critics on board. Is it you, Christobal, who has followed the ship’s course so closely?”

“Not I, my dear fellow. Miss Maxwell is only saying what I feel, indeed, but could not have expressed as admirably. Our silent friend, Tollemache, is the man who observes. I was so amazed when I came on deck half an hour ago that I sought him out, and he told me something of the night’s later happenings. So I took the liberty of arousing Miss Maxwell from a very sound sleep, but we thought it best not to disturb you by appearing on the bridge until you had done everything you had planned.”

“I shall never understand how I came to fall asleep,” said Elsie. “I remember feeling very tired; I sat down for a moment, and that ended it. The next thing I heard was a rapping on my door, and Dr. Christobal’s voice bidding me hurry if I would see the entrance to the harbor.”

The two men exchanged glances. Courtenay laughed, so pleasantly that it was good to hear.

“Yet there was I up aloft, maneuvering the ship in the firm faith that Dr. Christobal was busy in the cook’s galley,” said he.

“Ah, we have news for you,” cried Elsie. “One of the poor fellows who was knocked on the head during that terrible fight for the boats was the master cook himself. He is better now, and breakfast can be ready in five minutes. I’ll go and tell him.”

She ran off, and Joey scampered by her side, for he knew quite well where the kitchen lay.

“Bromide is useful at times,” murmured Christobal, watching Elsie until she had disappeared. Then he turned to Courtenay.

“I suppose you have seen nothing of the boats?”

“No sign whatever. And I could hardly have missed them if they were here. They may have escaped, but I doubt it. The sea ran very high for a time, and the Kansas scraped past so many reefs that it was almost impossible for each of the three boats to have done the same.”

“Even if one or more of them reached land, there is small likelihood that they would turn up in this particular bay?”

“That is true, especially if they used their sails. The Chileans who got away in the life-boats would know sufficient of the coast to endeavor to make a northerly course, while my parting instructions to Malcolm were to keep to the north all the time.”

“I wish now that poor Isobel Baring and the others had not left us,” said Christobal sadly.

Courtenay was about to say something, but checked himself. He was not blind to the aspect of affairs which Tollemache had summarized so pithily. It might yet be that those who remained had more to endure. Then Elsie summoned them to breakfast, which was served on deck, as the saloon had been temporarily converted into a hospital.

Before sitting down, Courtenay paid a brief visit to Mr. Boyle. Christobal told him not to allow the wounded man to talk too much, complete rest for a few hours being essential. But Boyle’s pallid face lit up so brightly when the captain stood by his side that it was hard not to indulge him to some extent.

“Huh,” he said, his gruff voice strong as ever. “Christobal was not humbugging me when he assured me you were all right. Where are we?”

“In a small bay on the east of Hanover Island. I have not taken any observations yet, and there is no hurry, old chap. You’ll be out and about long before we move again.”

“Huh. D’ye think so? I know the beggar who knifed me. I’ll take it out of him when I see him.”

“You are better off than he, Boyle. Unless he is here with you, I guess he is rolling on the floor of the Pacific by this time.”

Boyle tried to turn and survey his fellow-sufferers; there was the fire of battle in his eye. Courtenay restrained him with a laugh.

“A nice thing I am doing,” he cried, “permitting you to talk, and getting you excited. I believe you would punch the scoundrel now if he were in the next berth. You must lie quiet, old man; doctor’s orders; he says you’re on the royal road if you keep on the easy list for a day or so.”

Boyle smiled, and closed his eyes.

“I heard the anchors go, and then I knew that all was well. You’re the luckiest skipper afloat. Huh, the bloomin’ Kansas was lost not once but twenty times.”

“Are you in pain, Boyle?” asked Courtenay, placing a gentle hand on his friend’s forehead.

“Not much. More stiff than sore. It was a knock-out blow of its kind. I can just recall you hauling me out of the scrimmage, and—”

“It will be your turn to do as much for me next time. Try to go to sleep; we’ll have you on deck tomorrow.”

Courtenay noticed that there were only four other sufferers in the saloon: Three were firemen injured by the explosion. He had a pleasant word for each of them. The fourth was a sailor, either asleep or unconscious, and Courtenay thought he recognized a severe bruise on the man’s left temple where the butt of his revolver had struck hard.

When he returned on deck he learned that two other members of the crew, in addition to the cook, were able to work. Walker had set one to clear up the stokehold; his companion, a fireman, had relieved Mr. Tollemache. Indeed, the latter had gone to his cabin, and was the last to arrive at the feast, finally putting in an appearance in a new suit and spotless linen.

Christobal protested loudly.

“I thought this was to be a workers’ meal,” he said. “Tollemache has stolen a march on us. He is quite a Bond-street lounger in appearance.”

“Dirty job, stoking,” said Tollemache.

“I seem to have been the only lazy person on board during the night,” cried Elsie.

“Do you know what time it is?” asked Courtenay.

“No; about ten o’clock, I fancy.”

“It is not yet half-past four.”

The blue eyes opened wide. “Are you in earnest?” she demanded.

He showed her his watch. Then she perceived that the sun had not yet risen high enough to illumine the wooded crest of the opposite cliff. The snow-clad hills, the blue glaciers, the wonderful clearness of atmosphere, led her to believe that the day was much more advanced. Land and sea shone in a strange crystal light. None could tell whence it came. It seemed to her, in that solemn hour, to be the reflection of heaven itself. By quick transition, her thoughts flew back to the previous night. Scarce four hours had elapsed since she had waited in the captain’s cabin, amidst the drenching spray and tearing wind, while he took Isobel, and Mrs. Somerville, and the shrieking maid to the boat. The corners of her mouth drooped and tears trembled on her eyelashes. She sought furtively for a handkerchief. Knowing exactly what troubled her, Courtenay turned to Christobal.

“This island ought to be inhabited,” he said. “Can you tell me what sort of Indians one finds in this locality?”

Christobal frowned perplexedly. During many previous voyages to Europe he had invariably traveled on the mail steamers of smaller draft which use the sheltered sea canal formed by the Smyth, Sarmiento, and Messier channels, the protected water-way running for hundreds of miles to the north from the western end of the Straits of Tierra del Fuego, and, in some of its aspects, reminding sailors of the Clyde and the Caledonian Canal.

“I fear I do not know much about them,” he said. “Behind those hills there one sees a few Canoe Indians; I have heard that they are somewhat lower in the social scale than the aborigines of Australia.”

“Are they?” said Courtenay. He looked Christobal straight in the eyes, and the doctor returned his gaze as steadily.

“That is their repute. They live mostly on shellfish. They do not congregate in communities. A few families keep together, and move constantly from place to place. They have a quaint belief that if they remain on a camping-ground more than a night or two the devil will stick his head out of the ground and bite them. Obviously, the real devil that plagues them is the continuous wandering demanded by their search for food.”

Christobal would have aired such a scrap of interesting knowledge at the foot of the scaffold, and expected the executioner to listen attentively.

“They are called the Alaculof. They use bows and arrows, with heads chipped out of stone or bottle-glass,” put in Tollemache.

“Oh, you have been in these parts before?” cried Courtenay, regarding his compatriot with some interest, while the Spaniard surveyed his rival doubtfully.

“Yes—was on the Emu—wrecked in Cockburn Channel.”

Now, the story of the Emu is one of those fierce tragedies which the sea first puts on the stage of life with dire skill, and then proceeds to destroy the slightest vestige of their brief existence. But such things leave abiding memories in men’s souls, and Courtenay had heard how twenty-seven survivors, out of a muster-roll of thirty who escaped from the wreck, had been shot down by Indians ambushed in the forest. Elsie, whose tears were dispelled by the doctor’s amusing summary of the Canoe Indians’ theological views, was listening to the conversation, so the captain did not carry it further, contenting himself with the remark:

“That will be useful, if we are compelled to go ashore. You will have some acquaintance with the ways of our hosts.”

Tollemache, having nothing to say, was not given to the use of unnecessary words. Elsie was conscious of a certain constraint in their talk.

“Please don’t mind me,” she said quietly. “I know all about the loss of the Emu. If we fall into the hands of the Alaculof tribe, we shall be not only killed but eaten.”

She was pouring out a second cup of tea for Walker when she made this remarkable statement. Her eyes were intent on exact quantities of tea, milk, and sugar, and she passed the cup to the engineer with a smile. Each of the men admired her coolness, but Tollemache, who had been quietly scrutinizing the nearer hills, gave painful emphasis to this gruesome topic by exclaiming:

“There they are now: smoke signals.”

Sure enough, thin columns of smoke were rising from several points on the land. It could not be doubted that these were caused by human agency. They were not visible when the party sat down to breakfast. The appearance of the ship was their obvious explanation, but not a canoe or a solitary figure could be seen, though Courtenay and others, at various times during the day, searched every part of the neighboring shore with field glasses and powerful telescopes.

After an all too brief burst of sunshine, the Land of Storms again justified its name. Giant clouds came rolling in from seaward. The mountains were lost in mist; the glaciers became sullen, rock-strewn masses of white-brown ice; the fresh greenery of the forests faded into somber belts of blackness. Though it was high summer in this desolate region, heavy showers of hail and sleet alternated with drenching rain. At low-water, though the Kansas floated securely in a depth of twenty fathoms, a yellow current sweeping past her starboard quarter showed how accurately Courtenay had read the tokens of the inlet. Many a swollen torrent, and, perhaps, one or two fair-sized streams at the head of the bay, contributed this flood of fresh water.

And, with the evening tide, there were not wanting indications that the gale without had developed a new fury. A solitary albatross, driven landward by stress of weather, rode in vast circles above the ship. There was no wealth of bird life in that place of gloom. Though fitted to rear untold millions of gulls and other sea birds, this secluded nook was almost deserted; generations of men had devoured all the eggs they could lay hands on.

To Elsie and the doctor were entrusted the daylight watch on deck and the care of the sick. For the latter there was not much to be done. The cook undertook to feed them, and Frascuelo, the wounded stevedore who had been discovered in a state of collapse, soon revived, and was practically able to look after himself. The others, under Walker’s directions, were hard at work in the engine-room and stoke-hold, for there alone lay the chance of ultimate escape.

The two sentinels conversed but little. The outer war of the elements was disturbing, and Christobal, though unfailingly optimistic in his speech, was nevertheless a prey to dark forebodings. Once, they were startled by the fall of an avalanche, which thundered down a mountain side on the farther shore, and tore a great gap in the belt of trees until it crashed into the water. It sent a four-foot wave across the bay, and the Kansas rocked so violently that the men toiling below raced up on deck to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.

This was the only exciting incident of a day that seemed to be unending. Elsie, worn out by the strain of the preceding twenty-four hours, and, notwithstanding her brief sleep in the morning, thoroughly exhausted for want of rest, was persuaded to retire early to her cabin. She lay down almost fully dressed. Somehow, it was impossible to think of a state of unpreparedness for any emergency.

She was soon sound asleep. She awoke with a start, with all her nerves a-quiver. Joey was tearing along the deck, barking furiously. She heard two men run past her door with ominous haste. Then, after a heart-breaking pause, there was some shooting. Some one, she thought it was Courtenay, roared down the saloon companion:

“On deck, all hands, to repel boarders!”

With a confused rush, men mounted the stairs and raced forward. She knew that nearly all of those not on watch were sleeping with the injured men in the saloon, and now she understood the reason. The ship was being attacked by Indians, and not altogether unexpectedly. The savages had stolen alongside in their canoes under the cloak of night. Perhaps they were already on board in overwhelming numbers. Poor girl, she murmured a prayer while she hurriedly drew on her boots and ulster.

There seemed to be no end to the evils which assailed the Kansas, and she dreaded this new terror more than the mad fury of the seas. But, if the men were fighting for their lives and her’s, she must help, too. That was clear. She had a weapon, a loaded revolver, which she had picked up from beneath a boat’s tarpaulin lying on the spar deck. She opened her door and peered out. She could not see any one, and the rattle of a hail-storm overhead effectually dulled any other noise. But several shots fired again in the fore part of the ship were audible above the din of the pelting hail. So she ran that way, with the fine courage of one who fears yet goes on, and her eyes pierced the shadows with a tense despair in them. For what could so few men do against the unseen watchers who sent up the thirty-four smoke columns she had counted?

Ah, trust a woman to read the unspoken thought! Courtenay and Christobal and Tollemache need not have striven to couch their warnings in ambiguous words. Elsie could have told them all that was left unsaid at breakfast. The ship had fought her own enemies; now the human beings she had saved must defend themselves from a foe against whom the ship was helpless.