Stirling counted his cartridges as the baffled Russians swarmed over the p.o.o.p. He could hit a few of them with careful aiming, but he held his fire. There was always the chance that he, too, would be rushed. A squad of determined men could reach the crow's-nest if they ignored the cost to themselves.

The sun's rays brought out all the details of the night's fight. Unreal and ghastly seemed the deck of the ship. Stirling rubbed his eyes and glanced downward, to where the revolutionists had gathered in a knot forward of the galley house. The man who had stood near the hatch was speaking to them; his gestures were strained and dramatic. He pointed aloft.

Faces were turned upward and weapons were raised, but no man started for the rigging. The determined leader called for volunteers. He seemed to realize that the crow's-nest was a dangerous point of vantage and the tiny revolver in Stirling's hand was a potent argument. The Ice Pilot held it out and took aim. The leader ducked beneath the shelter of a splintered whaleboat. The other revolutionists were more stolid; they stared and brandished their weapons.

An hour pa.s.sed with the invaders combing the ship for more gin and stores. Stirling lay back and pressed against the side of the crow's-nest. His eyes closed, but he opened them with a sudden start. It would not do to sleep while the Russians were alert; any minute might find them climbing the rigging.

Sounds floated upward which told that the ship's captors were cleaning up the deck and otherwise making preparations for her departure. They had nailed down the companion hatch which led to the after cabins, and two stood guard there with capstan bars. Others were below in the engine room, where the clang of doors sounded. Scoops grated across the ap.r.o.ns in the stokehold, and shrill calls came up the ventilators.

A smudge of smoke issued from the funnel, curled the masts, and rose straight upward in the Arctic air. Stirling coughed and stiffened himself; he leaned over the edge of the crow's-nest and watched for developments. It was evident that there was an engineer or two among the Russians.

The leader appeared through the engine-room gratings and stood by the handrail. He staggered slightly from the effects of the gin he had drunk, and he turned a weak chin aloft and sneered. His eyes swung downward and swept the harbour's entrance where it closed to a shelving rock about which the _Pole Star_ would have to be steered in order to make for open sea.

The orders he gave were obeyed in listless manner; some of the Russians openly holding back and consulting. Three of them went to the falls of the starboard whaleboat and threw the lines from the cleats. The boat was lowered bow foremost, and almost filled as it struck the sea. A second boat, which had been used to bring the horde from the sh.o.r.e, rounded the _Pole Star's_ bow and was rowed alongside. The two boats, with the leader in the stern of the one which had been lowered, glided across the harbour and disappeared around the wall of rock.

Stirling wondered at this manuvre, but had not long to wait. The leader's boat returned soon and the Russians crowded to the rail. Their leader came up a dangling falls and pointed toward the entrance, then gave a series of orders. The anchor chain was cleared of wreckage and steam plumed from a leak in the capstan engine. The clank of chain coming through the hawse was followed by the slow turning of the screw.

A roar greeted this sign of departure, and was thrown back by the rocky walls.

Putting down the wheel, a Russian marine acted as pilot in a slovenly manner. The ship grazed the sh.o.r.e, sc.r.a.ped over a ledge of rocks, and swung too far for the entrance. It was backed by a quick reversal of the engines. A second try was more successful. The taper jib boom pointed down the narrow strait and sheered in time to meet the first rollers of the Gulf of Anadir.

Stirling was openly astonished at the ability shown by the Russians, in building steam in the boilers. One of their number understood engines and bells; he had even turned the globe valve which led to the capstan cylinder. This revealed that there were men in Siberia who had missed their calling.

The ship met the long-running rollers, swung a point toward the east, as near as Stirling could determine from the position of the sun, and drove on swiftly.

A cape jutted out into the Gulf of Anadir, and toward this headland the leader pointed as the speed increased and the propeller thrashed astern.

Stirling shaded his eyes from the sun's glint and studied the cape. He saw the reason for the change of course. A wreck lay athwart two fanglike rocks over which surf beat. The skeleton of a giant ship marked how the revolutionists had been cast away.

The _Pole Star_ neared this wreck and reversed her screw. The leader sprang to the forepeak and called a loud order. A whaleboat was lowered, and ten minutes later the Russians returned from the wreck with a chronometer and a s.e.xtant. These had been denied them when Marr had barricaded the cabin of the poacher.

Stirling felt the lack of sleep creep over his tired, aching muscles. He shook himself like a s.h.a.ggy dog and forced his brain to remain awake.

The creaking of the fall blocks, the clang of an engine-room bell, the throbbing of the propeller-all were so shiplike and real that he had difficulty in believing the ship was captured, pillaged, and now off for a new venture in Northern waters.

He widened his tired eyes and allowed them to stray over the deck which lay like a pointed seed below him. The Russians went about their duties with newborn vim and determination, as the leader stood at the canvas rail which overlooked the waist and called his orders. The lower sails were set to a western breeze. Under the influence of these and the steam, the _Pole Star_ rapidly threw the dark coast of Siberia over her stern and drove for the Strait of Bering and the American sh.o.r.e.

CHAPTER XXIV-BEFORE THE WHEEL

Marvelling at the turn of events, Stirling groped about the crow's-nest and found his twelve-diameter gla.s.ses, which had been used in whale hunting. He turned their screw, adjusted the focus for his eyes, and swept the open Gulf of Anadir and the Bering beyond the jib boom. No sign of ship or sail showed. Ice was here and there in dotted specks, drifting with the great North current which would reverse its direction and flow back to the Arctic before the month was old.

Noon pa.s.sed with the _Pole Star_ changing its course degree by degree.

Stirling dozed in an erect position. Each time he awoke it was with a guilty start. There was grave danger that some of the Russians would mount the shrouds, since they had already been along the yards. The canvas they had set billowed before the breeze and blotted out a full view of the deck.

Stirling thought of the girl who must be with the skipper and the Frisco dock rat. It was evident that Marr had received a crushing blow from the rock hurled by the Russian; the little skipper's face had been white and drawn as he barricaded the hatchway.

Stirling dwelt on thoughts of the girl in a dazed manner. He realized that the situation called for every ounce of his energies, yet he would have given a year of life for a nap in security.

Afternoon and six bells, which a Russian struck forward, brought sight of the open sea rimmed by a dark line to southward which marked the island of St. Lawrence. Stirling raised his gla.s.ses and swept the horizon to the north and east. He was on the point of lowering them from his eyes when a speck stood out with tiny distinctness. He focused for this speck, and pieced together detail by detail, with splendid sight.

He smiled slightly as he dropped his hands to his sides and glanced down at the deck. The revenue cutter _Bear_ had already sighted the _Pole Star_. She was bearing to the north so as to head off the ship. There seemed no escape, for the land on either coast ran into a funnel whose snout was the Bering Strait.

"Saved!" exclaimed Stirling. "I'm saved and she's saved. I think we are saved-the girl and I. But Heaven help the others on this unfortunate ship."

Sincerely hoping for capture, Stirling prayed silently, raising the gla.s.ses for a second sweep of the sea to the north and east. The speck had grown into a trailing pencil of smoke which lay athwart the slaty sky.

Glancing over the crow's-nest, Stirling watched the Russian leader on the p.o.o.p. He saw a chart being unrolled like a huge rug, and two Russians followed a pointing finger. The leader rose from a crouched position and started to give an order to the wheelsman, then this order died in his throat. A cry rolled along the ship, and was repeated in guttural accents. The revolutionists gathered on the forepeak had discovered the smoke over the starboard rail, and pointed and muttered as they realized its import.

A bell clanged as the leader reached for the engine-room telegraph and set it for full speed. Seamen of doubtful ability swarmed aloft and started unfurling the upper canvas; three reached the fore-topgallant yard and went out on the footrope with clumsy feet.

They were so near to Stirling he could have shot them from the spars.

The _Pole Star_ canted and drove north along the meridian line, its course parallel to that of the fast-coming _Bear_.

The hour that followed was filled with mingled hopes and fears. The revenue cutter had been rated a speedy ship by whalers who knew it, but it was two knots slower than the _Pole Star_. This fact came home to Stirling with the force of a blow. The canvas which the Russians set had aided in the long running. The _Bear_ was not closing the gap to any extent, but held doggedly on.

Stirling studied the distance, saw that it was a losing game, then reached in his pocket for the revolver. He could hit the wheelsman, who was standing on the p.o.o.p, and this would cause the ship to sheer. He took slow aim. The shot he fired missed the wheelsman's head by inches; the second shot splintered a spoke; the third caught the wheelsman in the left shoulder. He released his hold and cried a warning.

The crew swarmed up the p.o.o.p steps, glared toward the crow's-nest, and set about building a barricade before the wheel. This was done as Stirling ceased his firing; their number was too great to accomplish anything of lasting moment. The cartridges in the tiny gun were running low, and the bullets were of too small a calibre to slay save when they struck a vital spot.

A second idea came to him as he pocketed the gun. Reaching downward he searched for a knife, which should have been in the binocular case of the crow's-nest. With it he could cut the lines leading to all the sails on the foremast, which ran by the crow's-nest and up the topmast. The knife was missing!

"I'm beat!" he said. "The _Bear_ will never catch us!"

CHAPTER XXV-IN THE GRIP OF THE UNKNOWN

The _Bear_ had one fact in its favour: the two ships were driving for the Bering Strait. The Strait was less than forty miles from headland to headland, and between the two capes lay the Diomede Islands. It was possible that the _Bear_ would head off the _Pole Star_ before reaching the Arctic Ocean.

Stirling studied the situation with scant hope. The Russians, urged to desperation, had succeeded in getting every turn that was possible from the screw. Steam plumed in the pipe aft of the funnel; the ship throbbed and racked; the clang of doors and the lurid light which streamed from the engine-room companion and the open hatches told of frantic work by the leader who had a firm grip on the revolutionists.

The Diomede Islands rose out of the sea and stood with their rocky walls black against the sun. Far-off Cape Prince of Wales seemed a cloud bank of sombre aspect. Stirling climbed to the top of the crow's-nest and studied the picture. The fast-flying _Bear_ had held her own. The distance between the two ships was not more than eight miles; this, however, was beyond range of the _Bear's_ guns.

"A stern chase," he said, with a glance at the horizon ahead. "We'll make the Arctic."

The _Pole Star_ crashed through light floe ice and sheered abeam of the Diomedes. She headed almost west by the compa.s.s, which course would bring her in sight of Herald Island and Wrangel Land.

Heavier ice fields loomed ahead, and Stirling watched them with concern.

The Russian wheelsman peered over the barricade and took his orders from the leader; the ship ported and starboarded, then steadied with clumsy steering. The crash of ancient floes against her stem, and the grating as the ice slipped alongside, caused the revolutionists to cry aloud.

They swarmed over the forepeak and pointed excitedly.

Stirling glanced aft. The _Bear_ had not been so fortunate in choosing a pa.s.sage through the ice, and had dropped back in the chase. He acted with sudden inspiration.

Leaning over the edge of the crow's-nest he cried: "Make for the open sea, you fools! Starboard three points! If you don't we'll all be crushed!"

The leader blinked upward and widened his small eyes. He was a gross man in a uniform of furs and sealskin boots stolen from the _Pole Star's_ slop-chest. He turned to the wheelman after a quick squint toward the ice ahead.