Even the quartermaster at the cun gave
out his orders to the men at the wheel, in deeper and hoarser tones than
usual, as if anxious not to disturb the quiet and order of the vessel.
While this deep expectation pervaded the frigate, the piercing cry of
the leadsman, as he called "By the mark seven," rose above the tempest,
crossed over the decks, and appeared to pass away to leeward, borne on
the blast like the warnings of some water-spirit.
"'Tis well," returned the pilot, calmly; "try it again."
The short pause was succeeded by another cry, "And a half-five!"
"She shoals! she shoals!" exclaimed Griffith: "keep her a good full."
"Ay! you must hold the vessel in command, now," said the pilot, with
those cool tones that are most appalling in critical moments because
they seem to denote most preparation and care.
The third call, "By the deep four," was followed by a prompt direction
from the stranger to tack.
Griffith seemed to emulate the coolness of the pilot, in issuing the
necessary orders to execute this manoeuvre.
The vessel rose slowly from the inclined position into which she had
been forced by the tempest, and the sails were shaking violently, as if
to release themselves from their confinement, while the ship stemmed the
billows, when the well-known voice of the sailing-master was heard
shouting from the forecastle:
"Breakers! breakers, dead ahead!"
This appalling sound seemed yet to be lingering about the ship, when a
second voice cried:
"Breakers on our lee bow!"
"We are in a bite of the shoals, Mr.
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