It was now about the commencement of that
period of deep night which seamen distinguish as the morning watch, and
Griffith ventured to the edge of the little wood, to listen if any
sounds or tumult indicated that they were pursued. On reaching a point
where his eye could faintly distinguish distant objects, the young man
paused, and bestowed a close and wary investigation on the surrounding
scene.
The fury of the gale had sensibly abated, but a steady current of sea
air was rushing through the naked branches of the oaks, lending a dreary
and mournful sound to the gloom of the dim prospect. At the distance of
a short half mile, the confused outline of the pile of St. Ruth rose
proudly against the streak of light which was gradually increasing above
the ocean, and there were moments when the young seaman even fancied he
could discern the bright caps that topped the waves of his own disturbed
element. The long, dull roar of the surf, as it tumbled heavily on the
beach or dashed with unbroken violence against the hard boundary of
rocks, was borne along by the blasts distinctly to his ears. It was a
time and a situation to cause the young seaman to ponder deeply on the
changes and chances of his hazardous profession. Only a few short hours
had passed since he was striving with his utmost skill, and with all his
collected energy, to guide the enormous fabric, in which so many of his
comrades were now quietly sleeping on the broad ocean, from that very
shore on which he now stood in cool indifference to the danger.
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