When he returned from the saloon, he found the chief officer examining

the chart.

"Do you think we have any chance of making Concepcion Strait?" he

asked, pointing to the doubtfully marked channel which separates

Hanover and Duke of York Islands.

"If we set the mains'le we might bear up a bit."

"Try it."

"Huh," said Mr. Boyle, and he was off again into the spindrift.

Be it understood that the sails carried by a big vessel like the

Kansas are of little practical value save under certain conditions of

wind and sea, when they are rigged to steady her, and thus give help to

helm and propeller. Still, they might serve now to carry the ship a

point or two towards the north, and this was the sole avenue of escape

which remained. Here, again, was one of those trivial circumstances

which are so potent in the shaping of events. Had either of the sails

blown out, or had the mainsail been set at the same time as the

foresail, the course followed during the next few hours must have been

deviated from to some extent, and the alteration of a cable's length in

direction could not fail to exercise the most momentous result on the

fortunes of the Kansas. But ships are singularly akin to men in

respect to the apparent vagaries of fate. A moment's hesitation, a

mere pace to right or left, may mean all the difference between success

and failure, safety and danger.

Leaving the chart on the table, where it was secured by drawing-pins,

Courtenay went back to his cabin to obtain a pair of sea-boots. Seeing

Joey sitting on his tail and shivering, unable to indulge in a

comfortable lick because the taste of salt water was hateful, he hunted

for a padded mackintosh coat which he had procured for the dog's

protection in cold latitudes. He ransacked two lockers before he found

it. Several articles were tumbled in a heap on the floor in his haste,

and he did not trouble to pack them away again. He buckled Joey into

the garment, fastened his own oilskins, and rejoined the second officer

on the bridge. A glance showed him the dark wall of the mainsail

rising abaft the after funnel. The quarter-master at the wheel, having

recovered his wits, was keeping the ship's nose up to the wind by a

steady pressure to port. The gale was as fierce as ever. The second

officer shouted in Courtenay's ear: "I am afraid, sir, the wind has shifted a point."

Courtenay looked at the compass. The ship was bearing exactly

northeast. He had hoped that the sails would enable her to shape due

north, at least; unquestionably some spiteful fiend was urging her

headlong to ruin. Had the wind but veered as much to the south, he

might have chanced the run through Concepcion Strait, or even weathered

Duke of York Island. He nodded to his junior, whose presence on the

bridge was a mere matter of form, owing to the powerless condition of

the ship and the impenetrable wrack of foam and mist that barred vision

ahead, and strode off on a tour of inspection. As wind and sea were

now beating more directly on the port side, there was some degree of

shelter along the covered-in deck to starboard. He found that two

boats had been cleared of their hamper and lowered on the davits until

they could be swung in on the promenade deck. The men were thus able

to provision them more easily than in their exposed berths on the spar

deck. He watched the workers for a few minutes, showed them how to

stow and lash some biscuit tins more securely, and continued his

survey, meaning to look in on Walker and the doctor.




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