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.
The wheel was changed. The ship sheered, missed a heavy-floe formation, and entered a lane of drift ice.
"Steady!" shouted Stirling, feeling the wine of the game. "Hold her steady, there!"
He smiled despite the danger, for the act of giving commands and finding them obeyed showed that the Russians were new to ice work. They would most certainly wreck the ship and drown all on board. The century-old floes through which they glided had been detached from the polar pack, but once past these, a course held for the America shore would bring safety.
The Bear had not been as fortunate as the poacher. The ice between the Diomedes and Cape Prince of Wales was almost impassable, and the lieutenant in charge of the revenue cutter decided to take no chances. He reduced speed and struck for the Alaskan coast, since it was evident that this course would again intercept the poacher. Their place of meeting would be off Kotzebue Sound.
Stirling forgot the massacre aboard the Pole Star. He never had sided with the former crew; and the revolutionists, with their ignorance of the ice, were less to be feared. They had seized a ship, were running amuck, but at least had the virtue of motion. Their end might come in a score of ways, and it was to Stirling's interest to see that the ship remained afloat. There were the girl and Marr and the Frisco dock rat to consider.
Stirling's blood tingled at the excitement of the game; he breathed the refreshing air and raised his square shoulders. Open water and whale slick showed ahead, and beyond this the eastern horizon and the gray shadow of land. They were now plunging north by the compass, with a slight inclination toward the east. The course, he figured, should read northeast by north.
Lulled by the swaying and throbbing of the ship, he sensed a progression of true adventure. He had come North to whale. The whaling voyage had turned into an illicit sealing expedition. Now the revolutionists closely followed by the Bear, held the deck.
The low Arctic sun swung closer to the horizon. Within the purple haze astern came flashes of crimson light which died to lavender, and the lavender into velvet dusk. Night was falling upon the wild sea. It was well past ten o'clock. The revolutionists, busy at the fires and the gin, gave scant attention to the ship's bells.
Stirling dozed with his head against the rim of the crow's-nest, woke at odd times, and yawned. Sleep had overcome his stout frame. He peered down at the deck, saw that it was almost deserted, then lowered himself into the bottom of the nest and rested his chin on his drawn-up knees. Here he slumbered through the night.