The little light which fell from the sky was now excluded by the falling canvas, and a deeper gloom was cast athwart the decks of the ship, that served to render the brilliancy of the lanterns even vivid, while it gave to objects outboard a more appalling and dreary appearance than before. Every individual, excepting the commander and his associate, was now earnestly engaged in getting the ship under way. The sounds of “we're away” were repeated by a burst from fifty voices, and the rapid evolutions of the capstan announced that nothing but the weight of the anchor was to be lifted. The hauling of cordage, the rattling of blocks, blended with the shrill calls of the boatswain and his mates, succeeded; and though to a landsman all would have appeared confusion and hurry, long practice and strict discipline enabled the crew to exhibit their ship under a cloud of canvas, from her deck to the trucks, in less time than we have consumed in relating it. For a few minutes, the officers were not disappointed by the result; for though the heavy sails flapped lazily against the masts, the light duck on the loftier spars swelled outwardly, and the ship began sensibly to yield to their influence. “She travels! she travels!” exclaimed Griffith joyously; “ah! the hussy! she has as much antipathy to the land as any fish that swims: it blows a little gale aloft yet!” “We feel its dying breath,” said the pilot, in low, soothing tones, but in a manner so sudden as to startle Griffith, at whose elbow they were unexpectedly uttered. “Let us forget, young man, everything but the number of lives that depend, this night, on your exertions and my knowledge.” “If you be but half as able to exhibit the one as I am willing to make the other, we shall do well,” returned the lieutenant, in the same tone. “Remember, whatever may be your feelings, that _we_ are on an enemy's coast, and love it not enough to wish to lay our bones there.” With this brief explanation they separated, the vessel requiring the constant and close attention of the officer to her movements. The exultation produced in the crew by the progress of their ship through the water was of short duration; for the breeze that had seemed to await their motions, after forcing the vessel for a quarter of a mile, fluttered for a few minutes amid their light canvas, and then left them entirely. The quartermaster, whose duty it was to superintend the helm, soon announced that he was losing the command of the vessel, as she was no longer obedient to her rudder. This ungrateful intelligence was promptly communicated to his commander by Griffith, who suggested the propriety of again dropping an anchor. “I refer you to Mr. Gray,” returned the captain; “he is the pilot, sir, and with him rests the safety of the vessel.”