“‘Well,’ he said, ‘they’ve got some sails up there. She’ll make it all right if you give her time.’
“She lay a good many hours in the trough of the sea, rolling so wildly that nobody could keep his feet, while a miner and the second engineer strapped the pipe with copper wire and brazed the joint; but the next accident was more serious. She was steaming before a white sea with two topsails set when there was a harsh grinding and the engines stopped with a bang. A collar on the propeller shaft had given way, the bolts had broken, and until it could be mended there was nothing to connect the engines with the screw.
“They set more sail while the engineers got to work; and some hours later Clay and I were sitting in the captain’s room. Clay took the accident lightly, but the skipper had a nervous look and had been drinking more than was good for him. There was a bottle in the rack, and Clay was filling a glass when a miner came in. He was a big man with a quiet, brown face and searching eyes.
“‘Can your engine crowd fix this thing, Cap?’ he asked.
“‘They’re trying,’ said the skipper shortly. ‘It may take some time.’
“‘What are you going to do while they’re at the job?’
“‘Head south under sail.’ The skipper began to look angry. ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’
“‘Just this—do you reckon you can handle her all right with the boys you have?’
“The skipper got up with a red face, and I expected trouble, but Clay glanced at the miner and pulled the skipper down.
“‘You had better answer him,’ he said.