"Is there any danger?"
"We'll either be nipped within two hours, or we will gain the Northeast Passage. Baffin Bay lies ahead!"
"Then I'll stay on deck!" declared the girl. "I'll stay right by your side!"
Stirling took the wheel and set the course a point more toward the south. He was between the alternative of striking directly toward the swinging arm of ice which was closing the sound like a door, or seeking a narrow passage between the giant field and the forbidding coast near Cape Hay. He chose the latter.
The hour that followed drove the spike of fear into the Russians' hearts. The engine-room crew, led by Slim, left the fires in order to peer through the companion, and were forced back by the menace in Stirling's voice.
The ship met the giant floes, backed, reeled, and drove on, threading through the new ice and gaining open patches of water which closed behind. Bergs drifted down upon them, but Stirling avoided the shelving spires and worked toward the south and east.
Snow flurries blotted out all view; the wind swung from the true west to the north, and held in its grip the icy cold of winter. It struck through the girl's furs and chilled her body, as she walked back and forth along the quarter-deck watching Stirling, who seemed possessed with a Viking's rage at the elements gathered about. His one aim was to guide the ship between the Cape and the ice field. Open water still showed ahead of this narrow passage.
The Pole Star swirled in the current and ran down the wind which was now abeam. A leaden pall crept over the surface of the watery world, and the ice floes ground against the skin of the ship and obstructed the way. Stirling shaded his eyes from the snow and peered forward. The ice had gathered upon the spokes of the wheel, and a sleet drove from aft to forward.
Gripped by the majesty of their danger, the girl watched Stirling and prayed for deliverance. She knew that the reaching arm had overtaken the driving ship. It was a matter of minutes now whether they would gain the waters of Baffin Bay or be crushed between the floes and the rocky headland. A single screw's turn might decide the matter.
The ship staggered and swerved; a crash sounded as the sharp stem mounted a floe. The world seemed to the girl to spin, as Stirling reached downward, grasped the spokes, and lifted the wheel so that the staggering ship could turn from the land. He sheered in the moment of time, and the spars grated along the overhang of basalt.