Late in the sealing season of that same year the good ship Artemis, a stout, steel-sheathed ice hunter, a unit of the modern fleet that have long ago displaced the wooden schooners that once in hundreds followed the seal herds, was steaming north to finish up shooting old harps in the swatches, having lost a number of her pans in bad weather farther south. Seals were scarce on the west side, and the wireless had warned the skipper that a patch of old seals was passing eastward through the Straits. Cape Bauld Light had been sighted, and so also had the new light on Belle Isle. The barrelmen were eagerly scanning the ice for any signs of the expected herd.
"Something black on the ice on the port bow!" shouted the man from the foretop.
"Where away?" answered the master of the bridge.
"About four points to the northwest."
"Hard astarboard!" from the bridge.
"Starboard hard!" from the wheel, and the big ship wheeled a course direct for the Red Island Shoals.
"Steady!" from the bridge.
"Steady it is!" And the Artemis wheeled a little more, and leaving the shoals on her right, steamed towards the object that had attracted the attention of the watch. The bridge master, viewing it through his glasses, suddenly stopped short, fixing his gaze on the spot with far more than his wonted intensity.
"What is it, John?" he said to the watchman. "Seems queer to me. It's no seal, I'll swear."
John took the glasses, and, putting them to his eyes, made out at once what the object was.