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But Code spent little time looking back. He gripped the wheel,

set his teeth, and urged the Lass forward after the Nettie with

every faculty of his power. After that terrible night the crew

had lost their fear and worked with enthusiasm.

Some hands were always at the pumps, when they could be worked,

for besides the brine from the fish gathering below, Code feared

the vessel had spewed some oakum and was taking a little water

forward. Now, too, the horrible stench of riled bilge-water

floated over all--compared to which an aged egg is a bouquet of

roses.

At eight o'clock that morning they rounded Cape Sable at the tip

of Nova Scotia, and laid a course a trifle west of north for the

final beat home. There was a hundred miles to go, and Burns still

held his three-mile lead.