The main hold was littered with a maze of boxes, bales, and bundles, the
last made up of sealskins roughly bound, with salt sprinkled upon the
fleshy side of the pelts. This precaution had been taken by Marr and
Whitehouse on the day following the raid.
Stirling paused near where the deck beams allowed a narrow passage
through to the lazaret, and under a hatchway which led to the galley
house and the cook's quarters. He glanced around and allowed his eyes to
accustom themselves to the darkness.
None of the revolutionists had dared follow him down through the main
hatch. The sight of the revolver he had flashed at them was a stern
reminder, and he felt of this weapon as he waited. He heard the steady
clamp of the engines and the calls in Russian as the stokehold crew were
urged to greater efforts.
The _Pole Star_ was striking away from Point Barrow, and had sheltered
herself in a long lane of ice reaching deep within the North pack. It
would be fortunate, indeed, if this lane opened and allowed the ship
through to the sea to eastward.
Stirling found a box in the lazaret which had been crashed open by a
rude heel, and through the hole in this he drew out a double handful of
hard and dry ship's biscuits. He munched on these, and glanced about for
water. None was in sight. He found several empty gin cases from which
the square faces had been removed; a dark corner of the lazaret was
piled with small, strong boxes. The lower tier of these contained
bottles of ginger ale and soda. He emptied three bottles of soda, waited
a few minutes, and then started drinking the fourth.
The effect was magical. The ship's biscuits, whose food value is high,
served to refresh his weary body, and he stared around with some
interest in his surroundings.
A stout door, heavily barred by a crossbeam in the bulkhead, indicated
the way to the stokehold and the after part of the ship. He moved
through the gloom and tested this crossbeam. It could be lifted, but he
paused to listen. Clanking doors and scraping shovels on the iron plates
of the stokehold marked where the Russians were feeding the _Pole
Star's_ fires.
There was no way through to the cabin and the girl save by way of the
stokehold and the engine room, and the deck was crowded with alert
revolutionists.
Stirling dropped his hand into the side pocket of his pea-jacket and
felt the cold assurance of the little revolver's steel. It nerved him as
he drew out his hand and lifted the crossbar which the cook had placed
in order to prevent a raid on the lazaret.
An opening showed, lurid with furnace fires and hot coals. Three
Russians, stripped to the waist, were lounging in one corner of the
stokehold, and all were smoking cigarettes made from cut plug and tissue
paper. Their attention was on a fourth Russian, who was watching the
steam gauge above the central boiler.
Stirling widened the door by a steady pull with his fingers, and stared
beyond the Russian to where an opening showed in the bulkhead. This
opening marked the way to the engine room and the after part of the
ship.
Bunker doors and slides showed to port and starboard, and the coal lay
piled where the passers had shovelled it. A Russian tossed away his
cigarette, seized a scoop shovel, and stepped to the after door of the
forward furnace. The glare which filled the stokehold as he opened the
door gave Stirling an opportunity.
Risking all on the venture, he flung wide the bulkhead door which led
from the lazaret and dashed across the scattered coal, reaching the
opening to a spare bunker on the starboard side of the hold before he
was discovered. Then a Russian shouted a warning, and the chief of the
stokehold crew swung from the furnaces and stared through the half
light.
Stirling brushed aside the lunging form of a revolutionist, and struck a
second Russian a swinging blow beneath the ear. Plunging on, he gained
the door which led to the engine room as a slice bar was hurled in his
direction.
He wheeled at the door and braced himself. The Russian he had struck was
slowly rising from the iron plate before the spare bunker, and a form
swung from the reflection of light which streamed out of an ash box and
lunged forward. Stirling called a warning as he bent, twisted, and
worked his way through the bulkhead door until he reached the alleyway
which led to the engine room.
Flashing crank shafts and the polished glow of metal blinded him. Men
were on the gratings and halfway up the ladder which led to the deck
companion. Stirling dodged around the first and second intermediate
cylinders, rested a hand on the huge low-pressure cylinder; then he
dropped to one knee, squirmed beneath the tail shaft, and started
crawling down the shaft alley.
The Russians had been too startled to prevent this manoeuvre, but now
they came aft with torches and pinch bars. The glow from the overhead
sun which streamed through the deck light brought out the details of the
shaft alley as far aft as the second coupling. Behind this was a narrow
pit compressed on each side by heavy planking and sloping at the bottom
into the fan-shaped overhang of the _Pole Star's_ stern.
Stirling worked his way aft to the thrust bearings, which were three in
number. Here the pit was dark and damp, and he turned and glanced
forward. The faint light which marked the outlines of the shaft alley
grew stronger as he waited.
A burly form moved within the gloom, then another man joined the first
Russian. Hammer blows sounded, and the light vanished as if a shade had
been drawn. Stirling, with every sense alert, guessed the reason for the
darkness. The revolutionists in the engine room had brought aft a number
of sheets of boiler plate, and these they had erected about the tail
shaft where it entered the engine room.
A grim smile creased Stirling's lips as he waited. The way now was
barred by three-eighth-inch iron; he was a prisoner in the pit.