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On the 7th September, 1871, the Norwegian Captain, Elling Carlsen, well known by his numerous voyages in the North Sea and the Frozen Ocean, arrived at the ice haven of Barentz, and on the 9th he discovered the house which had sheltered the Dutchmen.
"I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't treat me this way." "Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board." "I'll have you broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me." "I can give you another licking," Grief answered.
What a fool he had been, though, to let Carlsen regain his automatic! Now he was anxious for the landfall, keen for the show-down. Far on the horizon, northward, he sighted glimmering flashes of milky whiteness that came and went to the swing of the schooner. This could not be land, he decided, or they would have announced it. It was ice, pack-ice, or floes.
"Carlsen says that the skipper's life is in his hands," he said, still evading Lund's direct question. "What do you make of that?" "I don't know what to make of it," answered Lund. "If it is, God help the skipper! I reckon he's in a bad way. Ennyhow, he's out of it for the time bein', Rainey. I don't think he'll be present at the meetin' if he's that ill. Carlsen speaks for him.
Carlsen was angry at first and threatened a little disturbance, but the Bishop reminded him of the rule, and he subsided with several mutterings in his beard, while the next speaker began with a very strong eulogy on the value of the single tax as a genuine remedy for all the social ills.
"He pulled me out of a tight place on the West Coast once. I'd have cashed in, Carlsen, if you hadn't happened along." Captain Carlsen was a giant hulk of a man, with gimlet eyes of palest blue, a slash-scarred mouth that a blazing red beard could not quite hide, and a grip in his hand that made Frederick squirm. A few minutes later, Tom had his brother aside.
Carlsen was the apparent controller of the schooner. Lund was quick to sense this. "We got to block that Carlsen's game," he said to Rainey. "There's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere an' you an' me got to uncover him, matey, afore we reach Bering Strait, or you an' me'll finish this trip squattin' on the rocks of one of the Four Mountain Islands makin' faces at the gulls.
Captain Carlsen was pilot, Captain Weyprecht commanded, and Lieutenant Payer was the land explorer. The Tegethoff left Bremen on the 13th of June, 1872, and came in sight of Novaya Zemlya on the 29th of July. In August the Jabjorn yacht joined company; but little in the way of exploration was undertaken until August, when the yacht, with Count Wilczek, left the Tegethoff to her own devices.
In that tremendous sea the impact would be certain to mean the staving in of something forward, perhaps the springing of a butt. "Hard a lee!" yelled Rainey. "Up with her! Up!" It was desire to vent his own feelings, rather than necessity for the command, that made Rainey yell the order, for he could see the girl striving with the spokes, Carlsen lending his strength to hers.
I " She suddenly widened her eyes and stared at him. "Then my father he?" Rainey felt a twinge of compassion. "He was there when it happened," he said. "But I don't know that he had anything to do with it. Mr. Carlsen may have convinced him it was the only thing to do. He seems to have considerable influence with your father." "He has. He Mr. Rainey, I have begged your pardon once; I do so again.
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