[Gutenberg 35518] • The Ice Pilot

Excerpt: ...brass racks for luggage and dunnage, and on the opposite wall a washbowl and towel rack could be folded into a seat. Pictures were strewed about, which were all marines painted by a decorator of merit. Stirling glanced from one to the other. Tropic scenes brought to mind the incongruity of their latitude-the Pole Star was hustling from the equator as fast as steam could drive her. Her last course was toward the barren land of Siberia and the upper headland of the Gulf of Anadir. It was terra incognita to most seamen and all save a few whale-ships or traders. Stirling examined the lock of his door. It was far stronger than the one in the galley cabin, and had been set within the wood and mortised so that only a small, flat keyhole showed. He bent his head and listened. A step had glided along the alleyway. It was repeated in shuffling motion, going from starboard to port and back again across the ship. Whitehouse had left a seaman on guard. Stirling stood erect and squared his shoulders, towering almost to the dunnage-racks over the white bunk. His eyes hardened as he glanced from the green-filled porthole to the door and back. The cabin was a secure prison, as Marr had said. It would require considerable ingenuity to escape from it. The sentry on guard was sure to be armed with one of the sealing rifles; he would be changed each watch. The ship hurtled onward toward the Siberian coast. The screw thrashed astern, bit deeply into the waves, and thrashed again-each time the foam boiled astern the ship trembled and racked. Bells clanged; shouts sounded; running feet were overhead; blocks creaked; the wind freshened and called for more canvas. The menace astern crept up to a four-mile range. A gun boomed across the wild waste of Northern waters. A shot fell to windward; another followed. Then, and slowly, the grip of the pursuer was shaken off. Superspeed, a fair wind, and a straining stokehold crew, made the slight difference. Stirling frowned as he...