may know it from the star near it?--by its sinking, at times, in the
ocean. Now observe the hummock, a little north of it, looking like a
shadow in the horizon--'tis a hill far inland. If we keep that light
open from the hill, we shall do well--but if not, we surely go to
pieces."

"Let us tack again," exclaimed the lieutenant.

The pilot shook his head, as he replied:

"There is no more tacking or box-hauling to be done tonight. We have
barely room to pass out of the shoals on this course; and if we can
weather the 'Devil's Grip,' we clear their outermost point--but if not,
as I said before, there is but an alternative."

"If we had beaten out the way we entered," exclaimed Griffith, "we
should have done well."

"Say, also, if the tide would have let us do so," returned the pilot,
calmly. "Gentlemen, we must be prompt; we have but a mile to go, and the
ship appears to fly. That topsail is not enough to keep her up to the
wind; we want both jib and mainsail."

"'Tis a perilous thing to loosen canvas in such a tempest!" observed the
doubtful captain.

"It must be done," returned the collected stranger; "we perish without
it--see the light already touches the edge of the hummock; the sea casts
us to leeward."