er reefs might not run out to the northward,
and if so we could scarcely escape striking on them. The helm was,
however, put to port, that we might pass as far as we could from the
island. McAllister hurried forward, and, taking a steady look, declared
his conviction that there was a reef to the northward of the island, and
that if we could get a little sail on the schooner, we might run under
its lee and ride in safety till the tempest was over. The very thought
of the possibility of this renewed our spirits. The wind had certainly
lessened. Rousing up the Frenchmen to lend a hand, we got a
main-trysail and fore-staysail hoisted. The little craft heeled over,
as once more putting the helm to starboard we brought her closer to the
wind, in a way which made it seem probable that she would never recover
herself; but she did, though; and now we flew on, plunging through the
seas which broke on our larboard quarter, towards the island. We drove,
of course, to leeward very fast, but still we had hopes that we might
round its northern end before we drove past it altogether. Everybody on
board stood clustered on deck, watching the island, and ever and anon
casting anxious glances at the canvas. It stood now, though an hour
before it would not have done so. We approached the island.

"Breakers! breakers on the starboard bow! breakers on the larboard bow!"
shouted the men forward. I caught sight of some less broken water
ahead. We steered towards it. In another moment our fate would be
decided. We flew on; the sea broke terrifically on either hand, but the
schooner did not strike. The water became calmer--the island grew more
and more abeam. We flattened in the canvas, and, standing towards the
land, in another ten minutes found ourselves in a sheltered bay, where,
though our mastheads still felt the force of the gale, the wind scarcely
reached us on deck. Our anchor was dropped and we rode in safety. I
could have fallen on my knees and thanked Heaven for our merciful
preservation from so many dangers, but such an act was not in accordance
with our usual habits, and I was kept back from fear of what my
companions would say. How miserable and contemptible is such a feeling!
We are not afraid of displeasing our all-beneficent Creator, or
appearing ungrateful for His mercies, and we are afraid of the ridicule
of our fellow-men, or even of a sneer from the lips of those we despise
the most. I dare say, if the trut