Night, and Storm, and Darkness.—The giddy Perch.—The trembling Ship.—The quivering Masts.—A Time of Terror.—Silence and Despair.—A Ray of Hope.—Subsidence of Wind ami Wave.—Descent of the Boys.—Sufferings of Pat.—In the Mizzen-top.—Vigil of Bart.—The Sound of the Surf.—The Rift in the Cloud.—Land near.—The white Line of Breakers.—The black Face of Solomon.—All explained.—The Boat and the Oars.—The friendly Cove.—Land at last.

NIGHT, and storm, and darkness! There, in their giddy perch in the mizzen-top, stood that despairing little band. Gradually all the scene was lost to view in thick darkness. But beneath, the ship tossed and pitched wildly, groaning and creaking as before, and the big waves beat in fury on her bows, or fell in thunder on her quarter-deck. Looking down, they saw the phosphorescent gleam of the boiling waters, which made all the extent of the ship luminous with a baleful lustre, and wide over the seas extended the same glow. Well it was for them that they had sought this place of retreat, or rather that this place of retreat had been left open to them, for clinging to the rigging would have exhausted their strength, and through those long hours more than one might have fallen into the sea. But as it was they could have something like rest, and, by changing their positions, find relief for their wearied frames.

Yet this place had its own terrors, which were fully equal to any others. The wind howled fearfully through the rigging, and as the ship pitched and tossed, the mast strained and quivered in unison. Often and often it seemed to them that the strained mast would suddenly snap and go over the side, or, if not, that in its violent jerks it might hurl them all over to destruction. More than once they thought of guarding against this last danger by following Pat’s example, and binding themselves to the rigging; but they were deterred from this by the fear of the mast falling, in which case they, too, would be helpless. Fortunate it was for them that there were no sails. These had long since been rent away; but had they been here now, or had the wind taken any stronger hold of the masts, they must have gone by the board.

Often and often, as some larger wave than usual struck the ship, the feeling came that all was over, and that now, at last, her break-up was beginning; often and often, as she sank far down, and the waters rolled over her quarter, and held her there, the fear came to them that at last her hour had come—that she was sinking; and with this fear they looked down, expecting to see the waters rise to where they were standing. And then, in every one of these moments of deadly fear, they raised, as before, their cries to Him who is able to save.

So passed away hour after hour, until the duration of time seemed endless, and it was to all of them as though they had spent days in their place of peril, instead of hours only.

At length they became sensible of a diminution in the power of the wind. At first they hardly dared to believe it, but after a time it became fully evident that such was the case. The cessation of the wind at once relieved the ship very materially, though the sea was still high, and the waters below relaxed but little from their rage. But the cessation of the wind filled them all with hope, and they now awaited, with something like firmness, the subsidence of the waves.

That subsidence did come, and was gradually evident. It was slow, yet it was perceptible. They first became aware that those giant waves no longer fell in thunder upon the quarter-deck, and that the ship no longer seemed to be dragged down into those deep, watery abysses into which they had formerly seemed to be descending.

“There’s no mistake about it, boys,” said Bruce at length, in tones that were tremulous with fervent joy; “the storm is going down.”

This was the first word that had been spoken for hours, and the sound of these spoken words itself brought joy to all hearts. The spell was broken. The horror vanished utterly from their souls.

“Yes,” cried Bart, in tones as tremulous as those of Bruce, and from the same cause,—“yes, the worst is over!”

“I don’t mind this pitching,” said Tom; “it seems familiar. I think to-night has been equal to my night in the Bay of Fundy—only it hasn’t been so long, and it’s seemed better to have you fellows with me than being alone.”

“I had a hard time in the woods,” said Phil, “but this has been quite equal to it.”

“Pat,” said Arthur, “you’ve been doing the mummy long enough. You’d better untie now, and lie down.”

“Sure an it’s meself that’ll be the proud lad to do that same,” said Pat, “for it’s fairly achin I am all over, so it is.”

With these words Pat tried to unbind himself. But this was not so easy. He had been leaning his whole weight against the ropes, and his hands were quite numb. The other boys had to help him. This was a work of some difficulty, but it was accomplished at last, and poor Pat sank down groaning, and he never ceased to sigh and groan till morning.

Several hours now passed. The sea subsided steadily, until at length its motion was comparatively trifling, not more than enough to cause a perpendicular pitch to the ship of a few feet, and to send a few waves occasionally over the deck. Wearied and worn out, the boys determined to descend to the quarter-deck, so as to lie down. Pat was unable to make the descent; so Bart remained with him, and curled himself up alongside of him on the mizzen-top. The other boys went down, and Solomon also.

Everything there was wet, but as the boys also were saturated, it made but little difference. They flung themselves down anywhere, and soon were fast asleep.

But in the main-top Pat was groaning in his pain. The blood was rushing back into his benumbed limbs, and causing exquisite suffering. Bart tried to soothe him, and rubbed and chafed his arms and hands and feet and legs for hours.

At last Pat grew easier, though still suffering somewhat from pricking sensations in his arms and legs, and Bart was allowed to rest from his labors.

And now, as Bart leaned back, he became aware of a very peculiar sound, which excited all his attention.

It was a droning sound, with a deep, swelling cadence, and not long in duration; but it rose, and pealed forth, and died away, to be followed by other sounds precisely similar—regular, recurrent, and sounding all abroad. It was nothing like the roar of the waves, nor the singing of the wind through the rigging; it was something different from these, yet in this darkness, and to this listener, not less terrible.

Bart knew it. The sound was familiar to his ears. There was only one sound in Nature of that character, nor could it be imitated by any other. It was the long sound of the surf falling upon the shore.

The surf!

What did that mean?

It meant that land was near. And what land?

There was only one land that this could tell of—it was that land which they had been approaching for days; the land which they had watched so closely all the previous day, and to which at evening they had been drawn so near. The name of the land he could not know, but he had seen it, and he remembered its drear and desolate aspect, its iron-bound shores, its desert forests. It was upon this shore that the surf was beating which now he heard, and the loudness of that sound told him how near it must be.

It seemed to him that it could not be more than half a mile away at the farthest.

And the ship was drifting on!

This first discovery was a renewal of his despair. He could only find comfort in the thought that the sea had subsided so greatly. What ought he now to do?

Ought he to awake the boys and tell them? He hesitated.

Pat had by this time fallen asleep, worn out with weariness and pain. Bart had not the heart to wake him just yet.

Suddenly there was an opening in the sky overhead, and through a rift in the clouds the moon beamed forth. Bart started up and looked all around. The morn disclosed the scene.

The sea had grown much calmer, and the waves that now tossed about their spray over its surface were as nothing compared to those which had beat upon the ship during the night. This was probably due, as Bart thought, to the shelter of some headland which acted as a breakwater. For as he looked he saw the land now full before him. He had conjectured rightly from the sound of the surf, and he now saw that this land could not be much more than a half mile away.

This confirmation of his worst fears overcame him. He started to his feet, and stood cl............