"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 brimming 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 assuring 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 passing 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 cock. Stirling sprang to the lee steps and dropped to the waist of the ship, going along the rail like a muffled bear in search of prey.