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 s