We arrived at Cyprus in the morning. And I put it that way deliberately. The skipper had said we would reach Larnaca in the morning, but we didn't. We reached the spot where Larnaca should have been. And it wasn't there!

That doesn't make sense? Right! It didn't make sense to us, either. It was a fine, bright, sunny morning. When we eased into the rounded harbor that should have been jammed with refugee ships, should have been aglitter with all the panoply and bustle of a British naval base, we stared incredulously at a narrow strip of beach rimmed by a few dilapidated fishing shacks.

Four of us were topside—the skipper, the third, Johnny and myself. When we stared into that yawning, desolate basin, the third cried uncomprehendingly, “But—there's something wrong. I can't have made a mistake, sir!”

The Old Man took the sextant from the third's hands. He shot the blazing sun with painstaking care. Then he stood for a long moment, gnawing his lip, his eyes gray and distant. Finally, “Mr. Graves?” he said.

“Yes, sir?”

“You will change our course, please. We are going to the mainland.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

The mate vanished below, obviously relieved that he had been spared a dressing-down. I said hesitantly, “Are we very far from Larnaca, sir?”

The Old Man said in a curious, strained voice, “I don't know, Sparks. Possibly you can tell me. Which is the farther—a million miles, or a million years?”

“I'm afraid I don't understand, sir.”

“No,” he said slowly. “Nor I.”

“But you said something about the mainland?”

“Yes. We're going to land our passenger back where he belongs. That much if nothing else.”

“How long will it take, sir? A couple of hours?”

“I wish to God it would,” said the Old Man tightly, “but I fear not. When did we pick up Johnny?”

“Why, yesterday morning, sir.”

“Exactly,” sighed the skipper. “So it will take us two days to reach the mainland.”

To tell the truth, I thought the Old Man had slipped his moorings. The Lebanese mainland is not more than five hours from the island of Cyprus. But the skipper was right! It took us two full, nerve-wracking days to reach a coast we should have made easily before sundown.

First the motors conked out. Then, when the chief got them turning again, the electrical system went haywire. Generators spitting and sparking like firecrackers, for no apparent reason. When that was repaired, one of the bulkheads started oozing suspicious drops, and we had to heave to and jury-rig patches before the leak got worse.

Those were the major difficulties. There were more minor ones than I can enumerate. Working on the damaged motors, one of the engineering