The youth then spoke to the men a word of cheer, assuring them that he could take the brig safely through the reef, and then took his station forward, with Donald in the waist to pass his orders aft, in case there should be need. He had already given to the helmsmen general instructions, so they knew how to steer till the need should come for a change. And pretty soon it came. The brig had passed into the mouth of the bay, with South Head on her starboard quarter, and Hood’s Island on her larboard; and now the long stretch of Dead Man’s Reef was under her forefoot, and she had almost an eighth of a mile to run in the midst of the terrible rocks! The young hero never blanched, never quivered, though every other man on board shook from top to toe. “Helm, there!--starboard!--steady!--so! Starboard again! Easy!--hold! Now! port--so!” And so he went on through the trying time. The men hung over the sides, looking down upon the ugly rocks, some of which were within two or three feet of the surface--looking down, and holding their breaths--wondering if the thing could be possible. It seemed a long, long time; though it was not many minutes before the glad shout went up. “There we are!” exclaimed Percy, as he stepped down from his perch forward and went aft. “The reef is behind us, and all with us is well. How is it with the ship, I wonder?” Aye, how was it? The commander of the corvette, seeing the heavily laden brig slip in so readily to the fair looking opening, between the headland and the island, determined that he would follow. If the brig could go his ship could go. But alas and alack for the ship! The last the smugglers saw of her, as they were about to pass from the sight of their expectant, prize-loving crew, she was hard and fast on the rocks. We may add: Her boats were sufficient to save all the human life within her, but for herself, she was to lie there until the winds and waves, with the assistance of the sunken rocks, had beaten her in pieces. ------- CHAPTER V. OLD DONALD’S CONFESSION. While the unfortunate sloop-of-war lay jammed in between two jagged sunken rocks of the terrible reef, with rocks ahead of her, and rocks astern and rocks on every hand; and while her boats were busy in getting the men of her crew safely to the shore, the smuggler brig was at anchor in King’s Cove, as effectually hidden from the prying eyes of her enemies as though she had been at the bottom of the sea. Never mind about the wild plaudits of the outlaws as they gathered around their youthful pilot and preserver. But for him they would have been either prisoners or dead--every man of them; and they knew it.