Helen Marr glided to the canvas rail that overlooked the waist of the
_Pole Star_, brushed the hair from her face, and wrung the water from
her mittens.
Then she turned to Stirling with a high toss of her chin. "Are you going
across?" she asked.
"To Greenland, miss."
"But why not south and--home?"
Stirling moved the wheel a spoke and blocked it with his knee, pointing
toward the shores of Baffin Land.
The girl cried aloud as she saw the reason for the Ice Pilot's course.
Ice backed by more ice was rushing northward; winter had arrived, and
new floes and bergs were forming in the west. There was no route to the
southward, and the ship held the only open lane.
"Greenland," she said with hesitancy. "But Greenland is as wild as that
coast." She pointed over the _Pole Star's_ quarter.
Stirling smiled and removed his knee from the wheel. He changed the
course more to the true north, and the ship plunged on as Slim and the
Russians realized that they had escaped from the white jaws of an icy
death.
"Greenland," said Stirling, "is Heaven compared to Baffin Land. You
shall see."
The girl hesitated and glanced at Stirling, who was consulting the
binnacle, reaching an arm through the spokes of the wheel and wiping the
glass with his bare fingers. A tiny light showed over the compass as the
wheel moved with a slow lifting of the starboard rope.
The ship steadied, a halo of smoke and flame crowning the single funnel.
Slim, the Frisco dock rat, was redeeming himself, and his voice rolled
up through the ventilators as he urged the Russians in the stokehold to
renewed efforts.
Stirling partly turned his face and watched the girl, who soon was gone
over the quarter-deck with a faint nod backward. The closing companion
slide told Stirling that she had been slightly offended by his
preoccupied manner, and wondered at this as he stared with unseeing eyes
out over the waters of Baffin Bay.
Hour after hour he guided the ship, a lone figure wrapped in thought and
retrospection. He knew nothing of women; he felt that Helen Marr was as
remote as the stars above him, and he had grown to look upon her as a
companion--that was all. He feared to trust his mind to go more deeply
into the matter.
The course he had chosen revealed the hand of a super-pilot. The
grinding floes to leeward were blown by the wind in such a manner as to
leave an open lane between them and the pack which was rushing to fill
the Bay. The last days of the open season had arrived; a week, at the
most, would see the water frozen over and cemented into an icy lock
which would hold until the next July.
There was a limit to his endurance--strong man as he was. A swerve of
the ship--the running off a full point--brought the truth home to him
that he had been asleep. He woke and gathered himself together with a
shrug of his shoulders, only soon to doze again. The ship went off the
course, crashed against a drifting floe, and a Russian called a warning
from the forepeak.
Stirling stiffened and twirled the spokes in time to avoid an ice island
of an acre's extent. He stared upward, as if in the heavens would be
found inspiration, and the haze of sky and snow and whirling sleet
allowed the faint light of the sun to penetrate its veil. He calculated
the sun's position, and drew out his watch, remembering the drift of the
currents in Baffin Bay. It might be necessary to take a lunar or solar
observation before he reached the Greenland shore, which was more than a
day's steaming to the eastward.
Grimly Stirling blocked the wheel, replaced his watch, rose on tiptoes,
and called the Russian from the forepeak. Fortunately, this lookout had
some slight knowledge of steering. He climbed the steps on the leeward
side and touched his cap.
Stirling pointed at the binnacle. "Keep that course," he said. "Do you
understand?"
The Russian grinned and grasped the spokes of the wheel. Stirling
stepped back a foot or more and watched the jib boom of the ship as it
hung steady above the dark waters, then staggered toward the cabin
companion. Down this he went, paused irresolutely in the light which
streamed from the deck cluster, then pitched across a divan which was
between two closed portholes, and sank into the deepest slumber of his
life.
He awoke as if his sleep had been but a moment. Every limb ached. He
glanced upward and saw Helen Marr standing over him, her expression
intent and compassionate. She opened her lips, but did not speak, and
her eyes travelled over Stirling's features, then swung toward the
table. A steaming pot of coffee stood there, and beside it were biscuits
and potted beef.
Stirling staggered to his feet and felt around with his hands. His coat
had been removed while he slept; a pillow lay where his head had been,
and the divan was partly covered with a Navaho blanket.
He realized that she had covered him up, and he appreciated, too, her
thoughtful attention in keeping warm the coffee.
Stirling stepped to the table and turned. "Thank you," he said.
She smiled with comradeship and came across the cabin. "I've been on
deck," said she, pointing toward the cabin companion. "The sun is on the
ice, and the Russian is still holding the course you gave him."
Stirling looked at his pocket; he had slept thirteen hours. Soon he
began to eat, now and then glancing at the girl by his side. He finished
without words and entered Marr's cabin. When he emerged, ten minutes
later, his chin was clean shaven and his hair parted.
He crammed some tobacco into a cord-wrapped pipe, found his cap and
coat, and turned toward her as he placed one foot on the steps leading
to the cabin companion. "Are you coming up?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?"
Stirling smiled. "You're my first mate," he said. "You and I shall
finish the passage to Greenland. We should reach Upernivik by midnight."
"Is that a port?" Her voice had taken on new strength as she watched
him.
"Yes," he answered. "About the only place we can safely winter. Are you
sorry I didn't try for Davis Strait and the North Atlantic?"
"You knew best," she declared, turning away from his level glance. "I
shall be on deck in ten minutes," she added, softly.
Stirling thrust his head and shoulders above the cabin companion and
studied the scene on the deck. The Russian drowsed at the wheel, with
his body leaning over the spokes; the funnel was still mantled with a
rolling cloud of smoke; two of the revolutionists stood forward by the
break of the forecastle peak, keeping watch.
Crossing the icy planks, Stirling touched the Russian on the shoulder
and motioned for him to go forward and get some sleep. Stirling's smile
was so contagious that the Russian thrust out his hand impulsively, and
Stirling grasped it with fervour.
He looked at the binnacle and then swept the sea, his eyes widening in
calculation. The lane of open water stretched east and west across
Baffin Bay. South, by the glint on the horizon haze, ice was gathered
for the closing in of winter. Northward, bergs and floes showed,
marshalled in squadrons and companies like soldiers preparing for a
charge. The sky, seen through the falling snow, was leaden.
With some slight trepidation, Stirling awaited the coming of Helen Marr.
She had acted strangely of late. They were to be thrown together during
the ten months of winter at Upernivik; there would be no possible escape
to a more civilized community.
Slim, the Frisco dock rat, appeared at the railing of the engine-room
companion. He emerged to the deck and walked aft, his face grimy. Up the
quarter-deck steps he came--on the leeward side, out of deference to
Stirling.
Slim glanced forward, and swung his head as he reached the wheel.
"Thought I'd sort of apologize," he said, thrusting out his hand. "I'm
with you all the way now for what you did."
Stirling released his hand from the spokes and clasped the dock rat's
fingers. "Keep up steam the way you have and I've no kick coming," said
the Ice Pilot. "We should reach winter quarters by midnight."
Slim went forward and disappeared down the engine-room companion. The
Russians on the forecastle head, who had seen the attitude of the two
men, raised their arms and waved, then turned to faithful duty as
lookouts. Peace had settled on the former poacher.
Stirling studied the back of one of these Russians as he waited for
Helen Marr to appear. Ivan, he was called. It was Ivan, of the Russians
from the province of the Don Cossacks, who had stood the long trick
while Stirling slept. The Ice Pilot made a note of this.