Swept away into darkness almost immediately, he devoted all his energies to getting rid of the lashing about his arms. First he had to reach the knife, which was no simple task in itself; then, doubling over, gripping it between his feet, he must hack and saw at the line which bound him. The motion of the boat added to the difficulty, since the skiff was rocking against cakes of ice or rolling in sudden surges sent out from the welter of smashing floes and pans. The vast field of ice was now breaking up for good. The whole night was filled with a mighty diapason of the roaring masses, pierced by shriller notes of splitting floes and the occasional booming of an overturned berg. During all this straining time, Crawford’s mind did not dwell particularly upon his own fate, which seemed inevitable enough. By the gradual appearance of freer water around, he knew that the currents were rapidly bearing him offshore, out into the vast inland sea, helpless to steer his craft or to hinder his destiny. Yet in this while, his thoughts reverted to two things--first to the Star Woman, second to that blood-stained paper which he had pressed into Frontin’s hand on parting with his lieutenant. He felt all amazed by Deakin’s words regarding the Star Woman. The man had been indubitably sincere in believing that such a person existed; as he had said, Deakin must have heard of her through the Bay Indians. Iberville had heard of her, also. The very name, taken in conjunction with the emblem which lay on Crawford’s breast, would have been impressive to a superstitious man; Crawford, however, was not superstitious. He was not impressed in the least by Deakin’s ravings, but he was tremendously perplexed by this new recurrence of the Star Woman in his own destiny. “Why not find her, then--why not?” he muttered. “Still, I have more pressing affairs in hand at the present moment, if I am to find anything except a watery grave. Will Frontin understand that paper, I wonder?” The paper in question had been taken from the body of Moses Deakin’s lieutenant. Crawford, in his hasty glance, had caught only the first line of writing, yet it now came back into his mind with redoubled emphasis. The words were simple: “Acct. of Goods to Bee broke out for ye trade att ye Daniche River.” Wherever this Danish river might lie--the name was totally unknown to Crawford--there also must be Deakin’s secret trading rendezvous with the redskins. What a chance! “Ah, free!” he exclaimed, when at last his arms were at liberty and he could chafe his numbed and swollen hands into life. “Now, if I had but a sail and a chart of this bay, I’d still best that hairy devil. Warlock, am I? Ha--a breeze! To work, warlock!”