at the same time.  Some of the people flew to his assistance, and the yards were not only squared, but braced a little up on the other tack, in much less time than we have taken to relate the evolution.  Mulford attended to the main-sheet, and succeeded in getting the boom out in the right direction.  Although the wind was in truth very light, the velocity of the drift filled the canvas, and taking the arrow-like current on her lee bow, the Swash, like a frantic steed that is alarmed with the wreck made by his own madness, came under command, and sheered out into the stream again, where she could drift clear of the apprehended danger astern.

“Sound the pumps!” called out Spike to Mulford, the instant he saw he had regained his seat in the saddle.  Harry sprang amidships to obey, and the eye of every mariner in that vessel was on the young man, as, in the midst of a death-like silence, he performed this all-important duty.  It was like the physician’s feeling the pulse of his patient before he pronounces on the degree of his danger.

“Well, sir?” cried out Spike, impatiently, as the rod reappeared.

“All right, sir,” answered Harry, cheerfully—­“the well is nearly empty.”

“Hold on a moment longer, and give the water time to find its way amidships, if there be any.”

The mate remained perched up on the pump, in order to comply, while Spike and his people, who now breathed more freely again, improved the leisure to brace up and haul aft, to the new course.

“Biddy,” said Mrs. Budd considerately, during this pause in the incidents, “you need n’t scream any longer.  The danger seems to be past, and you may get up off the deck now.  See, I have let go of the mast.  The pumps have been sounded, and are found tight.”

Biddy, like an obedient and respectful servant, did as directed, quite satisfied if the pumps were tight.  It was some little time, to be sure, before she was perfectly certain whether she were alive or not—­but, once certain of this circumstance, her alarm very sensibly abated, and she became reasonable.  As for Mulford, he dropped the sounding rod again, and had the same cheering report to make.

“The brig is as tight as a bottle, sir.”

“So much the better,” answered Spike.  “I never had such a whirl in her before in my life, and I thought she was going to stop and pass the night there.  That’s the very spot on which `The Hussar’ frigate was wrecked.”

“So I have heard, sir.  But she drew so much water that she hit slap against the rock, and started a butt.  We merely touched on its top with our fore-foot, and slid off.”

This was the simple explanation of the Swash’s escape, and, everybody being now well assured that no harm had been done, things fell into their old and regular train again.  As for Spike, his gallantry, notwithstanding, was upset for some hours, and glad enough was he when he saw all three of his passengers quit the deck to go below.  Mrs. Budd’s spirits had been so much agitated that she told Rose she would go down into the cabin and rest a few minutes on its sofa.  We say sofa, for that article of furniture, now-a-days, is far more common in vessels than it was thirty years ago in the dwellings of the country.