“There’s an old saying on this shore,” said Joe:-- “When Price’s Neck goes to Brenton’s Reef, Body and soul will come to grief. But when Brenton’s Reef comes to Price’s Neck, Soul and body are both a wreck.” “What does it mean?” asked Harry. “It only means,” said somebody, “that when you see it white all the way out from the Neck to the Reef, you can’t take the inside passage.” “But what does the last half mean?” persisted Harry. “Don’t know as I know,” said the veteran, and relapsed into silence, in which all joined him, while the wind howled and whistled outside, and the barred windows shook. Weary and restless with vain waiting, they looked from the doorway at the weather. The door went back with a slam, and the gust swooped down on them with that special blast that always seems to linger just outside on such nights, ready for the first head that shows itself. They closed the door upon the flickering fire and the uncouth shadows within, and went forth into the night. At first the solid blackness seemed to lay a weight on their foreheads. There was absolutely nothing to be seen but the two lights of the light-ship, glaring from the dark sea like a wolf’s eyes from a cavern. They looked nearer and brighter than in ordinary nights, and appeared to the excited senses of the young men to dance strangely on the waves, and to be always opposite to them, as they moved along the shore with the wind almost at their backs. “What did that old fellow mean?” said Malbone in Harry’s ear, as they came to a protected place and could hear each other, “by talking of Brenton’s Reef coming to Price’s Neck.” “Some sailor’s doggerel,” said Harry, indifferently. “Here is Price’s Neck before us, and yonder is Brenton’s Reef.” “Where?” said Philip, looking round bewildered. The lights had gone, as if the wolf, weary of watching, had suddenly closed his eyes, and slumbered in his cave. Harry trembled and shivered. In Heaven’s name, what could this disappearance mean? Suddenly a sheet of lightning came, so white and intense, it sent its light all the way out to the horizon and exhibited far-off vessels, that reeled and tossed and looked as if wandering without a guide. But this was not so startling as what it showed in the foreground. There drifted heavily upon the waves, within full view from the shore, moving parallel to it, yet gradually approaching, an uncouth shape that seemed a vessel and yet not a vessel; two stunted masts projected above, and below there could be read, in dark letters that apparently swayed and trembled in the wan lightning, as the thing moved on, BRENTON’S REEF. Philip, leaning against a rock, gazed into the darkness where the apparition had been; even Harry felt a thrill of half-superstitious wonder, and listened half mechanically to a rough sailor’s voice at his ear:-- “God! old Joe was right. There’s one wreck that is bound to make many. The light-ship has parted.”