She looked up and laughed--a great deal nearer being sensible than either Sax or me. "If I could stand the other, I can stand this alone--where's your promise, Arthur? You never came near me." He took this very seriously. "Why, Mary," he began, "do you think I would have left you if I could have helped it! They closed the hatch--" "Come along," I said. "She's joking." He turned and looked at me. "_Is_ she?" he asked, as earnest as if his life hung on it. Not the least strange memory of that night is when Arthur Saxton turned and said, "Is she?" "Sure!" I replied. "Come--some of the boys may be badly hurt." We pulled through that uproar surprisingly good. Of course, every man-jack of us had lumps and welts and cuts, and there were some bones broken. Saxton was slapped down with such force that the flat of his hand was one big blister where it hit the deck, and the whole line of his forearm was a bruise--but that saved his face. One passenger drew a bad ankle, jammed in the wreckage. The worst hurt was Jimmy Hixley, a sailor; a block hit him in the ribs--probably when the mainmast went--and caved him for six inches. The actual twister had only hit one third of us, from where the mainmast stood, aft. That stick was pulled out by the roots--clean. Standing rigging and all. Good new stuff at that. Some of the stays came out at the eyes and some of 'em snapped. One sailor picked a nasty hurt out of it. The stays were steel cable, and when one parted it curled back quick, the sharp ends of the broken wires clawing his leg. Nobody knows the force of the wind in that part of the boat. Had there been a man there, no rope could hold him from being blown overboard; but, luckily, we were all forward. The rails were cut clean as an ax stroke. Nothing was left but the wheel, and the deck was lifted in places as if there'd been an explosion below. However, we weren't in the humor to kick over trifles. We shook hands all around and took a man's-sized swig of whisky apiece, then started to put things shipshape. Jesse had an extra spar and a bit of sail that we rigged as a jigger, and though the _Matilda_ didn't foot it as pretty as before, we had a fair wind nearly all the rest of the trip, making Panama in two weeks, without another accident. VIII ARCHIE OUT OF ASPINWALL The thing I recall clearest, when we dropped anchor at Aspinwall, was a small boat putting off to us, and a curly yellow head suddenly popping up over the rail, followed by the rest of a six-foot whole man. That was Jimmy Holton, my future boss.