the fore-top-mast, snapping short off with a report like a cannon-shot,
went over the side, carrying the main-topgallant-mast and all its gear
along with it.

CHAPTER II.

THE HAVEN IN THE CORAL RING.

It seemed as if the storm-fiend were satisfied with the mischief he had
accomplished, for immediately after the disaster just described, the
gale began to moderate, and when the sun rose it had been reduced to a
stiff but steady breeze.

From the moment of the accident onward, the whole crew had been exerting
themselves to the utmost with axe and knife to cut and clear away the
wreck of the masts and repair damages.

Not the least energetic among them was our amateur first mate, Nigel
Roy. When all had been made comparatively snug, he went aft to where his
father stood beside the steersman, with his legs nautically wide apart,
his sou'-wester pulled well down over his frowning brows, and his hands
in their native pockets.

"This is a bad ending to a prosperous voyage," said the youth, sadly;
"but you don't seem to take it much to heart, father!"

"How much or little I take it to heart you know nothin' whatever about,
my boy, seein' that I don't wear my heart on my coat-sleeve, nor yet on
the point of my nose, for the inspection of all and sundry. Besides, you
can't tell whether it's a bad or a good endin', for it has not ended yet
one way or another. Moreover, what appears bad is often found to be
good, an' what seems good is pretty often uncommon bad."

"You are a walking dictionary of truisms, father! I suppose you mean to
take a philosophical view of the misfortune and make the best of it,"
said Nigel, with what we may style one of his twinkling smiles, for on
nearly all occasions that young man's dark, brown eyes twinkled, in
spite of him, as vigorously as any "little star" that was ever told in
prose or song to do so--and much more expressively, too, because of the
eyebrows of which little stars appear to be destitute.

"No, lad," retorted the captain; "I take a common-sense view--not a
philosophical one; an' when you've bin as long at sea as I have, you'll
call nothin' a misfortune until it's proved to be such. The only
misfortune I have at present is a son who cannot see things in the same
light as his father sees 'em."

"Well, then, according to your own principle that is the reverse of a
misfortune, for if I saw everything in the same light that you do,
you'd have no pleasure in talking to me,