and then split to either hand. It was for all the
world as though some archangel with a huge sword had slashed it with the
figure of a cross; all hands ran to secure the slatting canvas; and in
the sudden uproar and alert, Tommy Hadden lost his head. Many of his
days have been passed since then in explaining how the thing happened;
of these explanations it will be sufficient to say that they were all
different and none satisfactory; and the gross fact remains that the
main boom gybed, carried away the tackle, broke the mainmast some three
feet above the deck and whipped it overboard. For near a minute the
suspected foremast gallantly resisted; then followed its companion; and
by the time the wreck was cleared, of the whole beautiful fabric that
enabled them to skim the seas, two ragged stumps remained.

In these vast and solitary waters, to be dismasted is perhaps the worst
calamity. Let the ship turn turtle and go down, and at least the pang is
over. But men chained on a hulk may pass months scanning the empty sea
line and counting the steps of death's invisible approach. There is
no help but in the boats, and what a help is that! There heaved the
Currency Lass, for instance, a wingless lump, and the nearest human
coast (that of Kauai in the Sandwiches) lay about a thousand miles to
south and east of her. Over the way there, to men contemplating that
passage in an open boat, all kinds of misery, and the fear of death and
of madness, brooded.

A serious company sat down to breakfast; but the captain helped his
neighbours with a smile.

"Now, boys," he said, after a pull at the hot coffee, "we're done with
this Currency Lass, and no mistake. One good job: we made her pay while
she lasted, and she paid first rate; and if we were to try our hand
again, we can try in style. Another good job: we have a fine, stiff,
roomy boat, and you know who you have to thank for that. We've got six
lives to save, and a pot of money; and the point is, where are we to
take 'em?"

"It's all two thousand miles to the nearest of the Sandwiches, I fancy,"
observed Mac.

"No, not so bad as that," returned the captain. "But it's bad enough:
rather better'n a thousand."

"I know a man who once did twelve hundred in a boat," said Mac, "and he
had all he wanted. He fetched ashore in the Marquesas, and never set a
foot on anything floating from that day to this. He said he would rather
put a pistol to his head and knock his brains out."

"Ay