The breeze that insured her destruction served to shoot the Englishman ahead. Though thus pushing forward, however, the crew of the latter vessel, now released from action, still heard the cries of her doomed company. They were audible for several minutes, when, all at once, they became perfectly hushed. The next moment, the gun-boat blew up, and shot into the air in a thousand fragments. A buzz of horror arose from the crew of the “Eliza” at this consummation of the catastrophe. The shock was so great, that, though now a good distance from its locality, their own ship was shaken by it, and bumped on the waves as if they were a rock. After the unanimous buzz specified, however, no one ventured to speak, and they pursued their course in solemn silence. Hildebrand was the first to collect himself. Like his men, he had turned, almost mechanically, to view the explosion, and was wheeling round again to the binnacle, or box before the helm (which, it may be explained, contained the compass), when a small and trembling hand was laid on his arm. Labouring under intense excitement, this slight incident made him start; but his face, though it remained pale, betrayed no anger as his glance fell on Don Rafaele. “In the name of God, what hath happened?” asked that person, with terrible calmness. “We are safe yet, Senhor,” answered Hildebrand. “Be of good heart, and go below again.” “I had rather die here,” rejoined Don Rafaele. “An’ thou wilt not go below, sit thee down on the deck,” said Hildebrand. “A short space more will discover our fate.” The Spaniard, without a word more--for he saw that Hildebrand was not inclined for further discourse--disposed himself in the manner recommended, on the further side of the binnacle. As he did so, the ship entered the narrow channel of the harbour, and the crisis which Hildebrand had mentioned approached. On one side of the channel stood the principal puntal, or fort, called St. Lorenzo, which guarded the harbour’s mouth, and the garrison of which had evidently been alarmed by the explosion of the gun-boat, and were now on the alert. The other side was the mainland, and presented a lee shore, lined with breakers, which the sea, in its progress to the strand, covered with boiling surf, whiter than snow. In order to avoid the cannon of the fort, Hildebrand was obliged to steer straight for the breakers, and (to use a nautical phrase) “hug” a shore that threatened destruction. After a hasty survey of his position, he resolved on this course without a moment’s hesitation. The breeze, though fresh, was not violent, and he thought that, if the ship were tacked on the instant he directed, they might weather the breakers successfully. In this belief, he ordered every man to his post, and directed that all things should be arranged, as they progressed onward, to tack with promptitude.