ard, but she herself was
swept away as fast as before to the southward; while so tumbling and
breaking was the sea, that it was not without danger of being swamped
that the boats were again hoisted in. The crew cast frowning glances
towards the shore.

"What are we to do, Alvarez?" asked the captain, not at all liking the
condition of his ship.

"Let her drive backwards and forwards till a breeze springs up, I
suppose," answered the lieutenant. "Should a westerly gale catch us
before we again get to the southward of Sumburgh Head, and should we
fail to weather some of those ugly-looking points, I doubt much whether
Saint Cecilia herself, after whom our pretty craft is called, could
prevent every one of us from sharing the fate which has befallen many a
bold seaman before us. However, we'll hope for the best."

"You do not seem to like the prospects of this northern cruise of ours,
Alvarez," observed the captain. "You have not been in good humour since
we entered the British Channel, and have done nothing but predict
disaster."

"Pardon me, captain," answered the lieutenant, "I am not now predicting
disaster--though it requires no seer to foretell the fate of the ship,
if not of our lives, should certain not unlikely contingencies occur.
However, here comes a breeze, I verily believe from the westward too,
and if it will but fill our sails for a short half-hour, we may double
yon ugly-looking Sumburgh Head, and getting out of the Roust, the tide
will carry us along to our anchorage."

The boats being once more lowered, towed the head of the corvette round
to the westward, though all the time several hands were bailing to keep
them free of the water, which bubbled and tumbled hissing into them over
the sides. The breeze which Pedro Alvarez had observed playing on the
surface in the distance, at length filled her sails, and stemming the
current, she again got into smooth water and the influence of the tide,
making to the northward. The wind also drew round to the southward, and
all sails being made, the corvette, with her wide spread of canvas,
glided on as smoothly and majestically as before, till the island of
Mousa, with its Pictie tower, bore west on her larboard beam. A signal
was flying for a pilot, and a long, light boat, pulling six oars, was
seen coming off from Fladbister, a town--in reality a little fishing
village--on the shore. The heads of her crew were visible a long way
off, by the bright hues