"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 passed 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 passage 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.