in the drama will
be; he knows, too, that those on board the brig--invisible now--are as
well versed as himself, and are at this moment far too busily engaged in
preparing for the stroke of the hurricane to have a thought to spare for
him.

Now the rain stops as suddenly as it began, and an awful silence ensues,
scarcely broken even by the lap of the water alongside, for the terrific
downpour has completely beaten down the swell, and, save for an
occasional gentle heave, the raft lies motionless.

Now stand by! Summon all your nerve and all your courage to your aid,
skipper, for you never stood half so sorely in need of them as you do
now. And, above all, lift up your heart to God in fervent prayer, be it
ever so brief. Call upon Him whilst you have time; for time, so far as
you are concerned, may soon be merged in eternity!

Listen! What is that low murmur in the air which so rapidly increases
in volume until it becomes a deep, hoarse, bellowing roar? The sound is
broad on your starboard beam, skipper! Aft to your steering-oar for
your life, man; sweep her head round quick, in readiness to run before
it! That is well; round with her; again; another stroke. _Now_ stand
by! here it comes! Seize that rope's-end and hold on for your life!

A long line of milk-white foam appears upon the horizon, spreading and
advancing with awful rapidity; the roar swells in volume until it
becomes absolutely deafening; the air grows thick with vapour; a sudden
whirl of wind rushes past lashing the skipper's face with rain-drops as
it goes--rain-drops? no; they are salt, salt as the brine alongside--and
then, with a wild burst and babel of hideous sound and a shock as though
the raft had collided with something solid, the hurricane strikes her.
The white water surges up over her stern, and the skipper is hurled
forward, face downward and half-stunned, upon her already submerged
deck.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE MALAYS!

The occupants of the fort retired to rest that night, as usual, at the
early hour of ten o'clock; and, thoroughly fagged out with the day's
labour, soon sank to sleep. Nobody felt in the least degree anxious
about the skipper, because, when Gaunt and Henderson took a last look at
the weather before turning in, there was nothing particularly alarming
in its aspect; they agreed that there was going to be a change, and that
it would probably occur before morning; but Blyth, they considered, was
not the man