clutching the hammer. On the floor lay Whinney and William Henry Thomas,
their twisted legs horribly suggestive of death.

"Air," I gasped.

Triplett feebly wrenched out the nail and we managed to pull the hatch
far enough back to squeeze through. Enlivened by the fresh air the
others crawled slowly after, except poor William Henry Thomas who still
lay inert.

"He's all right," said Whinney. "The gin bottle broke and dripped into
his mouth. He'll come to presently." He added in an undertone, "The
wages of gin..." Whinney was always quoting.

Minus our factotum we stood and silently surveyed what once had been
the Kawa. The leathern features of Captain Triplett twisted into a grin.
"Bald's a badger!" he murmured.

Everything had gone by the board. Mast, jigger, bow-sprit and running
gear. Not a trace of block or tackle rested on the surrounding sea.
We were clean-shaven. Of the chart, which had hung in a frame near the
binnacle, not a line remained. All our navigating instruments, quadrant,
sextant, and hydrant, with which we had amused ourselves making foolish
observations during that morning of the glorious Fourth, our chronometer
and speedometer,--all had absolutely disappeared.

"And there we are!" said Swank.

Triplett coughed apologetically and pulled his forelock.