ed me to hurry forward and to get some head
sail on the schooner. Some of the lower parts of the fore-staysail
remained. There was no time to bend a new one. There had been a little
wind before; it now fell a dead calm; the smoke of a cigar would have
ascended as it had done a few hours before. It proved but treacherous:
I positively jumped from the suddenness with which the hurricane again
struck the vessel, and, as we had apprehended, from the eastward.
Happily the sail this time produced the desired effect, turning her head
from the wind, and then away the canvas flew from the bolt-ropes far off
upon the gale. Onward we drove as before, still more tossed and
tumbled. Had our friend, Colonel Pinchard, been with us, he would have
had some reason to complain of the _mal de mer_. The Audacieuse was a
strong, tight vessel, or she would have sprung a dozen leaks, and gone
down with all the knocking about she got. She, however, remained as dry
as a bottle. Still, as we rushed on, every instant approaching nearer
and nearer the rocks and sandbanks of the coast of Central America, our
anxiety increased. It was vain to hope that we could heave-to, or in
any way stop our mad career. We had done all that could be done, and
had now only calmly to await our fate, whatever Providence had designed
that should be. It is under such circumstances as this, that the
courage and resignation of men are most severely tried. All action has
of necessity ceased, the body is at rest, the mind has now full time for
thought. Numberless acts of the past life rise up to the recollection,
many a deed, and thought, and word, which must bring either pain or
fear; principles undergo a test which the wrong and baseless cannot
bear. Death looks terribly near. What can stand a man in good stead on
an occasion like this? One thing, and one thing alone--sound Bible
religion; a firm faith in Him who took our nature upon Him, and died for
our sins, and rose again, that He might present us, rising with Him,
faultless before the throne of Grace. I say that is the only thing that
can make a man feel perfectly happy under such circumstances. I have
seen many men stand boldly up to meet expected death, who have no such
hope, no such confidence; but their cheeks have been pale, their lips
have quivered, and oh, the agony depicted in their eyes. The soul was
speaking through them, and told of its secret dread. Let no one be
deceived by the outward