he hazy background.
Above the storm-cloud flitted ominous patches of scud, rapidly
advancing and receding: Attila's skirmishers, thrown forward in the
van of his Huns. Beneath, a fitful shadow slid along the surface. As
we gazed, the cloud came nearer; accelerating its approach.

With all haste we proceeded to furl the sails, which, owing to the
calm, had been hanging loose in the brails. And by help of a spare
boom, used on the forecastle-deck sit a sweep or great oar, we
endeavored to cast the brigantine's head toward the foe.

The storm seemed about to overtake us; but we felt no breeze. The
noiseless cloud stole on; its advancing shadow lowering over a
distinct and prominent milk-white crest upon the surface of the
ocean. But now this line of surging foam came rolling down upon us
like a white charge of cavalry: mad Hotspur and plumed Murat at its
head; pouring right forward in a continuous frothy cascade, which
curled over, and fell upon the glassy sea before it.

Still, no breath of air. But of a sudden, like a blow from a man's
hand, and before our canvas could be secured, the stunned craft,
giving one lurch to port, was stricken down on her beam-ends; the
roaring tide dashed high up against her windward side, and drops of
brine fell upon the deck, heavy as drops of gore.

It was all a din and a mist; a crashing of spars and of ropes; a
horrible blending of sights and of sounds; as for an instant we
seemed in the hot heart of the gale; our cordage, like harp-strings,
shrieking above the fury of the blast. The masts rose, and swayed,
and dipped their trucks in the sea. And like unto some stricken
buffalo brought low to the plain, the brigantine's black hull, shaggy
with sea-weed, lay panting on its flank in the foam.

Frantically we clung to the uppermost bulwarks. And now, loud above
the roar of the sea, was suddenly heard a sharp, splintering sound,
as of a Norway woodman felling a pine in the forest. It was brave
Jarl, who foremost of all had snatched from its rack against the
mainmast, the ax, always there kept.

"Cut the lanyards to windward!" he cried; and again buried his ax
into the mast. He was quickly obeyed. And upon cutting the third
lanyard of the five, he shouted for us to pause. Dropping his ax, he
climbed up to windward. As he clutched the rail, the wounded mast
snapped in twain with a report like a cannon. A slight smoke was
perceptible where it broke. The remaining lanyards parted. From th