stiff set, the masts would
have gone by the board, or the _Condor_ on her beam-ends. And luckily,
too, before struck, Grummet had hold of her helm, and, by Crozier's
command, brought her before the wind. To attempt "lying to," with her
sails in such condition, would be to court destruction. To "scud" is
their only chance for safety.

And away go they before the wind, which, first blowing in fitful gusts,
soon becomes a steady gale, with now and then a violent burst catching
still another sail, and rending it to ribbons.

Soon there is not a sound one, and scarce aught save strips of torn
canvas hanging from the yards, or streaming out like the flags on a
signal-staff.

Fortunately the barque well obeys her helm, and the young officers
contrive to set storm-stay and trysail, thus helping to hold her steady.

During all this time they have not thought of the frigate. Absorbed in
the endeavour to save the craft that carries them, they reflect not on
what may be their fate should they get separated from their own ship.

At length, this reflection arises in a form to appal them. The frigate
is out of sight--has been ever since the commencement of the gale, the
fog having drifted between. They do not now know the direction in which
she is; nor can they tell whether she has lain-to, or, like themselves,
"run." If the latter, there is a hope she will follow the same course;
and, the fog lifting, be again sighted.

Alas! it is more likely she will do the former. Full-manned, she will
have taken in sail in good time, and made all snug, so as to ride out
the storm; and, aware of the danger in which they on the barque will be
placed, she will not forsake the spot, but assuredly lie to.

Just as they have arrived at this conclusion, they hear a gun booming
above the blast. They know it is from the frigate, firing to let them
know her whereabouts. But, although the sound reaches them with
sufficient distinctness, they cannot tell the direction. Who could at
sea, in a fog?

Listening, they hear it a second time, and soon after a third.

Then again and again; still distinct, but with the same uncertainty as
to its direction. For the life of them they cannot determine the point
of the compass whence it comes. Even if they knew, it is a question
whether they dare set the barque's head towards it, for the storm has
increased to a tempest, and it is touch and go for them to keep the
Chilian vessel afloat. Out of tr