"'Twould give the old ass time to study foreign politics," sneered Lampert, as it breezed up again. And five minutes' later, while Lampert was lighting his pipe half-way down the cabin stairs, he heard a bellow forward which made him drop thoughts of tobacco. "Breakers ahead!" The watch came out on deck and ran aft; and were followed by the watch below in various articles of attire, not calculated to keep them very warm. The _Potluck_ had been running with the wind nearly dead aft. "Starboard, starboard!" roared Lampert. "Oh, steady; hold her there!" The vessel ran off to port at a sharp angle to her wake. "Up here some," yelled the mate, "and set the spanker! Stand by the---- My God!" And, as old Jones and Simcox came on deck, the _Potluck_ was hard and fast ashore. With one simultaneous crack the three topmasts went over the side, and as the men and officers jumped under the shelter of the weather rail, Lampert and those of the watch who were with him came tumbling down from the poop. They reckoned on a boiling sea coming after and sweeping them away. But though the malignity native to matter had set the _Potluck_ ashore, by good luck she was hard and fast in the one sheltered cove on the island. When Lampert by instinct altered her course to port, as he heard the coast breakers at the starboard bow, he had run her in between two ledges of rock, of which the outer or more westerly one acted as a complete breakwater. The skipper, who had been lying flat when the others jumped for the main deck, got up and crawled forward to the break of the poop. He was half-paralysed with a mixture of funk and rage. He addressed himself and his remarks to the sky, the sea, and the island, but above all to Lampert. "You man-drowning, slop-built caricature of a sailorman, what 'ave you bin and done with my ship?" he bellowed. "Oh, Lord, I'm a ruined man; by gosh, I'll murder you!" He tumbled down on the main deck and made for Lampert, who easily dodged him. "Shut up, you old idiot!" said the mate contemptuously. "Who but me told you that if you drove her in thick weather, and no sun seen for a week, you'd pile her up?" Simcox caught Jones and held him. "Good lord, sir," said the second greaser, "it's no time to fight." "No, it ain't," said Jack Hart boldly. That a foremast hand should dare to shove his oar in, almost cowed the poor old Guffin. It was something out of nature. "It ain't no time for jawbation," insisted Hart, about whom the others had gathered. "It's time for thinkin' out the politics of the situation, and if I'm not mistaken we shall be able to walk ashore by the morning, and there won't be no ship for any one to command--so what's the use of jaw? I say get up stores, eh, Mackenzie?" "Don't ask me," said old Mac. "I was thinkin' that mighty soon we'd be able to settle that question about the buildin' of the _Potluck_."