Stirling nodded. "I know that," he said with positive tones. "The reason is not hard to find. There's bergs where there's glaciers. There's any number of big fellows on the lower Alaskan coast. These bergs melt in the warm Japan Current. The harbour of Unalaska and the strait at Dutch Pass never freezes. That's on account of the same current."
"But the Arctic bergs, Stirling?"
"There's very few in the western Arctic. There's no glaciers along the Northern coast of Alaska and Canada. There's a few on the Siberian coast. The land is all low. The big floes—some of them a century old—resemble small bergs. That's the reason for the mistake made by Northern travellers."
Stirling turned and tapped his pipe against the rail then pocketed it and glanced aft. There was no sign on the poop of any watcher save the wheelsman, whose eyes were glued ahead.
Cushner yawned. "It's Whitehouse's watch," he said. "I'm going to turn in. Good-night!"
Stirling followed the second mate into the galley cabin, and climbed into his bunk with a tired glance at the compass point. The Pole Star was headed on the same course as given when they left the Japanese sealer. The wind had veered and now swung from over the Aleutian Islands—fifty miles to the northward. It was slightly tempered with ice. Stirling closed his porthole and rolled over to sleep.
He was awakened at midnight, and the change in the watch, by Cushner. The second mate held a cautious finger over his mouth as he finished shaking Stirling's shoulder.
"Come on deck," the Yankee whispered. "Put on some clothes and hurry. I got to relieve Whitehouse."
Stirling rolled from his bunk, stood swaying on the deck, and drew on part of his clothes. He finished by buttoning a great sea coat about his sturdy form and clapping a cap down over his ears. Already the temperature had fallen to a marked degree. He emerged to the waist of the whaler and stood breathing great gulps of Arctic-tinged air which sent the wine of living through his veins. He felt more of a man than he had since his last venture in the Bering.
Cushner touched his elbow. "Come forward," the mate said, softly. "Get under the lee of the deck house and then the foresail. Don't make any noise."