The leader thrust out his hands, and at that moment the ship struck a sunken ledge of ice. The bow sheered, and cries came from forward.
"Steady!" Stirling shouted into the wheelsman's ear. "Hold her steady, you, until I see!"
He leaped the planks and sprang down to the waist. He was up the weather shrouds and into the crow's-nest with the agility of a young boy, and his eyes swept the way ahead. The stretch of ice seemed interminable, since the long spit of sand which marked a portion of Prince of Wales Land had caused the floes to ground, and there seemed no way to the eastward. Stirling turned and stared aft over the stern of the ship. The way by which they had come was now blocked by floes.
"Nipped!" he said between strong white teeth. "We're nipped!"
With the binoculars he swept the entire ice-bound horizon. The sun was rising through the western mist, and appeared a ball of cold fire. The aurora played across the Northern heavens and leaped to the zenith. Through it shone the light points of the high swinging dipper and the overhead lodestar.
Stirling braced himself, pressed the glasses to his eyes for a second glance, then set them down. He leaned over the edge of the crow's-nest and called to the leader, who was at the wheel:
"Give her full speed and starboard the helm!"
The ship gained and churned forward. The jib boom swung off toward a lower shelf of ice, and the crash that followed as the stout sheathing cut through the floes drove the Russians to their knees. The foremast whipped like a willow rod. The girl cried a warning.
"Back her!" shouted Stirling. "Reverse, and try again!"
The manœuvre was repeated. The ice gave way; the Pole Star lunged on and cleared to an open lane. Beyond this lane was still another icy barrier.