jib and mainsail
only, but the breeze was fresh and she was travelling at a great rate.
The wind being right off the land the skipper was hugging the reef as
closely as possible, so as to bring up and anchor on a five-fathom patch
about a mile away.

"Here, quit that fooling," he called out to the supercargo, "and come
aft, you fellows! The ship is that much down by the head she won't pay
off, with the helm hard up."

One look at the crowd of natives and another at the shore, and a wild
idea came into Lannigan's head. He whispered to Tariro, who went up
for'ard and said something to the natives. In another ten seconds some
of them began to clamber out on the jib-boom, the rest after them.

"Come back!" yelled the skipper, jamming the helm hard up, as the
schooner flew up into the wind. "Leggo peak halyards. By G--d! we are
running ashore. Leggo throat halyards, too!"

The mate flew to the halyards, and let go first the peak and then the
throat halyards, but it was too late, and, with a swarm of natives
packed together for'ard from the galley to the end of the jib-boom, she
stuck her nose down, and, with stern high out of the water, like a duck
chasing flies, she crashed into the reef--ran ashore dead to windward.

*****

No one was drowned. The natives took good care of the captain, mate, and
supercargo, and helped them to save all they could. But Lannigan had a
heavy loss--the bag of copper bolts had gone to the bottom.

THE COOK OF THE "SPREETOO SANTOO"--A STUDY IN BEACHCOMBERS

We were in Kitti Harbour, at Ponape, in the Carolines, when, at
breakfast, a bleary-eyed, undersized, more-or-less-white man in a dirty
pink shirt and dungaree pants, came below, and, slinging his filthy old
hat over to the transoms, shoved himself into a seat between the mate
and Jim Garstang, the trader.

"Mornin', captin," said he, without looking at the skipper, and helping
himself to about two pounds of curry.

"Morning to you. Who the deuce are you, anyway? Are you the old bummer
they call 'Espiritu Santo'?" said Garstang.

"That's me. I'm the man. But I ain't no bummer, don't you b'lieve it. I
wos tradin' round here in these (lurid) islands afore you coves knowed
where Ponape was."

"Are you the skunk that Wardell kicked off the Shenandoah for stealing a
bottle of wine?" said the mate.

"That's me. There was goin' ter be trouble over that on'y that the
Shennydor got properly well sunk by the _Allybarmer_ (history