Stirling turned and lifted the glasses. "She’s breaking," he called. "I see a few lanes to the east. This wind will clear things in a day or two. We can go then!"
Marr paced the deck, bringing up against the rail on the ice side of the ship. "We’ll go now!" he shouted. "Right now, if there’s any possible route open. I want to be at Indian Point within the week. Can you do it?"
"A blow!" called a foremast hand from the forepeak. "A blow! There she blows!"
Stirling turned and darted his eyes out over the sea to leeward. He squinted slightly and saw the white vapour of a huge whale’s spout. He closed his lips and shaded his brow. Another blow showed to windward of the first. A school of bowheads was approaching an open lane to the north and the Arctic.
"Stand by the boats!" shouted Stirling, eagerly. "Call both watches and stand by!"
Marr stiffened in his position close by the rail, turned, and glided forward until he stood at the weather steps which led to the waist of the ship. He darted a savage glance out over the sea then fastened his eyes upon Stirling. "Countermand that order!" he shouted.
Stirling stared over the edge of the crow’s-nest. "What’s that?" he asked. "Don’t you know there’s whales to leeward? They’re making for the ice. There’s a——"
"I don’t give a darn if there’s a million whales. I told you what to do. Do it! I’m captain of this ship!"
Marr reached and snatched up a brass belaying pin from the pinrail. He leaned forward after grasping the step rail with his left hand, and brandished the weapon out over the waist of the ship in the direction of the cry. "’Vast that!" he snarled. "’Vast with you! There’s no need of yelling your lungs out! This ship is going into the ice. D’ye get me?"
Stirling climbed over the edge of the crow’s-nest and reached for a line. He dropped to the deck like a plummet, strode aft and mounted the poop, where Marr stood with the pin in his hand.
The hastily dressed crew had rushed aft and were gathered in the waist as Stirling thrust his jaw forward and locked glances with the little skipper. An explosion was brooding; the foremast hand, who had whaled for ten years, kept repeating, "A blow! A blow!"
"What d’ye mean?" snapped Marr. "What d’ye mean by coming up here without orders?"