into view around the headland,
a bone in her teeth and every stitch of canvas flying. He saw her
luff up into the wind and hang there shivering; a moment later
her sails came down by the run, and he saw a little splash under
her port bow as her hook took bottom. There was a commotion on
decks, and then to Mr. Gibney's dying ears came faintly the
shouts and songs of the black boys as a whaleboat shot into the
breakers and pulled swiftly toward the beach. Mr. Gibney dreamed
that a white man sat in the stern sheets of this whaleboat, and
as the boat touched the beach it seemed to Mr. Gibney that this
man sprang ashore and ran swiftly toward him. And--Mr. Gibney
twisted his suffering lips into a wry smile as he realized the
oddities of this mirage--it seemed to him that this visionary
white man bore a striking resemblance to Neils Halvorsen. Neils
Halvorsen, of all men! Old Neils, "the squarehead" deckhand of
the green-pea trade! Dull, bowlegged Neils, with his lost dog
smile and his----

Mr. Gibney rubbed his eyes feebly and half staggered to his feet.
What was that? A shout? Without doubt he had heard a sound that
was not the moaning of their remorseless prison-keeper, the sea.
And----

"Hands off," shrieked Mr. Gibney and struck feebly at the
imaginary figure rushing toward him. No use. He felt himself
swept into strong arms and carried an immeasurable distance down
the beach. Then somebody threw water in his face and pressed a
drink of brandy and sweet water to his parched lips. His swimming
senses rallied a moment, and he discovered that he was lying in
the bottom of a whaleboat. McGuffey lay beside him, and on a
thwart in front of him sat good old Neils Halvorsen with Captain
Scraggs's head on his knees. As Mr. Gibney looked at this strange
tableau Captain Scraggs opened his eyes, glanced up at Neils
Halvorsen, and spoke:

"Why if it ain't old squarehead Neils," he muttered wonderingly.
"If it ain't Neils, I'll go to hades or some other seaport." He
closed his eyes again and subsided into a sort of lethargy, for
he was content. He knew he was saved.

Mr. Gibney rolled over, and, struggling to his knees, leaned over
McGuffey and peered into his drawn face.

"Mac, old shipmate! Mac, speak to me. Are you alive?"

B. McGuffey, Esquire, opened a pair of glazed eyes and stared at
the commodore.

"Did we lick 'em?" he whispered. "The last I remember the king
was puttin' it all over Scraggsy. And that Tabu boy--wa