A dark sea rose up between her and the schooner. She was no longer where she had been; the tracery of her masts and rigging appeared for an instant above the water, and then sank for ever. I uttered a cry of regret. McAllister shouted to me, and asked me why I had gone to sleep. I declared that I had been wide awake, and told him what I had seen. "You've sharper eyes than any one else," he answered. "You must have been asleep; we passed no ship, depend on that." I insisted on it that we had, and that he had not been looking out as I had; and from that day to this day I am uncertain which was right. I must, however, own that none of the men had seen the sinking ship; but then I hold that neither were they looking out, and it was but a few moments that she was in sight. "Had all on board seen her we could have rendered her hapless crew no assistance," I thought to myself, "so it does not signify." On we drove. I never spent a more trying night at sea. I thought the morning never would come or the gale end. The morning, however, did come, as it always does for those who wait for it. We were still driving on furiously, and as the cold grey light of the early dawn broke on the world of waters, the tossing ocean seemed more foam-covered and agitated than even on the previous day. I could see no signs of the cessation of the hurricane, nor did McAllister. Bambrick, however, observed that he thought there was less wind, and that it blew with more steadiness than before. The Frenchmen gave no opinion; indeed, most of them were below asleep. I worked my way forward to look out ahead. I stood by the side of the man stationed there for some minutes. "The sea is terribly broken away on the starboard bow there," I said. "Yes, sir, I don't like the looks of it," was the answer, as we continued gazing. We did not speak again for some minutes. It was as I feared though. "Breakers! breakers ahead!" we both simultaneously shouted. "Breakers! breakers on the starboard bow!"