"Ware her, pilot!" D—— called out to the principal pilot. The two pilots taking up the hint, consulted for an instant, and then that one to whom D—— had spoken, said,
"Ware ship."
The beautiful little vessel obeyed her helm as willingly as if she were on a lake; and D—— could not help observing to me, his eyes beaming with the devotion of a sailor for his ship,
"It's a shame, Sir, to doubt she would ever perform her duty."
Scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, or the cutter wore round, when the man, who had first seen the breakers, shouted a second time, like the flying herald of Doomsday,
"There's a vessel going to run us down!"
Every soul ran to the weather side and sought with starting eyes the object of anticipated destruction. By the gleams of light a native vessel, with a sole square-sail set, was imperfectly seen bearing down on our weather bow; and although the wind and sea combined with the darkness to render our annihilation seemingly inevitable, the crew of the approaching bark sang, in a long, slow measure, two or three Norwegian words, and their constant, drawling repetition became distincter as the vessel, like an ice-berg, tore through the frothing surge towards us. There stirred not a sound on board our cutter, except the unceasing exhortation, spoken almost sepulchrally, of the pilot standing near to the helmsman,
"Stea—dy!—stea—dy!"
Both pilots appeared to have understood the signification of the chant, for they altered not the course of the cutter, but kept their eyes fixed, as well as the night admitted, on the huge white sail of the spectral vessel; and would make no other reply to our questions, but,
"They see us, they see us."