Indeed, they expected, almost with certainty, that they would be swamped by each wave. Still the bold man who held the helm retained his firmness; his iron nerves, as if they were strung for the occasion, never once flinched; and he seemed to dare peril, and defy the storm. The boat pushed on; now shooting up the curl of a long, whistling wave; then, with reckless violence, dashing into the gaping trough below, which appeared to yawn even more under its bottom, and to let it sink yet deeper and deeper. Then the rain, and the wind, and the dashing spray, all blended together, beat down in it from above, and the little boat groaned again. How human beings could move through such horrors, where death was in every object, and retain their presence of mind, was truly amazing. Yet Hildebrand maintained his place at the rudder; and the two hardy seamen, though keenly alive to their situation, and fully expecting that every successive wave would swamp or overturn the boat, held on at their oars. Still they made but little progress; for, owing to the excessive agitation of the water, their oars, though so skilfully and adroitly worked, did not always dip, and, even when they did, the violence of the storm half counteracted the impulse. Nor was it by the tempest alone that all their terror was inspired. As they progressed, their ears were saluted by heart-rending shrieks; and thundering noises, like the clashing together of some immense bodies, and which they rightly conjectured to be collisions among the closely-packed shipping, silenced even the roar of the elements. Then a sharp, rushing sound broke on the ear; and the black hulls of two gigantic vessels, looking like the spirits of the storm, flew past together, amidst a terrible chorus of mortal shrieks. The terrors of death hung around the cruizer’s little boat; but its fearless captain, however he might be moved inwardly, appeared to be still undaunted. “Now, cheerily, my lads! cheerily!” he cried, to the two rowers, at this appalling juncture. “The lights are close at hand: three strokes more, and ye have the beach.” But, strive as the rowers might, the oars would not dip: the long, curling waters troughed under the boat more deeply than ever: then a roaring wave, curling higher and higher as it came on, caught it under the stern, and shot it high on the shore. The boat capsized as the wave receded; but fortunately, having foreseen what would be its effect, the two seamen had leaped out as she grounded, and so were able to prevent her being swamped. As they held on to the boat, Hildebrand also was about to leap out, when, turning to help up Don Rafaele, he perceived that that person had fallen into a swoon. There was no time to hesitate, and, quick as thought, he caught him up in his arms, and stepped with him on to the shore.