“But where the ship ahead can float so can we,” observed Captain Lascelles.
“She may manage to run in between reefs on which we may strike. Never let us trust to the leading of an enemy, sir,” was the answer.
“You are right, master, you are right!” exclaimed Captain Lascelles, in a tone of warm approval. “Send a hand with the lead into each of the chains. We’ll run no risk of casting the ship away.”
Soon the voices of the leadsmen were heard through the still silence of night, as the gallant frigate clove her way through the calm waters.
“By the deep nine,” sang out one on the starboard side.
“By the mark seven,” was soon afterwards heard from the man in the port chains.
“Quarter less six,” was the next shouted out.
“We are shoaling our water rapidly,” observed Captain Lascelles to the first lieutenant. “Stand by to go about.”
All eyes had been fixed on the dark mass ahead. Onward it seemed to glide through the darkness. Every one felt certain that their eyes did not deceive them. There still appeared, they all believed, the sails of the stranger, a huge towering pinnacle reaching to the sky. Yet so near the ground were they that it was dangerous for the frigate, though of course drawing much less water, to stand on.
“Was she a ship of mortal fabric?” some of the more superstitious among the seamen began to ask.