let go the throat-halyard, the squall was upon the sloop. Mr. Randall
had seized hold of the rail, and was crouching beneath the bulwark,
expecting to go to the bottom of the lake, for he was too much
excited to make a comparison of the specific gravities of pine boards
and fresh water, and therefore did not realize that lumber would
float, and not sink.

The squall did its work in an instant; and before the bank director
had fairly begun to tremble, the rotten mainsail of the
_Missisque_ was blown into ribbons, and the "flapping flitters"
were streaming in the air. Piece after piece was detached from the
bolt-rope, and disappeared in the heavy atmosphere. The sloop, in
obedience to her helm, came about, and was now headed down the lake.
The rain began to fall in torrents, and Mr. Randall was as
uncomfortable as the director of a country bank could be.

"Go below, sir!" shouted Captain John to the unhappy man.

"Is it safe?" asked Mr. Randall.

"Safe enough."

"Won't she sink?"

"Sink? no; she can't sink," replied the skipper. "The wu'st on't's
over now."

The fury of the squall was spent in a moment, and then the fury of
Captain John began to gather, as he saw the remnants of the sail
flapping at the gaff and the boom. The _Missisque_ and her cargo