The two midshipmen, with Kelson and several of the crew, hurried to carry out the order. Some delay occurred in consequence of the darkness. At length the anchor was let go, but as the ship's stern swung round it struck heavily on a rock. Again cries of terror came up from the passengers in the cabins; I therefore, as I could be of no use on deck, went below in the hopes of tranquillising their minds. They clung round me as I appeared, entreating to be told the truth. I assured them that there was no immediate danger, and that, though the ship had again struck on the rocks, there was so much less sea inside the reef than what she had already gone through, I hoped she might continue to hold together. In all probability we were not far off land. Some, on hearing this, especially those who had been most overcome with terror, expressed their joy in all sorts of extravagant ways, and seemed to consider that there was no longer any danger to be apprehended; others, again, would scarcely credit what I told them, and inquired what the captain thought on the subject. "The captain! What does he know about anything?" exclaimed a young man, who appeared to be superior in education to most of the passengers. "If the ship is lost, and our lives sacrificed, on him will rest the blame. Look there!" He threw open the door of the captain's cabin, where he and the first mate sat, both far too tipsy to move, yet still trying to pour spirits down their throats. "What's that you say?" growled out the captain, with an indistinct utterance; "I'll have no mutiny aboard this ship."