"Sail, ho!" Knighthead shouted in a voice that was teeming with
superstitious awe.

"Let him come on," returned his young commander, bitterly; "the mischief
is ready done to his hands!"

"Should this be a true ship, it is our duty to the owners and the
passengers to speak her, if a man can make his voice heard in this
tempest," the second mate continued, pointing, through the haze, at the
dim object that was certainly at hand.

"Speak her!--passengers!" muttered Wilder, involuntarily repeating his
words. "No; any thing is better than speaking her. Do you see the
vessel that is driving down upon us so fast?" he sternly demanded of the
watchful seaman who still clung to the wheel of the _Caroline_.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Give her a berth--sheer away hard to port--perhaps he may pass us in the
gloom, now we are no higher than our decks. Give the ship a broad sheer,
I say, sir."

The usual laconic answer was given; and, for a few moments, the Bristol
trader was seen diverging a little from the line in which the other
approached; but a second glance assured Wilder that the attempt was
useless. The strange ship (every man on board felt certain it was the
same that had so long been seen hanging in the north-western horizon)
came on through the mist, with a swiftness that nearly equalled the
velocity of the tempestuous winds themselves. Not a thread of canvas was