"Going to see all of them and talk to them. I'm going to make myself understood in some way. Don't you see, Mr. Stirling, the matter is serious? If they go, there will be n.o.body but you and me to work the ship when the wind shifts. We couldn't do it alone."

"Well, it's worth trying," said Stirling. "I'll stand on the quarter-deck at the weather steps, and you go down to them. Try Slim first. The leader won't stay, but some of the younger Russians might."

The girl pressed a cap upon her head, gathered her hair into a knot, and ran up the stairs which led to the deck. Stirling picked up a rifle before he followed her. They stood in the frosty air and glanced forward. The Russians had lowered the sled and provisions to an ice floe which had grounded alongside the ship. More ice extended from the floe to the sh.o.r.e, and three of the revolutionists had already made the pa.s.sage. They stood on the beach waving their arms.

The girl went down the quarter-deck steps and glided forward over the main hatch. She touched Slim on the arm, and the dock rat followed her forward to where the revolutionists were breaking out stores from the hold.

Stirling watched and waited. The Russians took time to listen to the girl's request, but most of them stared at each other dumbly. She pointed to the telltale on the mizzenmast, her arm swinging in a graceful circle and indicating that the wind would change. She finished her argument by springing to the weather rail and showing where the ice had cleared from the ship's side.

The magic of her voice and soft presence had its influence upon the Russians, and they gathered and surged, and separated into groups.

Seven, after a shrewd glance toward the barren sh.o.r.e, moved with Slim to the galley where the leader had stationed himself. These seven raised their arms and turned toward Stirling.

"Come up!" shouted the Ice Pilot, gesturing to help make clear the meaning of the words.

Fear had gripped the hearts of every Russian aboard the _Pole Star_; the unknown sea and the frost which nipped to the bone had driven a panic within their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The leader had stated that it was possible to reach a Hudson Bay fort before the setting in of winter, and had added that the sea would soon be frozen and the ship crushed.

They believed this to be the case, and the seven which Helen Marr had persuaded to remain were in danger from their fellows. Mutiny might spread. The leader quickly shouted an order, and the boxes and cans were hurled overboard to the ice floe, the Russians following in a long line.

They stood and glanced upward, their mouths agape, their whiskered faces white with h.o.a.rfrost.

"Good-bye!" shouted Stirling, waving the rifle. "Good-bye to you all!"

The leader snarled an answer and set about getting the load onto the sled where there was scant room for one half of the boxes and cans thrown overside. The remainder was left as the troop started across the floes and straggled to the beach. Here they turned and watched the ship as if loath to give it up.

The girl climbed swiftly to the quarter-deck to Stirling's side.

"Seven stayed," she said, breathlessly. "Seven, and the man from San Francisco. Didn't I do well?"

Stirling smiled down upon her and touched his cap. "Yes, little captain," he said, gallantly. "You did fine! Tell Slim and four of the squad-I guess you can make the Russians understand-to jump below and get steam on in the boilers. Tell the men to bank the fires when they get well started."

The girl touched her forehead with a regulation salute as she turned and smiled upward from the waist of the ship, then advanced upon the dock rat and the Russians by the galley door. The Russians understood her gestures if not her words, and Slim frowned and scratched his matted head, glancing from Russian to Russian. They had accepted him as their leader without question, but their sheeplike eyes strayed aft and fastened upon the grim figure of Stirling.

Four followed the sailor to the engine-room companion and went down the iron ladder. Soon sounds of fires being freshened by new coal came through the ventilators, and the ship surged and shook as if freeing itself.

Stirling motioned for the three Russians who remained by the galley, and they followed the girl to the waist of the ship. He leaned over the quarter-deck canvas and stared at them.

The girl climbed the steps and stood by his side. He shielded her with his body as they waited while the sun glided within the horizon haze. A frosty nip came with its disappearance, and the lines about Stirling's lips softened slightly. He turned from the girl and strode to the rail on the landward side of the ship, where she joined him, and they watched the Russians streaming in a long line over the snow-mantled island. The leader turned on the brow of an icy hill and waved farewell; then he was gone.

The wind died to a faint breeze which varied during the hours of semi-darkness while Stirling and the girl stood the watch. Ice creaked and splintered to the north and east; the aurora flamed and crimsoned the heavens, with cold light points dying beneath its glow. The moon rose with a double ring, revealing its position in the haze, and the far-off North pack groaned and whispered its grim warning of danger.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV-THROUGH THE DRIVING SNOW

Soon Stirling felt the girl's body close beside him, but she had said no word for hours. The glory of the Arctic night had held her spellbound; the beauty of the North enthralled her. She was in tune with the great wilderness of ice and snow.

Suddenly a soft gust of vapour-laden air swung over the island and pressed the ship toward the true north. This gust was repeated. The _Pole Star_ tugged at her anchor chain, the floes parted to leeward, and a lane of open water showed. This led through the deeper part of Barrow Strait; it was the road to open sea and Baffin Bay.

A Russian forward sang out a warning, leaning over the forepeak rail and pointing toward the anchor chain.

"The wind has veered!" Stirling said, simply.

"From the south?" she asked.

"No; to the south and west, Miss Marr. We will have open water soon.

See!"

Helen Marr moved slowly to the rail and stared with br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes toward the white sheen of Russel Island, then turned impulsively. "Can't we save the Russians?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "They have gone, perhaps to their doom. At least there is nothing that we can do for them. For ourselves, we have chosen the right road. It leads into the open sea!"

It was midnight by the ship's clock in the cabin when Stirling climbed up the companion steps, glanced down at Helen Marr with an a.s.suring nod, then strode out upon the deck and swung four-square to the task ahead of him.

The sun rimmed the world toward the true west, and through the opal haze, its glow brought out the details of the drifting ice which was being driven through Barrow Strait by the south wind.

Stirling made a note of this drift, and then moved toward the rail on the lee side of the ship. The lane of open water, which showed black against the floes and new ice, led toward the east and Melville Sound.

He measured the drift of a pa.s.sing ice island, sniffed the air, raised his hand, then turned slowly and glided toward the wheel. Leaning over the canvas barricade he called down to the waist of the ship, and a form stirred in the galley's shadow. It was Slim.

"Get below!" snapped Stirling. "Get steam on the forward winch. We're going through the ice!"

This terse order rolled along the ship's deck, and brought the remaining Russians from the warmth of the forecastle. Slim shrugged his shoulders and slouched for the engine-room companion.

Steam soon plumed aft the funnel, when the banked fires were blown into glowing coals. The winch wheezed and groaned as a Russian unskilfully turned on the two-way c.o.c.k. Stirling sprang to the lee steps and dropped to the waist of the ship, going along the rail like a m.u.f.fled bear in search of prey.

"Unshackle it!" he shouted into the Russian's ear. "The winch is too slow. Drive that pin from the anchor chain!"

Stirling pointed to where the chain pa.s.sed through a hawse hole flush with the deck, and the Russian understood. He lifted a belaying pin from the rail and drove out the bolt. The anchor chain dropped overside as Stirling sprang back, glanced forward, then hurried toward the quarter-deck.

Swinging the wheel he reached and jerked the engine-room indicator for quarter speed. The engines started, the screw thrashed the new ice astern, and the _Pole Star_ sheered from the island, driving forward toward the lane of dark water.

The sheathed prow cut sharply as Slim opened wide the main valve and shouted for more steam. The ship listed, righted, and held a course between rail-high floes until Stirling steadied the helm. The way was open down the strait.

Helen Marr came through the cabin companion and stood by the nearest deck light to Stirling, fearing to bother him or to call his name. Her face was flushed with the agony of the moment, as the grinding floes under the ship's counter threatened to rip the planks from the ribs. The swing of Stirling's body as he wrestled with the wheel was a compelling sight, and held her eyes as she waited. She breathed deeply of the Arctic air, and called to Stirling, but he did not hear her. His straining muscles stood out from his neck, and his shoulders lunged and contracted.

The ship plunged on, the funnel belching forth smoke and cinders, which starred the night like fireflies, and then fell hissing into the sea astern. The land on the starboard beam rose to a barrier below which the ice floes curled and eddied.

Stirling smashed through, with his unmittened hands gripping the spokes of the wheel. Ahead showed the silvery glint of the moon. Astern, the sun mellowed the Arctic world. About was death and cold, gripping horror.

It was the pa.s.sage that Franklin in the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had sought in vain, and it was open from sea to sea. Stirling realized this fact as he reached for the engine-room telegraph and set it for full speed.

There was a chance to drive through before the wind shifted from the south, but he was attempting a thing that the world called impossible.

Four bells came with the _Pole Star_ swirled in a white curtain of driving snow which had been born of the south wind. The moon showed as a silver disk directly over the frosted jib boom, and the sun had been blotted from the view.

Helen Marr moved timidly toward the straining form of the Ice Pilot. He felt her presence but did not swerve.

She whispered into his m.u.f.fled ear: "Carry on!"