Again a deep silence falls upon ship and crew, broken only by a strange sound of rushing waters, bursting out and dying away as regularly as the swing of a pendulum. ’Tis Thor’s Hammer, beating the frightened waters into foam, as it sways from side to side.
In spite of my effort to appear calm, I can feel my heart beat faster.
A cold chill benumbs my hands. A glance ahead startles me like a blow from an unseen hand. There, with the morning sun resting on its hammer-shaped crest, swings that dreaded shaft of flinty rock, threatening instant destruction to any ship bold enough to attempt to pass it.
In accordance with my orders, every sail on the coaster had been set, and her helm lashed, so as to pass to the right of Thor’s Hammer.
“Courage, men!” I cried. “Stand by, all! Cut away the lashings! Cast off the tender!”
Then waving my hand to the skipper, our mainsail came down with a run. Everything worked like a charm. Our ship slowed up, while the coaster shot ahead to her destruction. See, how gallantly the doomed craft speeds on her way; for the breeze had freshened, and several gay streamers and flags, which my men had run up to the topmast, fluttered in the crisp morning air.
There! Did you not hear that crash?
Thor’s Hammer has struck her!
Blow follows blow!
Crash! Crash! Crash!