Suddenly Stirling stiffened and rapidly twirled the wheel, leaned far over the spokes, and watched the waters ahead of the Pole Star. A rift showed through the floes, and toward this he steered. The last of the reaching ice sprang landward, leaped the distance, and drove its teeth toward the ship. It missed by a scant cable's length, and the crash and reverberation as this ice was dashed upon the shore woke Helen Marr from her prayers. She staggered to her feet, and stood swaying on the slippery deck. Stirling had swung and was staring at her, his strong face covered with a broad smile.
He turned the spokes by instinct as he continued to look at her. "Look," he said, pointing a steady finger aft. "Look, Miss Marr!"
She wheeled and looked over the taffrail of the Pole Star. Ice, piled upon ice, blocked the passage through which they had come. The roar of the great North pack was like a baffled horde held at bay. The ship plunged on and out into open water.
"Where are we?" she asked, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Where are we, Mr. Stirling?"
The Ice Pilot smiled, swung, steadied the wheel, and motioned over the wild world of tossing waves. "That's Baffin Bay!" he said. "We have made the Northeast Passage!"
[CHAPTER XXXVI—ACROSS THE CABIN]
Helen Marr glided to the canvas rail that overlooked the waist of the Pole Star, brushed the hair from her face, and wrung the water from her mittens.
Then she turned to Stirling with a high toss of her chin. "Are you going across?" she asked.
"To Greenland, miss."
"But why not south and—home?"