Chapter 33

"Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage.
Loss of blood at length enfeebles;
Who can war with thousands wage?"
_Spanish War Song._

We cannot detain the narrative to detail the scenes which busy wonder,
aided by the relation of divers marvelous feats, produced among the
curious seamen who remained in the ship, and their more fortunate
fellows who had returned in glory from an expedition to the land. For
nearly an hour the turbulence of a general movement was heard, issuing
from the deep recesses of the frigate, and the boisterous sounds of
hoarse merriment were listened to by the officers in indulgent silence;
but all these symptoms of unbridled humor ceased by the time the morning
repast was ended, when the regular sea-watch was set, and the greater
portion of those whose duty did not require their presence on the
vessel's deck, availed themselves of the opportunity to repair the loss
of sleep sustained in the preceding night. Still no preparations were
made to put the ship in motion, though long and earnest consultations,
which were supposed to relate to their future destiny, were observed by
the younger officers to be held between their captain, the first
lieutenant, and the mysterious Pilot. The latter threw many an anxious
glance along the eastern horizon, searching it minutely with his glass,
and then would turn his impatient looks at the low, dense bank of fog,
which, stretching across the ocean like a barrier of cloud, entirely
intercepted the view towards the south. To the north and along the land
the air was clear, and the sea without a spot of any kind; but in the
east a small white sail had been discovered since the opening of day,
which was gradually rising above the water, and assuming the appearance
of a vessel of some size. Every officer on the quarter-deck in his turn
had examined this distant sail, and had ventured an opinion on its
destination and character; and even Katherine, who with her cousin was
enjoying, in the open air, the novel beauties of the ocean, had been
tempted to place her sparkling eye to a glass, to gaze at the stranger.

"It is a collier," Griffith said, "who has hauled from the land in the
late gale, and who is luffing up to his course again. If the wind holds
here in the south, and he does not get into that fog-bank, we can stand
off for him and get a supply of fuel before eight bells are struck."

"I think his head is to the northward, and that he is steering off the
wind," returned the Pilot, in a musing manner, "If that Dillon succeeded
in getting his express far enough along the coast, the alarm has been
spread, and we must be wary. The convoy of the Baltic trade is in the
North