appeared to be himself again. His orders were issued coolly, clearly and
promptly, and they were obeyed as experienced mariners will work at an
instant like that. The sails were all clewed up, and the heaviest of
them were furled. Hillson was ordered to clear away an anchor, while
Mark was attending to the canvas. In the mean time, the captain watched
the movements of the ship. He had dropped a lead alongside, and by that
he ascertained that they were still beating ahead. The thumps were not
very hard, and the white water was soon left astern, none having washed
on deck. All this was so much proof that the place on which they had
struck must have had nearly water enough to float the vessel, a fact
that the lead itself corroborated. Fifteen feet aft was all the Rancocus
wanted, in her actual trim, and the lead showed a good three fathoms, at
times. It was when the ship settled in the troughs of the sea that she
felt the bottom. Satisfied that his vessel was likely to beat over the
present difficulty, Captain Crutchely now gave all his attention to
getting her anchored as near the reef and to leeward of it, as possible.
The instant she went clear, a result he now expected every moment, he
was determined to drop one of his bower anchors, and wait for daylight,
before he took any further steps to extricate himself from the danger by
which he was surrounded.

On the forecastle, the work went on badly, and thither Captain Crutchely
proceeded. The second-mate scarce knew what he was about, and the
captain took charge of the duty himself. At the same time he issued an
order to Mark to get up tackles, and to clear away the launch,
preparatory to getting that boat into the water. Hillson had bent the
cable wrong, and much of the work had to be done over again. As soon as
men get excited, as is apt to be the case when they find serious
blunders made at critical moments, they are not always discreet. The
precise manner in which Captain Crutchely met with the melancholy fate