made the best of it. The cook
and steward emerged from beneath the table, and made more or less
frivolous comments on the condition of the galley and the ruin of the
dinner, until silenced by the irate Murphy. The two mates took their
hands from their aching heads and showed interest in life; and in time
Captain Williams came to his senses and sat up on the floor, smeared
with bean soup and cluttered with dented pots, pans, and
stove-fittings. He was told the situation, and wisely accepted it; for
nothing could be done.

And from aft came to their ears the joyous whoops of the homeward-bound
men, close to their native land and anxious to get to it by the
shortest route. Murphy occasionally looked out at them; they were all
near the wheel, cursing and berating those handling the spokes, and
being cursed in return. But they were not quarreling.

"Me brother Mike was right," muttered Murphy, as he drew his head in
after a look at them. "They've forgotten their dinner. They'd rather
fight than ate, but rather wark than fight."

The big, light ship, even with upper canvas gone and the yards braced
to port, was skimming along over the heaving seas at a ten-knot rate,
and Murphy's occasional glimpses of that growing landfall showed him
details of rock and wood and red sandy soil that bespoke a steep beach
and a rocky bottom. The air was full of spume and the gale whistled
dismally through the rigging with a sound very much like that of
Murphy's big base-burner in his Front Street boarding-house, when the
chill wintry winds whistled over the housetops. He wondered if he would
ever return.

"God help us, Skipper," he said, solemnly, "if we don't strike at high
tide. For at low tide we'll go to pieces an' be drowned as the water
rises."

"I looked it up this morning," said the captain, painfully; for he was
still dazed from the effects of the brick. "It is high tide on this
coast at four this afternoon."

"All to the good, as far as our lives are consarned," said Murphy; "and
mebbe for your ship, Skipper. It'll be hard to salve her, of course;
but she won't git the poundin' she'd get at low-water mark."

"I don't care. It's a matter for the underwriters. Don't bother me. I
may kill you, Murphy, and your man Hennesey, some day, but not now. I'm
too sick."

They waited in silence until the crash came--a sickening sound of riven
timbers and snapping wire rope. Then, from the sudden stopping of the
ship, there came a heig