“See what the distance is, O’Brien,” said Robinson.  It was measured, and proved to be thirteen miles.  “Only thirteen miles; and if we do weather, we shall do very well, for the bay is deep beyond.  It’s a rocky point, you see, just by way of variety.  Well, my lads, I’ve a piece of comfort for you, anyhow.  It’s not long that you’ll be kept in suspense, for by one o’clock this day you’ll either be congratulating each other upon your good luck, or you’ll be past praying for.  Come, put up the chart, for I hate to look at melancholy prospects; and, steward, see what you can find in the way of comfort.”  Some bread and cheese, with the remains of yesterday’s boiled pork, were put on the table, with a bottle of rum, procured at the time they “spliced the main brace,” but we were all too anxious to eat much, and one by one returned on deck to see how the weather was, and if the wind at all favored us.  On deck the superior officers were in conversation with the captain, who expressed the same fear that O’Brien had in our berth.  The men, who knew what they had to expect, were assembled in knots, looking very grave, but at the same time not wanting in confidence.  They knew that they could trust to the captain, as far as skill or courage could avail them; and sailors are too sanguine to despair, even at the last moment.  As for myself, I felt such admiration for the captain, after what I had witnessed that morning, that, whenever the idea came over me, that in all probability I should be lost in a few hours, I could not help acknowledging how much more serious it was that such a man should be lost to his country.  I do not intend to say that it consoled me, but it certainly made me still more regret the chances with which we were threatened.

Before twelve o’clock the rocky point which we so much dreaded was in sight, broad on the lee bow; and if the low sandy coast appeared terrible, how much more did this, even at a distance.  The captain eyed it for some minutes in silence, as if in calculation.

“Mr. Falcon,” said he, at last, “we must put the mainsail on her.”

“She never can bear it, sir.”

“She must bear it,” was the reply.  “Send the men aft to the mainsheet.  See that careful men attend the bunt-lines.”

The mainsail was set, and the effect of it upon the ship was tremendous.  She careened over so that her lee channels were under the water; and when pressed by a sea, the lee side of the quarter-deck and gangway were afloat.  She now reminded me of a goaded and fiery horse, mad with the stimulus applied; not rising as before, but forcing herself through whole seas, and dividing the waves, which poured in one continual torrent from the forecastle down upon the decks below.  Four men were secured to the wheel—­the sailors were obliged to cling to prevent being washed away—­the ropes were thrown in confusion to leeward—­the shot rolled out of the lockers, and every eye was fixed aloft, watching the masts,