Chapter 5

"She rights! she rights, boys! ware off shore!"
_Song._

The extraordinary activity of Griffith, which communicated itself with
promptitude to the crew, was produced by a sudden alteration in the
weather. In place of the well-defined streak along the horizon, that has
been already described, an immense body of misty light appeared to be
moving in, with rapidity, from the ocean, while a distinct but distant
roaring announced the sure approach of the tempest that had so long
troubled the waters. Even Griffith, while thundering his orders through
the trumpet, and urging the men, by his cries, to expedition, would
pause, for instants, to cast anxious glances in the direction of the
coming storm; and the faces of the sailors who lay on the yards were
turned, instinctively, towards the same quarter of the heavens, while
they knotted the reef-points, or passed the gaskets that were to confine
the unruly canvas to the prescribed limits.

The pilot alone, in that confused and busy throng, where voice rose
above voice, and cry echoed cry, in quick succession, appeared as if he
held no interest in the important stake. With his eye steadily fixed on
the approaching mist, and his arms folded together in composure, he
stood calmly waiting the result.

The ship had fallen off, with her broadside to the sea, and was become
unmanageable, and the sails were already brought into the folds
necessary to her security, when the quick and heavy fluttering of canvas
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