Читать книгу Susannah of the Yukon - Muriel Denison - Страница 6

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“Let go the lines!”

It was very exciting and a bit scary. Only a few moments before, she had heard her father slip out of bed and pull on his dressing gown. It was while he was hunting for his slippers that she had called to him. “Daddy, where are you going?”

“Hush, Sue,” he answered. “Don’t wake your mother. Here.”

He slipped a warm coat around her shoulders and pulled on her felt bedroom slippers. With a finger on his lip, he opened the door and she followed him out. One finger on his lip meant “Don’t disturb Mummy,” two fingers meant “Don’t tell Mummy.” This was one finger. Daddy was a most exciting traveler, Sue thought. He was always going places no one else ever did and always doing things that were forbidden.

There had been a dreadful row when they came on board the Skagway Queen the night before. A large airy stateroom had been reserved for the Winston party, but when they came aboard they found four men in it, rough-looking men. When her father had shown them his tickets they had just laughed. “Well, pardner,” one of them had drawled, “you may have paid for this stateroom, but we’re in it and we’re going to stay.”

“We’ll see,” said Sue’s father, and smiled. She and her mother followed him up on deck. “Wait here,” he said, and Sue saw him pass some bills to a couple of sailors who laughed and then disappeared.

In no time at all the four miners had appeared on deck. “Who said the Police would take us out of that stateroom?” they demanded loudly.

Sue never heard the answer for, before you could say Boo to a goose, her father had whisked her mother and Sue around the deck and down the stairs and into the stateroom.

The sailors had put the miners’ bundles in the corridor and their own holdalls and parcels were neatly stacked in the corner of the room. Daddy locked the door and stood there laughing. “Make your head serve your heels, Sue,” he said.

But just then there had come the most dreadful fuss outside the door. Cries of “Break the door in!” “Bring out the tenderfoot!” mingled with shouts and tramping and sounds of fighting, and then a sharp command of “Make way there!”

“That’s Michael,” said Sue, and her father opened the door promptly. Sue caught a glimpse of the crowd in the corridor. Angry, flushed miners; sailors; passengers and visitors saying good-by. Michael closed the door.

“They won’t come in while I’m here,” he said. “Major Bell sent me down to make sure everything was all right with you.” Sitting on the edge of a berth, Michael told them of how all the accommodations on the Skagway Queen had been sold several times over. “Our accommodation,” he said, “was reserved five months ago, but all our staterooms were occupied.”

“What did you do?” asked Sue.

“Told them to move on,” answered Michael, “and they did. The boat is crowded to the gunwales,” he added, “and everything you can think of is on board, though goodness knows where everyone is going to sleep. Sue, the Major has an extra-special surprise to show you in the morning.”

“Show me now,” implored Sue, but he shook his head. “Not until the morning. The Major’s orders, Sue, but I can tell you one thing. Besides the horses and mules and donkeys and dogs, there are two goats on board. In the morning I’ll show them to you.”

All night there had been the sounds of loading and they had gone to sleep with the cries of men’s voices in their ears, angry brawls above them and the thump, thump, thump of cargo dropped on deck.

And now it was cool morning, hardly sunrise, and Sue pattered along behind her father and up the companionway to the deck. There was a little knot of men on the wharf, their lanterns pale against the first streaks of morning light.

“Let go the lines!”

They flung the stout lines aboard, there was a faint cheer from the shore and the Skagway Queen slipped quietly out into Vancouver Harbor. An order rang out from the bridge. From above a sailor’s voice answered, “Aye, aye, sir.” A cool breeze sprang up and ruffled the water. Beyond Vancouver the misted mountains were turning gold with the rising sun.

“That’s what I wanted to see,” said her father, “the sunrise on those mountains. Look at that rose color, Sue, those violet shadows, that silvery light in the valleys.”

Sue looked. It was very lovely, she thought, but she was really more interested in the colors of the miners’ shirts below her. Two of them were standing looking back at Vancouver. They wore plaid shirts of yellow, green, and blue against a rich red background. She wished her Yukon clothes were as gay and bright and that she had a slouch hat and high leather boots.

They looked up and smiled, and her father waved a good morning to them.

“Are you cold, Sue?” he asked. She nodded. Her teeth were chattering. “I’ll race you around the deck,” he said, and around the deck they ran until Sue was rosy, warm, and hungry. A smiling young sailor brought her a mug of cocoa and Sue watched the mist rise on the water and blot out Vancouver.

“We’re headed north,” her father said, “and look, Sue, it’s clear weather ahead.”

He sat beside her while she finished her cocoa.

It was cold and clear, and, quietly, the ship awoke. First the horses moved restlessly. Sue could hear a faint whinny, the frightened pawing of the deck by an anxious pony, and men’s reassuring voices. There were the short, sharp barks of dogs, sailors beginning to show on deck, and strange squeaks and creaks and whines that Sue learned belonged to ships.

“Let’s go down, Daddy,” Sue said. “Michael’s got a surprise for me and I’m dying to know what it is.”

Her father nodded absently. He was looking at the mountains again. Sue heard him telling her mother about them while she dressed. “We’ve hardly begun our journey,” he said, “and already it’s worth while. I must start sketching directly breakfast is over. Such colors you’ve never seen, Aileen. Different from the hot, violent colors of India. Everything is cool and lovely and the air makes you feel as if you must get to work at once.”

The dining saloon was almost full when they went to breakfast, but at the Captain’s table, Major Bell and Michael were waiting for them and Sue learned that the greatest honor that can happen to you on board a ship is to have your meals at the Captain’s table.

Sue thought that breakfast would never end. Everyone talked and talked and talked. All about what they were going to do when they reached Dawson, which was the capital city of the Yukon, whether they would make Skagway in time before the freeze-up and whether Chilkoot was possible....

Sue sat as still as she could, but, after a time, both her feet went to sleep. She confided that they were all prickly to Michael. “You see, Michael,” she said, “when you’ve short legs that don’t reach the floor you have to keep wiggling them or they go to sleep—and if you wiggle your feet, it’s bad manners, so I think the only thing to do is to get down and run around.”

“Besides,” said Michael, with a twinkle, “you want to see the extra-special surprise, don’t you?”

The two of them set off on a ship’s inspection. First they went up on the upper deck and Michael explained that the boxes of goods neatly stacked there were not usually carried in that fashion, but that they were racing against the cold of the Yukon and were taking all the goods with them they could carry. He pointed out the hold below, the hatches, and the lifeboats. Way down deep in the boat they saw the engines and the Chief Engineer, who was a Scotchman and had a soft burr to his voice like Monty had.

“Where’s the surprise?” asked Sue.

“I’ll show you,” Michael answered, and laughed. “You’ll like it, Sue.”

But when Sue reached the lower deck, she forgot all about the surprise, for here were all the things in the world that she liked best. There were thirty horses, some of them strong little ponies, others larger and more like the light cavalry mounts of the Force; a dozen donkeys, pretty, fat little things with mouse-colored coats and long hair at the end of their tails; and, then, the funniest animals Sue had ever seen—mules, eighteen of them.

“They look like half a horse and half a donkey, Michael,” she said, “and they look so stupid, and did you ever see such ears? Can I pat them, Michael?”

“Try it,” said Michael.

She went forward, as she had to all the horses she had known and held out her hand steadily. The mule laid back his ears, showed his teeth, and snorted at her.

“My gracious,” said Sue, “what bad manners he has! Will he bite me?”

“Yes,” said Michael, “unless he knows you very well indeed, he bites, but look at what’s here.”

Sue turned. In a tiny stall were two funny white goats. They looked so small and foolish beside the larger animals that Sue felt sorry for them until suddenly behind her broke out the fiercest barking and yelping.

“Dogs?” asked Sue.

Michael took her around behind the horses and there, on the deck, were dogs of every shape and variety she had ever known—collies, Irish setters, a coach dog with funny black markings on its white body, a huge mastiff, a St. Bernard, dogs with tails that should have been short and were long, dogs that were mixtures of every breed and all of them barking busily, while a man separated into pans their daily ration of meat and bones. Michael explained that, on the trail, dogs were considered to have greater endurance than horses and were less care to their owners.

“But look, Sue,” he said. “Here is the surprise.”

Between boxes of corned beef, piled high on either side, stood a small wooden crate. There was a wire netting nailed over the top and a rough door at one end. A scrabbling sound came from within and, as Michael opened the door, a small, red, furry body hurled itself out on deck.

“Oh, Michael!” Sue shrieked. “A puppy!”

Michael bent down and picked up the tiny thing. Its rough red coat still had traces of puppy sable about it, but the ears were cocked, the eyes bright, and the black nose shining and quivering with the excitement of being out of the captivity of the kennel.

“He’s an Irish terrier, Sue,” said Michael. “A friend of the Major’s brought him on board last night, as a mascot for the Force. The Major says you are to have charge of him all the way to Dawson City.”

“Not truly?” breathed Sue.

Michael laughed. “Truly,” he said, and set the puppy down on the deck.

He put his head on one side and then, with the air of one who has important business on hand, trotted busily off in the direction of the barking. Michael and Sue followed him. Tail erect and ears cocked, he viewed the yelping dogs and then, as if to say “Too much noise,” barked sharply.

“He sounds like the Commissioner,” said Sue, delightedly.

“He does,” said Michael. “Let’s call him Field Marshal.”

“What’s a Field Marshal?” asked Sue.

“The Commander in Chief of the Army,” said Michael, “and goodness knows he looks as if he were in command of all those dogs.” He did indeed, for the barking was quieting down and the group of older dogs were looking at the Irish terrier as if he were in charge of them all.

“In Ireland, where I come from,” Michael told her, “they say that a good Irish terrier has eyes as black as a sloe and bold as an eagle.”

“Then I think Field Marshal must be a very good terrier,” said Sue, “for his eyes are just like that and I like the way he stands. He’s so ... so dashing.”

“Dashing is the proper word,” said Michael. “But see, Sue, here’s a leash for him. Dogs are not allowed free on the deck. Now your duties are to feed and water him and to walk him every day as much as you can. He has to learn to use his legs for the long walks over the mountains and you can help him now by giving him plenty of exercise.”

“Field Marshal’s a very long name,” complained Sue. “Let’s call him Fieldy for short.”

Fieldy was agreed on, and the three of them climbed to the upper deck where Mr. Winston already had his easel out and was sitting painting. Near him in a deck chair was her mother. Sue raced around the deck with Fieldy until she was breathless and then, with the puppy in her arms, stood watching her father’s swift fingers at work. Little groups of passengers would stop to watch, pass on, and then return to watch again.

“Why do they watch you?” Sue asked.

Her father laughed. “I expect I’m the first artist most of them have ever seen,” he answered. “I must be something of a curiosity to them.”

Sue looked around the deck. The passengers were such a mixture, she felt. Only a few of them looked as nice as the Mounties, but most of them wore such gay shirts that Sue felt they must be nice. The red tunics of the Force were everywhere, bright, vivid notes of color. In one corner a man was playing an accordion and singing a song called “The Bowery.”

“They say such things and they do such things,

I’ll never go there any more,”

he sang.

Sue liked the tune. She liked the cool, sparkling wind, the warm sun on her back, the happy wrigglings of Fieldy in her arms, the friendly smiles as she passed. She skipped a bit as she returned to her father again.

“This is going to be quite an adventure,” she said to Fieldy. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Sue.” It was her mother’s voice. She turned. “Come along.” Her mother waved a book at her. If there was one thing Sue hated more than hairbrushing, it was French, and her mother was waving the dreadful French book. Sue stopped skipping and put Fieldy down on deck.

“Yes, Mummy,” she said.

“Let me hear you say ‘Le Corbeau et le Renard.’”

Sitting on the deck with Fieldy in her lap, Sue began her recitation. They were passing through blue channel waters, with mountains towering high on either side, the shores closely wooded with the tallest trees Sue had ever seen. Evergreens with spindly tops and here and there a great cedar that towered high above the rest. There was the rush of water against the steamer’s side.

Sue dropped a kiss on Fieldy’s head. In spite of the French lesson, she had never felt so happy.

“Go on, Sue,” urged her mother.

“Hé! bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau,

Que vous êtes joli! que vous me semblez beau!

Sans mentir, si votre ramage

Se rapporte à votre plumage....”

Sue stopped for breath.

“Now, translate,” said her mother.

Sue sighed. “Well, it’s all about the crow and the fox, Monsieur Corbeau and Monsieur Renard.

“Old Renard, Mummy, was trying to fool old Corbeau. So Renard said, ‘My, but you’re pretty. Without telling any fibs, your singing is as beautiful as your looks.’” Sue laughed. “What a fibber.... As if a crow could sing!” and she cawed loudly.

“Luncheon is served,” a steward called, passing along the deck. Sue scrambled to her feet.

“I’m awfully hungry, Mummy,” she said, and the French lesson was over.

Because Fieldy was so little, he had to be fed three times a day. “When we get to Dawson, he’ll only have one meal, like the big dogs,” Michael explained, as they went down to see about his food. The man who had been feeding the dogs in the morning was a very pleasant person called Angus. From the cook’s galley he brought out a dish of cereal and milk and while Fieldy gobbled his luncheon in a rude and hasty fashion, Angus told Sue a little about the Yukon. He was surprised to find she was going there.

“It’s no place for young ones,” he said. “Where do you come from?”

Sue told him the whole story, winding up with the Jubilee and the return to the Barracks.

“And what’s your name, lassie?” asked Angus. Sue told him and added that Lady Charlotte had called her “Susannah of the Mounties.”

Angus clapped his hands together. “I ken y’r Monty,” he said. “He’s the new Earl of Falkney and Dunleith. His uncle was my master. I was a game beater on the estate. Now I’m prospecting in the Yukon and, like yourself, hunting for a gold mine.”

His full name, he said, was Angus Mackay, and he attached himself to their party and acted as batman for her father, helped Sue to train Fieldy, placed Mrs. Winston’s deck chair in sunny windless corners, adjusted her father’s easel, and held long happy conversations with Sue about Monty “when he was a little boy.”

The third day, Sue took Fieldy down on the lower deck. There was a passenger there whom she hadn’t seen before. A tall man with a different plaid shirt. Very gay and elegant, Sue thought. Yellow—very, very yellow, with large red and purple checks and a faint green stripe outlining the purple. He had a slouch hat and high boots and he walked with a swagger. Sue wasn’t sure whether she liked the look of the man or not.

Down the companionway to the open deck forward, she and Fieldy trotted. Sure enough, there by the mules the tall man was standing. He was talking about the mules, which he said were the stupidest animals alive. Sue gathered that he didn’t like them and cared even less for donkeys. She drew closer. He had a funny-looking dog at his feet. Its legs were too long for its body. Its ears drooped and its coat was a yellowish gray.

“What kind of dog is that?” she asked.

The tall man looked down at her. “Hello, young’un,” he said. “What was it you said?”

“I asked you what kind of dog you had,” said Sue.

“It’s a yellow dog,” he answered, and everyone laughed but Sue.

“It’s not very yellow,” she said, “but I didn’t mean its color, I meant its breed. Fieldy is an Irish terrier,” she added.

“Well, mine’s a yellow dog,” he said. “A yellow dog, young’un, is a dog of no particular breed.”

“Is it?” said Sue, wrinkling her nose and looking up at the tall man. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jocko,” he said. “Like it?”

Sue tried it. “Jocko. Yes, I like it. Are you a miner?” she continued.

“What do you want to know for?” he asked.

“Well,” said Sue, “I’m going up to the Yukon to hunt for a gold mine and I’d like to learn all I can about it before I get there.”

Jocko looked very surprised, but he sat down a safe distance from the mules and told her about the gold he’d seen in the Yukon, of the gold he’d found himself, and how he was going back to hunt for more.

Sue thought him a very interesting man, though she couldn’t understand why some of his friends around him laughed so much as he told of the rich pay streaks he’d found. He was just starting to tell her what pay streak meant when Angus came down, carrying her father’s easel. He set the easel up farther down the deck, and a few moments later her father followed in his loose painter’s smock and sat down to sketch.

“Leaping catfish,” said Jocko, “what’ve we got here?”

He strolled down the deck and stood behind her father for a few moments. Sue sat quite still. It was warm down beside the mules and the men talked about such interesting things. It was nice to know that when Jocko came back she would hear again of how charming her father was and of how beautifully he painted.

Jocko returned, his face crinkled with laughter. “By all the gold in the Yukon,” he said, “if we haven’t a painter with us—a regular sissy, all dolled up in petticoats and painting pictures of the scenery.” Jocko slapped his boots with a little switch and he and his friends laughed loudly.

Sue listened. At first she couldn’t believe her ears. Her father called a sissy? Surely she had made a mistake, but Jocko turned, looking back at where her father’s easel stood.

“Come on, my buckos,” he said, “come on down and see this sissy work.” There was hardly a movement from the men before Sue was on her feet, blocking the passage down the deck.

“What did you call my father?” she asked, stormily.

“I didn’t know I’d called your father anything,” answered Jocko. “I called the painter fellow down there in skirts a sissy. Look at his skirts.” And all the men laughed again.

“He’s not a sissy!” screamed Sue. “He’s my father. You take back that word. He’s not a sissy!”

“Sure he is,” laughed Jocko, “and, look here, young’un, when I say a man’s a sissy, he is a sissy. See?”

“No, I don’t see!” yelled Sue at the top of her voice.

“Well,” said Jocko, “when a man wears petticoats and paints picture, I call him a sissy.”

“You do, do you?” cried Sue. “Well, you don’t know anything. I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a dirty old thing. You don’t wash, you don’t shave, your boots are dirty. You’ve dirty nails.” Jocko moved forward. “Don’t you dare go near my father. I’ll set my dog on you. You ... you old mule, you!”

Jocko laughed. “I’m not going to be bullied by a kid,” he said, gently. “You move out of the way.”

Sue started to cry. “I hate you,” she cried. “You make fun of your dog. You make fun of my father. You make fun of your mules. You’re a mule yourself.”

A hand smoothed her curls. “Now, now,” said a laughing voice, “let’s be a little quieter over this matter. Hush, Sue, I’m sure this gentleman didn’t know you were my daughter when he called me a sissy. You must introduce me to your friend, Sue.”

“He’s not my friend. He’s a dirty old mule!” cried Sue.

“My name is Winston,” said her father, ignoring Sue, and “I’m called Jocko,” answered the tall man in quite a scrappy manner.

Mr. Winston held out his hand. “How do you do?” he said, smiling. Jocko put out his hand, and, for goodness’ sake, wondered Sue, what could be happening? Over Jocko’s face there was a look of surprise, alarm. His right arm was bending in a curious fashion and then he began to lean away over to one side, but her father just stood there, smiling and shaking hands so far as Sue could see.

Jocko caught his breath with a little gasp. “All right, stranger,” he said.

Mr. Winston loosened his grip and stepped back. Jocko’s hand was dirty, but it was also quite white and very limp looking. The little crowd of men closed around them.

Jocko laughed. “I take it back, pardner,” he said. “You ain’t no sissy. Not with a grip like that.”

“Shall I show you how it’s done?” said Mr. Winston. “I learned the trick during a year I spent in Japan.” Sitting on a box, among the mules and men, Sue’s father showed Jocko and the others the trick of jiujitsu he had learned long ago from the Japanese.

On the way up to their cabin, Sue’s father suggested gently that she might have been more gracious in her leave-taking.

“I don’t like him,” said Sue. “I’ll never like him. He’s a dirty old mule.”

Mr. Winston shook his head. “Don’t bear grudges, Sue,” he said. “They only cramp your style.”

Sue thought about what her father said that night when she was tucked into her berth. She felt tired and hot and angry, but the wind coming in through the porthole was so fresh and clean. “I wonder why he’s so dirty,” she wondered, “when he has such a lovely shirt.”

But when morning came she couldn’t forget the row of the day before, and it was a strangely silent Sue that walked soberly around the deck. She could see Jocko below. She wanted to talk to him and yet she didn’t, and she felt very uncomfortable with herself and with her father.

After luncheon she went down to where Jocko stood. She wasn’t sorry for calling him a mule, but she didn’t want to remain bad friends.

“Good afternoon,” she said to Jocko. “Would you like me to do something for you?”

“Sure.” The man smiled at her in quite a friendly way.

“Well, you know yesterday I told you you were dirty.” Jocko nodded. “Well,” said Sue, with a gasp, “I still think you are. But I know how to make you all tidy and if you do what I tell you, I’ll take you up and let you talk to my mother.”

There was a shout of laughter from the men around. “There’s your chance, Jocko,” called one of them. “Why don’t you take it?”

Jocko moved aside. “What do I have to do?” he asked.

Sue whispered, “Shave.”

Jocko shook his head. “Can’t.”

“Haven’t you a razor?”

“Lost it,” grinned Jocko.

“If you promise to use it,” said Sue, “I’ll get you everything,” and, with Fieldy scampering after her, she ran back to their stateroom and took out one of her father’s razors—a long, ivory-handled thing with sharp blades—a leather strop, a fuzzy brush, a cake of soap, and, opening her mother’s dressing case, a nail file.

Down the stairs again, and what a time they all had. When his hat was off, Jocko showed a head covered with short, dark brown curls, newly cut. Someone brought a pail of hot water and some towels, and Jocko sat down in the midst of a laughing crowd of men, towels tucked in around the top of his shirt.

“Here’s the soap,” said Sue, “and here’s the razor and here’s the shaving brush.”

Angus reached out. “We can lather without a brush,” he said and put it in his pocket.

Sure enough they could, and Jocko’s face was soon a mass of soapy lather. “It’s no use,” exclaimed Jocko. “You haven’t brought a mirror.”

“I’ll shave you, lad,” said Angus, taking the razor, and then the real fun began.

Every time the razor was passed over his face, Jocko brayed like a mule or whinnied like a horse. Sue thought she had never met so funny a man. And when they washed his face and got soap in his eyes he kicked like a mule. Finally he stood up.

“Where’s that pail of water?” he demanded, and doused his head and face in it, and washed his hands and scrubbed until everyone around was spattered. “Well, young’un, how do you think I look?” he asked.

“Gracious,” said Sue, “you’re awfully good to look at. You musn’t hide your face again.”

“Who’ll lend me a white shirt?” cried Jocko, looking very pleased.

“Oh, don’t change your shirt,” said Sue. “Please don’t! It’s the nicest shirt on the boat.”

Jocko looked down at the colorful yellow and red plaid. “It sure is handsome,” he agreed. “But when do we see your lady mother?”

Sue led him happily up the stairs to where her mother sat reading.

“Mummy,” she said, “here is my great friend, Jocko.”

Sue’s mother put out her hand in the friendliest way, and Sue’s father gave her an approving wink.

“I hear you’re a miner on the way to Dawson,” said her mother. Jocko nodded and the two of them began to talk about the journey.

“Sue,” whispered her father, “what is sticking out of your pocket?”

“Your razor,” answered Sue. “I lent it to Jocko to clean him up, and your brush and soap and strop. Angus has the brush and I’ve the razor and strop.”

Sue thought her father would never stop laughing, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wondered, instead, if she wasn’t very lucky to have a father who liked fun as much as she did. She hadn’t known many fathers but most of the ones she had known had been very serious.

On Sunday morning there was a later breakfast, and a bugle blowing. On deck, the Mounties, in their scarlet and gold, were standing in a three-sided square. Beyond them passengers, in front of them a small table. Behind the table, Captain Blanchard with the Chief Officer on his right and Major Bell on his left.

“We will sing hymn number forty-six,” the Captain said.

“Fight the good fight

With all thy might....”

From the saloon there came the notes of the piano, which were soon lost in the sound of voices as everyone joined in the hymn. Sue thought this was the most perfect church she had ever been in. No other church would have allowed Field Marshal to sit at her feet. A cool breeze blew across their faces, the sun shone high over the mountains, and there was the constant swish of the water—and there was no sermon, just Major Bell reading a lesson and the Captain saying some prayers. And afterwards Michael and Major Bell walking around the deck with her and telling her that there was to be turkey for dinner. They told her that she had better eat all she could of it, for she would be a whole year older before she saw turkey again. Sue didn’t believe that, but she had two helpings in case they were right, and then slept for a while on deck.

It had been growing a little colder each day and people worried as to whether they could get through before the freeze-up. “Getting through,” Sue found, meant arriving at Dawson City before the river froze. Each night at sunset passengers would come up and look anxiously at the skies.

“Do the shapes of the clouds really tell you which way the wind is going to blow?” asked Sue.

Her father didn’t answer. All he said was, “Look at those hills, Sue, pure violet!”

Sue looked at the hills. Against their violet shadows the tall pines stood green and black and above them were pale rose clouds, with a star twinkling in a sky that had just lost the day. The sound of a fiddle came from below, and there was the faint whinny of a tired horse. Sue and her father stood by the rail with the fresh wind on their faces.

Hawkins came up.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know that the Captain says we are doing nicely and should reach Skagway by tomorrow morning.”