As the night shut down, the captain wanted to tie up, but I thought maybe we might make Hirschhorn, so we went on.  Presently the sky became overcast, and the captain came aft looking uneasy.  He cast his eye aloft, then shook his head, and said it was coming on to blow.  My party wanted to land at once—­therefore I wanted to go on.  The captain said we ought to shorten sail anyway, out of common prudence.  Consequently, the larboard watch was ordered to lay in his pole.  It grew quite dark, now, and the wind began to rise.  It wailed through the swaying branches of the trees, and swept our decks in fitful gusts.  Things were taking on an ugly look.  The captain shouted to the steersman on the forward log: 

“How’s she landing?”

The answer came faint and hoarse from far forward: 

“Nor’-east-and-by-nor’—­east-by-east, half-east, sir.”

“Let her go off a point!”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

“What water have you got?”

“Shoal, sir.  Two foot large, on the stabboard, two and a half scant on the labboard!”

“Let her go off another point!”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

“Forward, men, all of you!  Lively, now!  Stand by to crowd her round the weather corner!”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

Then followed a wild running and trampling and hoarse shouting, but the forms of the men were lost in the darkness and the sounds were distorted and confused by the roaring of the wind through the shingle-bundles.  By this time the sea was running inches high, and threatening every moment to engulf the frail bark.  Now came the mate, hurrying aft, and said, close to the captain’s ear, in a low, agitated voice: 

“Prepare for the worst, sir—­we have sprung a leak!”

“Heavens! where?”

“Right aft the second row of logs.”

“Nothing but a miracle can save us!  Don’t let the men know, or there will be a panic and mutiny!  Lay her in shore and stand by to jump with the stern-line the moment she touches.  Gentlemen, I must look to you to second my endeavors in this hour of peril.  You have hats—­go forward and bail for your lives!”

Down swept another mighty blast of wind, clothed in spray and thick darkness.  At such a moment as this, came from away forward that most appalling of all cries that are ever heard at sea: 

“Man overboard!”

The captain shouted: 

“Hard a-port!  Never mind the man!  Let him climb aboard or wade ashore!”

Another cry came down the wind: 

“Breakers ahead!”

“Where away?”

“Not a log’s length off her port fore-foot!”

We had groped our slippery way forward, and were now bailing with the frenzy of despair, when we heard the mate’s terrified cry, from far aft: 

“Stop that dashed bailing, or we shall be aground!”

But this was immediately followed by the glad shout: