Again, another day arrived, the fourth since the brig had been dismasted; but a change had taken place; the wind had died away, and the heavens had opened their thousand windows, and the dark clouds were pouring down a deluge of rain on the poor brig, as she rolled, pitched, tossed, heaved about at the mercy of the waves, which still ran frightfully high. To add to horrors already overpowering, De Vere discovered that his worst fears had been realized. The brig, strained until her seams were opened, was leaking. Sounding the well, she was found to have four feet of water in her hold. He did not mention it to his unfortunate companions, hoping that it would not increase. In an hour he again tried the water; it had increased six inches, thus reducing to a certainty their deaths in the course of two days at the furthest, unless they were relieved; for every boat had been stove or carried overboard by the waves, and the crew was too weak to do any good at the pumps. With a sad heart, and solemn voice, he imparted the startling fact to the group on the quarter-deck; for, gathering confidence from each other’s society, they still continued huddled together astern, regardless of the fast falling rain—in great misfortunes so soon do we grow callous to smaller ones. De Vere’s intelligence extinguished the last spark of hope in the breasts of the men; and reckless in their despair, they were for at once breaking into the spirit-room, and having one more bacchanalian riot; let death, when he came, find them insensible to his terrors. Their captain ordered them back; but what was earthly authority to them, on the brink of eternity? He then expostulated, but it was of no avail; they were determined to die drunk, and told De Vere to get away from in front of the companion-way, where he was standing, to prevent their descent, or they would throw him overboard, and send him to Davy Jones a little before them. They were about to rush on him, as he stood unmoved, when Clara, roused by the danger of her husband, sprung between them. In a tone of command, and with an authoritative air, she said,— “Back! back!—are ye men, made after the image of the living God! And would ye hurry into his awful presence like beasts—drunk! insensible! and stained with murder! Or are ye such cowards that ye are afraid to die in your senses! Shame! shame upon ye! to have less firmness than I, a woman! But, no,” and she altered her tones to those of mildness, “I know ye are neither beasts nor cowards; but brave men, hurried away by an evil thought, who will join with me in asking forgiveness for it;” and sinking down on the deck, the sailors involuntarily followed her example; and when they arose, after her ardent supplication, they had given up all thought of their mad design.