“You may be right,” returned Wilder, with a sudden conviction of the truth of what the other had said.  “Stay you then here; if any thing befall me, try to get the vessel into port as far north as the Capes of Virginia, at least;—­on no account attempt Hatteras, in the present condition of——­”

“What would you do, Captain Wilder?” interrupted the mate, laying his hand on the shoulder of his commander, who had already thrown his sea-cap on the deck, and was preparing to divest himself of some of his outer garments.

“I go aloft to ease the mast of that topsail, without which we lose the spar, and possibly the ship.”

“I see that plain enough; but, shall it be said that another did the duty of Edward Earing?  It is your business to carry the vessel into the Capes of Virginia, and mine to cut the topsail adrift.  If harm comes to me, why, put it in the log, with a word or two about the manner in which I played my part.  That is the most proper epitaph for a sailor.”

Wilder made no resistance.  He resumed his watchful and reflecting attitude, with the simplicity of one who had been too long trained to the discharge of certain obligations himself, to manifest surprise that another should acknowledge their imperative character.  In the mean time, Earing proceeded steadily to perform what he had just promised.  Passing into the waist of the ship, he provided himself with a suitable hatchet, and then, without speaking a syllable to any of the mute but attentive seamen, he sprang into the fore-rigging, every strand and rope-yarn of which was tightened by the strain nearly to snapping.  The understanding eyes of his observers comprehended his intention; and with precisely the same pride of station as had urged him to the dangerous undertaking four or five of the oldest mariners jumped upon the rattlings, to mount into an air that apparently teemed with a hundred hurricanes.

“Lie down out of that fore-rigging,” shouted Wilder, through a deck trumpet; “lie down; all, but the mate, lie down!” His words were borne past the inattentive ears of the excited and mortified followers of Earing, but for once they failed of their effect.  Each man was too earnestly bent on his purpose to listen to the sounds of recall.  In less than a minute, the whole were scattered along the yards, prepared to obey the signal of their officer.  The mate cast a look about him; perceiving that the time was comparatively favorable, he struck a blow upon the large rope that confined one of the lower angles of the distended and bursting sail to the yard.  The effect was much the same as would be produced by knocking away the key-stone of an ill-cemented arch.  The canvas broke from its fastenings with a loud explosion, and, for an instant, it was seen sailing in the air ahead of the ship, as if it were sustained on wings.  The vessel rose on a sluggish wave—­the lingering remains of the former breeze—­and settled heavily over the rolling surge, borne down alike by its own weight and the renewed violence of the gusts.  At this critical instant, while the seamen aloft were still gazing in the direction in which the little cloud of canvas had disappeared, a lanyard of the lower rigging parted, with a crack that reached the ears of Wilder.