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 sextant. 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 shaggy 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 shore.
[CHAPTER XXIV—BEFORE THE WHEEL]
Marvelling at the turn of events, Stirling groped about the crow's-nest and found his twelve-diameter glasses, 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 passed 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.