Winter Kill

back against the railing, and either snap his spine or force him overboard.

Frank dived to the deck, going low into Brewster’s legs. Brewster let out a startled yell as his momentum carried him on and he pitched forward. Frank rolled and came up on hands and knees, looking around for his opponent.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

A shock went through Frank as he realized what had happened. Brewster had fallen forward, out of control, and went right over the railing. Frank hadn’t heard the splash, but he knew that Brewster must have gone into the water.

Captain Hoffman confirmed that by bellowing, “Man overboard! Man overboard!” as he rushed to the rail. He turned toward the bridge, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “All engines stop! All stop!”

The Montclair slowed as whoever was on duty on the bridge relayed the command to the engine room, but the ship didn’t come to a stop. The sails were still raised and full of air.

“Strike the sails! Strike the sails!” Hoffman leaned over the rail and searched the black water. “Brewster! Can you hear me? Brewster!”

Frank and Conway climbed to their feet and stumbled over to join the captain. Frank peered over the railing, but couldn’t see anything out there except darkness. He listened, but heard nothing except the slapping of the waves.

Sailors came running with life preservers tied to thick ropes. They threw them out into the area in which Brewster had disappeared. The ship finally shuddered to a dead stop in the water as the sails were lowered. With the engines stopped, there was an eerie quiet on board, broken by the shouts of the crew as they called out to Brewster.

No response came back from the sea.

Some of the officers brought bull’s-eye lanterns to the rail and swept the beams from them over the waves. The searching and shouting went on for a good half hour before Captain Hoffman sighed and turned away from the rail, wearily shaking his head. He motioned for the other men to step back as well.

“It’s been too long,” he said. “Brewster was a good swimmer, but no man could stay afloat for this long in water that cold. He might have been knocked out when he struck the surface. He must have gone down quickly.”

Frank said, “I didn’t mean for him to go overboard.”

Hoffman shook his head again. “I know that. He wouldn’t have if he had obeyed my order and stopped fighting. His stubborn pride just wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat, either this time or the time he clashed with you before, Morgan.” Hoffman looked at Frank and added, “You may not believe this, but that quality was one of the things that made him an exceptional sailor. He never quit.”

“I reckon I can understand that. A man needs to stick to what he starts…most of the time, anyway.”

“Are you all right? Were you injured?”

“He hit me a pretty good wallop with something when he first jumped me,” Frank said. He felt of his head and found a sore, swollen lump. “There’s a little goose egg up there, but this old skull of mine is too hard to dent very easily. I’ll be fine.”

Hoffman turned to Conway. “What about you, young man?”

“I’m fine,” Conway replied. “The fella got in some good licks, but that’s all.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“I sure did. That man jumped Mr. Morgan and tried to force him over the rail.”

Frank said, “He likely would have, too, if you hadn’t pitched in when you did, Pete.”

Conway shrugged. “When I saw what was going on, I just tried to help.”

“You probably saved my life. I won’t forget that.” Frank turned back to Hoffman. “I’m sorry for the loss of your officer, Captain, but this wasn’t my fault or young Conway’s.”

Hoffman waved a hand. “No, as I said, it was Brewster’s foolish pride that caused his death. An unfortunate tragedy, but no one else is to blame.”

“I wouldn’t want anybody trying to get back at me by hurting Mrs. Devereaux or the young ladies. Any members of the crew who have a problem with me need to take it up with me.”

“There won’t be any of that,” Hoffman said firmly. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll make it clear that there are to be no repercussions.” The captain paused, then added, “I doubt if there would have been, anyway. Brewster was admired for his qualities of seamanship, but he wasn’t well liked.”

That was the impression Frank had gotten, so he wasn’t surprised by Hoffman’s words.

The captain turned to his first mate and said, “Go up to the bridge and tell the engine room to get some steam up again. The wind’s dying for the night, so we won’t raise the sails.”

“Aye, Cap’n. Ahead full, on the same bearing, once we have steam?”

“Aye,” Hoffman said. He cast one final look at the stretch of dark water where Brewster had disappeared. “We’ll be heading north again.”

The rest of the group of cheechakos had come up while the search for Brewster was going on. As the crewmen scattered to go about their tasks, the novice gold-hunters gathered around Frank and Conway. They threw questions about the fight at the two men.

“I guess this is what you meant about a life-and-death struggle, Morgan,” Neville, the man from New York, said. “That trouble came at you without any warning, and you had to deal with it. The same thing’s liable to happen to any of us in Alaska.”

“Not exactly the same thing,” Conway said. “Nobody’s going to throw us off a ship up there.”