ned: in a few minutes its crew came back and
reported that the rocks were not more than two hundred yards away. So
we backed off, and steamed hard in the opposite direction. But only an
hour or so later,--pulled steadily on and on toward the shore, by the
strong, insetting tide,--we saw the grey edge of the fog lifting like
a table-cloth, and there were those cruel rocks again, dragons in a
lair, waiting to receive us, crush our bones and drink our blood.
Again we backed away--and before long the fierce jangle of the bell in
the engine room and the captain's sharp accent of command from the
bridge once more halted us suddenly. There, directly before our prow,
was a great white wall of ice, which had taken almost the color of the
mist. It was an iceberg that barred our path, and if we had been
speeding like the _Titanic_ instead of creeping like a snail, it would
doubtless have been the end of the _Invermore_. Only one more tragedy
of a missing ship.

At four in the afternoon, when the great rock bastion of Belle Isle
loomed across our bows, we gave up for the night: and next morning,
between seven and eight, no fewer than eight enormous icebergs
crossed our bows in a glittering processional.

But to-day, mid-stream, there was no fog, and despite the roughness of
the water the cool air and clear sunlight were cause for rejoicing.
"Isn't it fun to live?" exclaimed the Doctor, as he swung the wheel;
and the _Strathcona_, feeling her master's hand, trembled and obeyed.

Fritz, out yonder on the prow, was staring toward the bleak Labrador
coast. Was he thinking of dogs to fight, and fish to eat, and a snooze
on the beach, after the run was over and the anchor was down? No--he
was looking at something near at hand--and his ears were even quicker
than ours to catch over the voice of waves or wind the cry of men in a
power-boat off the starboard bow.

There were three of them. Two of them held up the third man, whose
bare head flopped over on his chest. The collar of his overcoat was
turned up to shelter that agonizing throat. Yes, it was Captain Cote,
the man we came so far to seek.

"Doctor!" they called. "He couldn't wait! We've brought him out to
ye!"

A moment more and hands as tender as they were willing were lifting
him over the rail. A wee baby would have had no gentler handling.

Captain Cote's face was the greenish white of a boiled potato. It was
seamed with deep lines of pain and sleepless nights. He was car