“Kape cool, Mr. Cart’ew.  It’s done now,” said Mac; “and ye may bless God ye’re not in pain and helpless in the bargain.”

There was no more said by one or other, and the cabin was pretty well cleansed when a stroke on the ship’s bell summoned Carthew to breakfast.  Tommy had been busy in the meanwhile; he had hauled the whaleboat close aboard, and already lowered into it a small keg of beef that he found ready broached beside the galley door; it was plain he had but the one idea—­to escape.

“We have a shipful of stores to draw upon,” he said.  “Well, what are we staying for?  Let’s get off at once for Hawaii.  I’ve begun preparing already.”

“Mac has his arm broken,” observed Carthew; “how would he stand the voyage?”

“A broken arm?” repeated the captain.  “That all?  I’ll set it after breakfast.  I thought he was dead like the rest.  That madman hit out like——­” and there, at the evocation of the battle, his voice ceased and the talk died with it.

After breakfast, the three white men went down into the cabin.

“I’ve come to set your arm,” said the captain.

“I beg your pardon, captain,” replied Mac; “but the firrst thing ye got to do is to get this ship to sea.  We’ll talk of me arrum after that.”

“O, there’s no such blooming hurry,” returned Wicks.

“When the next ship sails in, ye’ll tell me stories!” retorted Mac.

“But there’s nothing so unlikely in the world,” objected Carthew.

“Don’t be deceivin’ yourself,” said Mac.  “If ye want a ship, divil a one’ll look near ye in six year; but if ye don’t, ye may take my word for ut, we’ll have a squadron layin’ here.”

“That’s what I say,” cried Tommy; “that’s what I call sense!  Let’s stock that whaleboat and be off.”

“And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of the whaleboat?” asked the Irishman.

“I don’t think of it at all,” said Wicks.  “We’ve a smart-looking brig under foot; that’s all the whaleboat I want.”

“Excuse me!” cried Tommy.  “That’s childish talk.  You’ve got a brig, to be sure, and what use is she?  You daren’t go anywhere in her.  What port are you to sail for?”

“For the port of Davy Jones’s Locker, my son,” replied the captain.  “This brig’s going to be lost at sea.  I’ll tell you where, too, and that’s about forty miles to windward of Kauai.  We’re going to stay by her till she’s down; and once the masts are under, she’s the Flying Scud no more, and we never heard of such a brig; and it’s the crew of the schooner Currency Lass that comes ashore in the boat, and takes the first chance to Sydney.”

“Captain dear, that’s the first Christian word I’ve heard of ut!” cried Mac.  “And now, just let me arrum be, jewel, and get the brig outside.”

“I’m as anxious as yourself, Mac,” returned Wicks; “but there’s not wind enough to swear by.  So let’s see your arm, and no more talk.”