oof of fog. The cloud rose
a little, and then sunk heavier. Sometimes the density was perfect. The
ship was involved in a sort of foggy iceberg. At intervals this terrible
circle opened a little, like a pair of pincers; showed a glimpse of the
horizon, and then closed again.

Meanwhile the Guernsey man, armed with his spyglass, was standing like a
sentinel in the fore part of the vessel.

An opening appeared for a moment, and was blotted out again.

The Guernsey man returned alarmed.

"Captain Clubin!"

"What is the matter?"

"We are steering right upon the Hanways."

"You are mistaken," said Clubin, coldly.

The Guernsey man insisted.

"I am sure of it."

"Impossible."

"I have just seen the rock in the horizon."

"Where?"

"Out yonder."

"It is the open sea there. Impossible."

And Clubin kept the vessel's head to the point indicated by the
passenger.

The Guernsey man seized his spyglass again.

A moment later he came running aft again.

"Captain!"

"Well."

"Tack about!"

"Why?"

"I am certain of having seen a very high rock just ahead. It is the
Great Hanway."

"You have seen nothing but a thicker bank of fog."

"It is the Great Hanway. Tack, in the name of Heaven!"

Clubin gave the helm a turn.

V

CLUBIN REACHES THE CROWNING-POINT OF GLORY

A crash was heard. The ripping of a vessel's side upon a sunken reef in
open sea is the most dismal sound of which man can dream. The Durande's
course was stopped short.

Several passengers were knocked down with the shock and rolled upon the
deck.

The Guernsey man raised his hands to heaven:

"We are on the Hanways. I predicted it."

A long cry went up from the ship.

"We are lost."

The voice of Clubin, dry and short, was heard above all.

"No one is lost! Silence!"

The black form of Imbrancam, naked down to the waist, issued from the
hatchway of the engine-room.

The negro said with self-possession:

"The water is gaining, Captain. The fires will soon be out."

The moment was terrible.

The shock was like that of a suicide. If the disaster had been wilfully
sought, it could not have been more terrible. The Durande had rushed
upon her fate as if she had attacked the rock itself. A point had
pierced her sides like a wedge. More than six feet square of planking
had gone; the stem was broken, the prow smashed, and the gaping hull
drank in the sea with a horrible gulping noise. It was an entrance for
wreck and