! now it comes."

"Lord have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!" ejaculated Wood, as a
fearful gust dashed the water over the side of the boat, deluging him
with spray.

The hurricane had now reached its climax. The blast shrieked, as if
exulting in its wrathful mission. Stunning and continuous, the din
seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. He, who had faced the
gale, would have been instantly stifled. Piercing through every crevice
in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or
from his grasp. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed
the faculties. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm.
The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. None
saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice.
Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the
work of devastation. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings
of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. The actual danger was
lost sight of in these wild apprehensions; and many timorous beings were
scared beyond reason's verge by the excess of their fears.

This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. He was roused from
the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who
roared in his ear, "The bridge!--the bridge!"

CHAPTER VII.

Old London Bridge.

London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. But
that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses.
Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and
picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the
Thames. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its
magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the
Middlesex to the Surrey shore. The houses were older, the shops
gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the
crowd, the street-like air was the same. Then the bridge had arched
gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways
ought to be) with the heads of traitors. In olden days it boasted a
chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt
curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the
Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it
still boasted an edifice (though