We 'bout ship with all possible speed, and tacked away from the danger with every stitch of canvas that we could cram. But our speed was as a snail's pace compared to the awful swiftness of the scudding water-spouts. In less than five minutes after we tacked, we were completely surrounded by the terrible columns of smooth, up-lifted brine, and we came almost to a standstill. It was a very terrible thing, for, as the water-spouts reached our position, the gale died away, and we, together with the strange brigantine, were left immediately in their midst, until it appeared that we were about to be forever entombed in a magnificent temple of pillared brine. For it was next to impossible to steer clear of them, without bringing one of them upon our heads, by the wind of our motion. They leaned to the eastward--still feeling the influence of the gale that had just died away. If we had been either altogether to the larboard or starboard of them, we might have let them all down to their proper level by a few cannon-shots, but, surrounded as we were, our predicament was most distressing. The water-spouts kept wheeling about us, slowly and silently. They were vast, smooth, glassy columns of brine, reaching to the heavens, some of them four or five feet in diameter in the most slender part. At length, however, a broad opening was created to the southward and we, throwing out our sweeps, made for it with the good will of men whose lives are suspended upon the muscles of the arm. We reached it and were soon out of danger of the _forest_ (so to speak) of water-spouts; but several more were to be seen far to the southward, and we swung around our swivel to send a shot in the midst of the multitude from which we had just escaped. Now here was a predicament, for the brigantine was unprovided with sweeps, and, as there was not a breath of wind--a dead calm--was compelled to remain where she was. In vain we signaled her to put out her boats and attempt to tow out; she paid no attention to us whatever. Through the telescope we could see her crew kneeling and praying upon the deck. Her officers had evidently lost their presence of mind, and piped all hands to prayers when work with a will might have saved her. And now, to our anguish, a slight breath of air came from the northward. It would freshen to a gale in ten minutes. We would again have the watery labyrinth around us, with little hope of escape. What were we to do? If we fired our guns we would envelope the unfortunate brigantine in certain destruction; if we neglected to fire them we would, just as certainly, involve the destruction of our own ship. It was one of those hard questions of fatality where self-preservation is the only solution. So, with a heavy heart, doubtless, the captain gave the order and our Long Tom sent a shower of grape-shot and six-pounders among the labyrinth of water-columns. The effect was grand and terrible.