Sam disappeared into the cabin and Tom, turned to the pumping. Never had he worked so hard, and the perspiration poured down his face. Soon Mrs. Stanhope appeared, her face full of fear.
"Oh, pray Heaven we do not go down!" she murmured. " How far are we from land?"
"We have turned back for the island," answered Tom, hardly able to speak because of his exertions. "We are not much more than a mile away."
"A mile! And how long will it take us to reach the island?"
"About ten minutes, if the wind holds out."
The Wellington was now groaning and creaking in every timber, as if she was aware that her last hour on the surface of the lake had come. She was, as Tom had said, an old "tub," and should have been condemned years before. But the Canadians were used to her and handled the craft as skillfully as possible. They, too, provided themselves with life-preservers and, when Sam relieved his brother at the pump, Tom did likewise.
As she filled with water the ship moved more slowly until, despite the breeze, she seemed to merely crawl along. It was now growing dark and the island was not yet in sight.
