Meantime the flank of the thunder storm swept towards us, piling up a black line of water, crested with foam, while it approached with a noise like that of distant thunder. It came upon us; the sails fluttered a moment and filled, the yards creaked, the masts bent to the strain, and the little brig dashed rapidly through the hissing water. In the darkness we lost sight of the schooner, and the shore was no longer visible, but we kept on our way; the Francis knew the road, and seemed full of life, and eager to reach her old anchorage. “Don’t she scud!” said the mate, who rubbed his hands in very glee. “If this only holds for ten minutes more, we’re in, like a spike!”—and, strange to say, it did hold; and when it was past we found ourselves close to “Point Arenas,” a long narrow spit, partly covered with water, which shuts in the harbor, leaving only a narrow opening for the admission of vessels. The schooner was behind us, but here was a difficulty. The bar had changed since his last trip; the captain was uncertain as to the entrance, and the surf broke heavily under our lee. Excitement of another character prevailed as we moved slowly on, where a great swell proclaimed the existence of shallows. The captain stood in the bow, and we watched the captain. Suddenly he cried, “Hard a-port!” with startling emphasis, and “Hard a-port!” was echoed by the helmsman, as he swept round the tiller. But it was too late; the little vessel struck heavily as the wave fell. “Thirty-seventh, and last!” muttered the mate between his teeth, as he rushed to the fastenings, and the main-sail came down on the run. “Round with the boom, my men!” and the boom swung round, just as the brig struck again, with greater force than before, unshipping the rudder, and throwing the helmsman across the deck. “Round again, my men! lively, or the Francis is lost!” cheered the mate, who seemed invested with superhuman strength and agility; and as the boom swung round the wave fell, but the Francis did not strike. “Clear she is!” shouted the mate, who leaped upon the companion-way, and waved his hat in triumph; and turning towards the schooner, “Do _that_, ye divil, and call yerself a sailor!” There was no doubt about it; the Francis was in before the schooner; and notwithstanding the accident to her rudder, she passed readily to her old anchoring ground, in the midst of a spacious harbor, smooth as a mill-pond. There was music in the rattling cable as the anchor was run out, and the Francis moved slowly round, with her broadside towards the town. The well was tried, but she had made no water, which was the occasion for a new ebullition of joy on the part of the mate.