where vessels often seek an anchorage, to await favorable moments for entering the Gate.  Ludlow saw, at a glance, that the place was entirely empty.  For an instant he yielded to the heavy responsibility—­a responsibility before which a seaman sooner shrinks than before any other—­that of charging himself with the duty of the pilot; and he thought of running into the anchorage for shelter.  But another glimpse at the spars of the brigantine caused him to waver.

“We are near the Gate, Sir!” cried Trysail, in a voice that was full of warning.

“Yon daring mariner stands on!”

“The rogue sails his vessel without the Queen’s permission, Captain Ludlow.  They tell me, this is a passage that has been well named!”

“I have been through it, and will vouch for its character—­he shows no signs of anchoring!”

“If the woman who points his course can carry him through safely, she deserves her title.  We are passing, the Cove, Captain Ludlow!”

“We are past it!” returned Ludlow, breathing heavily.  “Let there be no whisper in the ship—­pilot or no pilot, we now sink or swim!”

Trysail had ventured to remonstrate, while there was a possibility of avoiding the danger; but, like his commander, he now saw that all depended on their own coolness and care.  He passed busily among the crew; saw that each brace and bowline was manned; cautioned the few young officers who continued on board to vigilance, and then awaited the orders of his superior, with the composure that is so necessary to a seaman in the moment of trial.  Ludlow himself, while he felt the load of responsibility he had assumed, succeeded equally well in maintaining an outward calm.  The ship was irretrievably in the Gate, and no human power could retrace the step.  At such moments of intense anxiety, the human mind is wont to seek support in the opinions of others.  Notwithstanding the increasing velocity and the critical condition of his own vessel, Ludlow cast a glance, in order to ascertain the determination of the ‘Skimmer of the Seas.’  Blackwell’s was already behind them, and as the two currents were again united, the brigantine had luffed up into the entrance of the dangerous passage, and now followed within two hundred feet of the Coquette, directly in her wake.  The bold and manly-looking mariner, who controlled her, stood between the night-heads, just above the image of his pretended mistress, where he examined the foaming reefs, the whirling eddies, and the varying currents, with folded arms and a riveted eye.  A glance was exchanged between the two officers, and the free-trader raised his sea-cap.  Ludlow was too courteous not to return the salutation, and then all his senses were engrossed by the care of his ship.  A rock lay before them, over which the water broke in a loud and unceasing roar.  For an instant it seemed that the vessel could not avoid the danger, and then it was already past.

“Brace up!” said Ludlow, in the calm tones that denote a forced tranquillity.