was thrown across the water, with all the gloomy and chilling sensations
that such sounds produce, where darkness and danger unite to appall the
seaman.

"The schooner has it!" cried Griffith: "Barnstable has held on, like
himself, to the last moment.--God send that the squall leave him cloth
enough to keep him from the shore!"

"His sails are easily handled," the commander observed, "and she must be
over the principal danger. We are falling off before it, Mr. Gray; shall
we try a cast of the lead?"

The pilot turned from his contemplative posture, and moved slowly across
the deck before he returned any reply to this question--like a man who
not only felt that everything depended on himself, but that he was equal
to the emergency.

"'Tis unnecessary," he at length said; "'twould be certain destruction
to be taken aback; and it is difficult to say, within several points,
how the wind may strike us."

"'Tis difficult no longer," cried Griffith; "for here it comes, and in
right earnest!"

The rushing sounds of the wind were now, indeed, heard at hand; and the
words were hardly past the lips of the young lieutenant, before the
vessel bowed down heavily to one side, and then, as she began to move
through the water, rose again majestically to her upright position, as
if saluting, like a courteous champion, the powerful antagonist with
which she was about to contend. Not another minute elapsed, before the