arty over and over again.

"Starboard," shouted the captain. "Ease away the fore-sheets; let fly
the main-topsail; haul down the fore-staysail." The second mate gave
the necessary orders; the main-topsail yard settled down upon the cap;
the fore-staysail sheets were let fly, and the sail flapping heavily was
hauled down and secured. The rattle of the clue garnets was heard as
the foresail was nearly squared, and the brig's head payed off from the
wind.

It was a moment of great anxiety, for as she fell off the seas struck
her broadside on, but Captain Weber had watched his time. One huge
toppling wave came rushing onwards. "Hold on," shouted the captain; as
striking the brig's bulwarks it stove them in, smashing the gig, and
pouring into the waist of the vessel, hid her for a moment under the
white foam. The buoyant craft rose, turning her stern to the waves, and
feeling the full force of the foresail, dashed along straight for the
shore. "Steady, so; starboard a little; steady," shouted the captain,
as with the trumpet in his right hand, he held on with a seaman's grip
to the shrouds. His cap had blown away to leeward, and his long grey
hair was streaming on the wind, both he and the missionary having been
buried under the boiling foam, as the "Halcyon" wore round.

The sharp jerking motion of the previous day was now exchanged for one
much easier. Rising on the wave, the brig felt the full force of the
gale, and seemed about to leave her native element, as the broad sheet
of stout canvass tore her along, to sink the next moment in the deep
trough, the canvass shaking, and astern, a mighty wave curling, and
tipped with white foam, about to break on her deck, but to glide away
under her keel, as she drove madly on for land, where not half a mile
ahead lay the narrow opening to Saint Augustine's Bay.

"Keep close to the bluff crowned by the cocoa-nuts," shouted Wyzinski,
as the brig, sinking in the trough, yawed wildly to port. Onward drove
the "Halcyon." She entered the outlet; one wild roll on the surging
wave, and her fore-yard seemed to touch the bare rock; the next she ran
into a noble and nearly land-locked bay. "Port your helm; hard a-port,"
shouted the captain. "See the anchor clear." A dozen men swarmed on
the forecastle. "Brail up the foresail;" and the clue garnets rattled
as the sail was quickly furled. The brig giving a broad sheer came
sweeping round, gradually lost her way; then feeling