It was the main-t'-gallant-mast.

Crash! it broke off just above the cap, and held there by the rigging, dashed with every roll from side to side, with all the hamper that belonged to it.

The yard hung by a hair, and at every pitch, thumped against the cross-trees; while the sail streamed in ribbons, and the loose ropes coiled, and thrashed the air, like whip-lashes.

"Stand from under!" and down came the rattling blocks, like so many shot.
The yard, with a snap and a plunge, went hissing into the sea, disappeared, and shot its full length out again.

The crest of a great wave then broke over it--the ship rushed by--and we saw the stick no more.
While this lively breeze continued, Baltimore, our old black cook, was in great tribulation.
Like most South Seamen, the Julia's "caboose," or cook-house, was planted on the larboard side of the forecastle.