The sail was at once furled. The jib was kept on, however, to hold us steady. We were now merely breasting the current, and driving on a little with the gusts. Soon it began to rain,—rain and snow together. The dreariness and uncertainty of our situation can hardly be imagined. We did not even know how near we were to the foot of the cliffs, and could merely keep the schooner headed as she had been during the afternoon.
"The main thing for us now is to keep her as nearly stationary as we can," said the captain. "Between wind and water, I hope not to move half a knot all night."
It was now nearly twelve.
"We may as well go below," said Kit. "No use standing here in the rain when we can do no good."
We had been up nearly twenty-one hours since our last nap. Sleep will have its tribute, even in the face of danger. Hastily flinging off our wet coats, we lay down. The wind and rain wailed among the rigging above. Chuck-chock, chock-chuck, went the waves under the stern; while every few minutes a heavy jarring bump, followed by a long raspy grind along the side, told of the icy processions floating past. Those were our lullabies that night. Truly it required a sharp summoning of our fortitude not to feel a little home-sick. But we went to sleep; at least I did, and slept a number of hours.
Voices roused me. The captain was standing beside our mattresses.
"Wake up!" he was saying. "Get up, and come on deck!"
At the same moment I heard, indistinctly, a strange, rumbling sound.
"What is it? what's the matter?" cried Kit, starting up.
"Oh! don't be scared; we've been hearing it for some time," replied the captain. "Put on your rubber coats."