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Now it is one thing to sail like the Flying Dutchman with the sun

up and one's eyes to use, but it is another to career through the

night without taking in a stitch of canvas, trusting to luck and

the Providence that watches over fishermen that the compass is

good and that no blundering coasters will get in the way.

When dawn broke wild and dirty, the Charming Lass was reeling

through the water less than a quarter of a mile astern of the

Rosan and the Herring Bone. Through the murk Code could see the

_Nettie B._ three miles ahead.

An hour and she had drawn abreast of her two rivals; another hour

and she had left them astern. Day had fully broken now, and Code,

grinning over his shoulder at the defeated schooners, gave a cry

of surprise. For no longer were there two only. Another, plunging

through the mist, had come into view; far back she was, but

carrying a spread of canvas that gave indications enough of her

speed.