ken in.

The order is executed with the promptness peculiar to a man-of-war; and
soon after, the huge ship is tossing amid tempestuous waves, with only
storm-sails set.

A ship under storm-canvas is a sight always melancholy to the mariner.
It tells of a struggle with wind and wave, a serious conflict with the
elements, which may well cause anxiety.

And such is the situation of the British frigate, soon as surrounded by
the fog. The sea, lately tranquil, is now madly raging; the waves
tempest-lashed, their crests like the manes of white horses going in
headlong gallop. Amid them the huge war-vessel, but the moment before
motionless--a leviathan, apparently the sea's lord--is now its slave,
and soon may be its victim. Dancing like a cork, she is buffeted from
billow to billow, or bounding into the trough between, as if cast there
in scorn.

The frigate's crew is now fully occupied taking care of her, without
time to think about any other vessel--even one flying a flag of
distress. Ere long they may have to hoist the same signal themselves.
But there are skilled seamen aboard, who well know what to do--who watch
and ward every sea that comes sweeping along. Some of these tumble the
big ship about, till the steersmen feel her going almost regardless of
the rudder.

There are but two courses left for safety, and her captain weighs the
choice between them. He must "lie to," and ride out the gale, or "scud"
before it. To do the latter may take him away from the strange vessel--
now no longer seen--and she may never be sighted by them again. Ten
chances to one if she ever would; for _she_ may not elect to run down
the wind. Even if she did, there would be but slight hope of
overhauling her--supposing the storm to continue for any considerable
time. The probabilities are that she will lie to. As the naval
lieutenant will no doubt have control, he would order her sails to be
taken in. Surely he will not think of parting from that spot.

Thus reflecting, the frigate's captain determines upon "lying to," and
keep as near the place as possible. Everything has been made snug, and
the ship's head set close to wind.

Still, aboard of her, brave hearts are filled with fears and
forebodings, not for themselves, but the safety of their shipmates on
the barque. Both of the absent officers are favourites with their
comrades of the quarter, as with the crew. So too the coxswain who
accompanies them. What will be th