The corvette still plunged and rolled tremendously; but, fortunately, they contrived to keep her before the seas, which, owing to the continued and heavy rain, were falling fast. William Thornton made his way into the principal cabin of the corvette. Notwithstanding everything had been secured in the best possible manner, many things had broken adrift and lay scattered over the floor; a swinging lamp threw a feeble gleam over the handsome saloon. The females were in their private cabins, but Madame Volney’s attendant, a woman who had lived with her many years, and was greatly attached to her, answered our hero’s summons at the door. “Oh, mon Dieu, monsieur!” said Janette, “we thought every moment would be our last. Are we going into port, for we appear quieter?” “We are running in for a port, Mrs. Janette,” said William Thornton, “and the hurricane has ceased; so tell the ladies they have nothing further to fear. In an hour or two the sea will be comparatively smooth.” “Is there any one hurt on board, Mr. Thornton?” inquired madame; “we heard such a terrible crash during the night, as if the masts were being carried away.” “I am happy to say, madam, that there was no one hurt; but I fear you all suffered a great deal by the rolling of the ship.” “Oh! we fastened ourselves into our berths, and escaped suffering only from intense anxiety, which we are greatly obliged to you for relieving, Mr. Thornton.” The midshipman returned upon deck, the rain still falling heavily, but there was not a breath of wind, though vivid flashes of lightning at intervals threw a bright gleam over the heaving waters, but unaccompanied by thunder. “In an hour or so it will be daylight, William,” said Captain O’Loughlin. “We must try and get up some of the spare sails; luckily our spare spars have escaped. We may rig up a couple of jury-masts and get to Gibraltar with them, unless the gale sets in again. I have no faith in those sudden lulls.” “We might make Barcelona or Carthagena, and get a rough fitting-up there,” said our hero; “it’s a deuced long run to Gibraltar.” “Depends on how we get the wind, my lad. Port Mahon would be better if we could manage it. But, hark! do you hear that noise aloft; do you feel the change of temperature?” “There’s the nor’-wester aloft, sir,” said the first mate, who was standing by the wheel; “it’s coming out of the Gulf of Lyons like thunder.” “Be the powers of war! the gale is aloft, sure enough,” said Captain O’Loughlin; “it will strike us very shortly. Now my lads,” turning to the crew, who were splicing the main brace, “let us see what we can do to get up a jury-mast, just to keep us steady before the gale. Faith! here it is, and no mistake.” As he spoke there was a loud roar like thunder, and the well-known and much dreaded nor’-wester of the Gulf of Lyons was upon them.