ship."

"I see that plain enough; but, shall it be said that another did the duty
of Edward Earing? It is your business to carry the vessel into the Capes
of Virginia, and mine to cut the topsail adrift. If harm comes to me,
why, put it in the log, with a word or two about the manner in which I
played my part. That is the most proper epitaph for a sailor."

Wilder made no resistance. He resumed his watchful and reflecting
attitude, with the simplicity of one who had been too long trained to the
discharge of certain obligations himself, to manifest surprise that
another should acknowledge their imperative character. In the mean time,
Earing proceeded steadily to perform what he had just promised. Passing
into the waist of the ship, he provided himself with a suitable hatchet,
and then, without speaking a syllable to any of the mute but attentive
seamen, he sprang into the fore-rigging, every strand and rope-yarn of
which was tightened by the strain nearly to snapping. The understanding
eyes of his observers comprehended his intention; and with precisely the
same pride of station as had urged him to the dangerous undertaking four
or five of the oldest mariners jumped upon the rattlings, to mount into
an air that apparently teemed with a hundred hurricanes.

"Lie down out of that fore-rigging," shouted Wilder, through a deck
trumpet; "lie down; all, but the mate, lie down!" His words were borne
past the inattentive ears of the excited and mortified followers of
Earing, but for once they failed of their effect. Each man was too
earnestly bent on his purpose to listen to the sounds of recall. In less
than a minute, the whole were scattered along the yards, prepared to obey
the signal of their officer. The mate cast a look about him; perceiving
that the time was comparatively favorable, he struck a blow upon the
large rope that confined one of the lower angles of the distended and
bursting sail to the yard. The effect was much the same as would be
produced by knocking away the key-stone of an ill-cemented arch. The
canvas broke from its fastenings with a loud explosion, and, for an
instant, it was seen sailing in the air ahead of the ship, as if it were
sustained on wings. The vessel rose on a sluggish wave--the lingering
remains of the former breeze--and settled heavily over the rolling surge,
borne down alike by its own weight and the renewed violence of the gusts.
At this critical instant, while the seamen a