"Thundering little! He's a Baffin Bay man, so he says. There's a lot of difference between the Bay and the Bering."
"Considerable! It's a question of currents, here. The pack is farther south than I ever saw it at this time of the year. That means an open season when it breaks. What do you make of the weather?"
The second mate glanced at the telltale on the cap of the mizzenmast. "Good," he said. "Wind's swinging to th' south'ard."
"That means a thaw, Sam."
"The ice is soft on top. See the water holes?"
Stirling nodded then turned and stared over the broken surface where the crew was moving. "There's hair seals aplenty," he said. "Too bad, Sam, them ain't fur seals. Maybe Marr would be satisfied to stay right here."
Cushner widened his eyes. "Still thinking of a raid?" he inquired, shrewdly.
"That, and other things. Look to the south'ard. Did you ever see better whaling ground? There's slick aplenty. My, how I'd like to lower for a bowhead! They're all along this ice."
"Nobody's raised any spouts, yet."
"They're there! They can't get north. The barrier holds them. It was just like this when we caught three big bowheads from the Mary Foster. Lowered four boats and fastened to three whales. That was a great day!"