remained on deck to watch over the safety of his vessel. With one hand
upon the lead-line which would give him instant warning of the brig
beginning to drag, he stood by the rail, most of the time deafened
and blinded, but also fascinated, by the repeated swift visions of an
unknown shore, a sight always so inspiring, as much perhaps by its vague
suggestion of danger as by the hopes of success it never fails to awaken
in the heart of a true adventurer. And its immutable aspect of profound
and still repose, seen thus under streams of fire and in the midst of a
violent uproar, made it appear inconceivably mysterious and amazing.

Between the squalls there were short moments of calm, while now and then
even the thunder would cease as if to draw breath. During one of those
intervals. Lingard, tired and sleepy, was beginning to doze where he
stood, when suddenly it occurred to him that, somewhere below, the sea
had spoken in a human voice. It had said, "Praise be to God--" and the
voice sounded small, clear, and confident, like the voice of a child
speaking in a cathedral. Lingard gave a start and thought--I've dreamed
this--and directly the sea said very close to him, "Give a rope."

The thunder growled wickedly, and Lingard, after shouting to the men on
deck, peered down at the water, until at last he made out floating close
alongside the upturned face of a man with staring eyes that gleamed at
him and then blinked quickly to a flash of lightning. By that time all
hands in the brig were wildly active and many ropes-ends had been thrown
over. Then together with a gust of wind, and, as if blown on board, a
man tumbled over the rail and fell all in a heap upon the deck. Before
any one had the time to pick him up, he leaped to his feet, causing the
people around him to step back hurriedly. A sinister blue glare showed
the bewildered faces and the petrified attitudes of men completely
deafened by the accompanying peal of thunder. After a time, as if to