e from the water, and, shaking the brine from his head,
he took his place on the stage--"Would to God the wind would blow, for we
have need of greater distance!"

The precaution the free-trader had taken, in adjusting the sails, was not
without its use. Motion the raft had none, but as the top-sails of the
Coquette were still aback, the naming mass, no longer arrested by the
clogs in the water, began slowly to separate from the floating spars,
though the tottering and half-burnt masts threatened, at each moment, to
fall.

Never did moments seem so long, as those which succeeded. Even the Skimmer
and Ludlow watched in speechless interest, the tardy movements of the
ship. By little and little, she receded; and, after ten minutes of intense
expectation, the seamen, whose anxiety had increased as their exertions
ended, began to breathe more freely. They were still fearfully near the
dangerous fabric, but destruction from the explosion was no longer
inevitable. The flames began to glide upwards, and then the heavens
appeared on fire, as one heated sail after another kindled and flared
wildly in the breeze.

Still the stern of the vessel was entire. The body of the master was
seated against the mizen-mast, and even the stern visage of the old seaman
was distinctly visible, under the broad light of the conflagration. Ludlow
gazed at it in melancholy, and for a time he ceased to think of his ship,
while memory dwelt, in sadness, on those scenes of boyish happiness, and
of professional pleasures, in which his ancient shipmate had so largely
participated. The roar of a gun, whose stream of fire flashed nearly to
their faces, and the sullen whistling of its shot, which crossed the raft,
failed to awaken him from his trance.

"Stand firm to the mess-chest!" half-whispered the Skimmer, motioning to
his companions to place themselves in attitudes to support the weaker of
their party, while, with sedulous care, he braced his own athletic person
in a manner to throw all of its weight and strength against the seat.
"Stand firm, and be ready!"

Ludlow complied, though his eye scarce changed its direction. He saw the
bright flame that was rising above the arm-chest, and he fancied that it
came from the funeral pile of the young Dumont, whose fate, at that
moment, he was almost disposed to envy. Then his look returned to the grim
countenance of Trysail. At moments, it seemed as if the dead master spoke;
and so strong did the illusion