reached hungrily for the lowest tier of canvas, missed it, and vanished. From aloft a burning shred of rope stuff fell square on the back of Captain Davenport's neck. He acted with the celerity of one stung by a bee as he reached up and brushed the offending fire from his skin.
"How is she heading, Captain?"
"Nor'west by west."
"Keep her west-nor-west."
Captain Davenport put the wheel up and steadied her.
"West by north, Captain."
"West by north she is."
"And now west."
Slowly, point by point, as she entered the lagoon, the Pyrenees described the circle that put her before the wind; and point by point, with all the calm certitude of a thousand years of time to spare, McCoy chanted the changing course.
"Another point, Captain."
"A point it is."
Captain Davenport whirled several
