HAPTER XXV.

There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily, and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods.
WORDSWORTH.

As the light returned, Pathfinder and Cap ascended again to the roof,
with a view to reconnoitre the state of things once more on the island.
This part of the blockhouse had a low battlement around it, which
afforded a considerable protection to those who stood in its centre; the
intention having been to enable marksmen to lie behind it and to
fire over its top. By making proper use, therefore, of these slight
defences,--slight as to height, though abundantly ample as far as they
went,--the two look-outs commanded a pretty good view of the island, its
covers excepted, and of most of the channels that led to the spot.

The gale was still blowing very fresh at south; and there were places in
the river where its surface looked green and angry, though the wind
had hardly sweep enough to raise the water into foam. The shape of the
little island was nearly oval, and its greater length was from east to
west. By keeping in the channels that washed it, in consequence of their
several courses and of the direction of the gale, it would have
been possible for a vessel to range past the island on either of its
principal sides, and always to keep the wind very nearly abeam. These
were the facts first noticed by Cap, and explained to his companion; for
the hopes of both now rested on the chances of relief sent from Oswego.
At this instant, while they stood gazing anxiously about them, Cap cried
out, in his lusty, hearty manner,

"Sail, ho!"

Pathfinder turned quickly in the direction of his companion's face;
and there, sure enough, was just visible the object of the old sailor's
exclamation. The elevation enabled the two to overlook the low land of
several of the adjacent islands; and the canvas of a vessel was seen
through the bushes that fringed the shore of one that lay to the
southward and westward. The stranger was under what seamen call low
sail; but so great was the power of the wind, that her white outlines
were seen flying past the openings of the verdure with the velocity of a
fast-travelling horse--resembling a cloud driving in the heavens.

"That cannot be Jasper," said Pathfinder in disappointment; for he did
not recognize the cutter of his friend in the swift-passing object.
"No, no, the lad