ey at least may do us good
service when the wind shall come."

Maso shook his head, but he made no answer. After a brief pause, in which
he seemed to study the heavens still more closely, he went to the spot
where the patron yet lay lost in sleep, and shook him rudely.--"Ho!
Baptiste! awake! there is need here of thy counsel and of thy commands."

The drowsy owner of the bark rubbed his eyes, and slowly regained the use
of his faculties.

"There is not a breath of wind," he muttered; "why didst awake me,
Maso?--One that hath led thy life should know that sleep is sweet to those
who toil."

"Ay, 'tis their advantage over the pampered and idle. Look at the heavens,
man, and let us know what thou thinkest of their appearance. Is there the
stuff in thy Winkelried to ride out a storm like this we may have to
encounter?"

"Thou talkest like a foolish quean that has been frightened by the
fluttering of her own poultry. The lake was never more calm, or the bark
in greater safety."

"Dost see yonder bright light; here, over the tower of thy Vevey church?"

"Ay, 'tis a gallant star! and a fair sign for the mariner."

"Fool, 'tis a hot flame in Roger de Blonay's beacon. They begin to see
that we are in danger on the shore, and they cast out their signals to
give us notice to be active. They think us be-stirring ourselves like
stout men, and those used to the water, while, in truth, we are as
undisturbed as if the bark were a rock that might laugh at the Leman and
its waves. The man is benumbed," continued Maso, turning away towards the
anxious listeners; "he will not see that which is getting to be but too
plain to all the others in his vessel."

Another idle and general laugh from the forecastle came to contradict this
opinion of Maso's, and to prove how easy it is for the ignorant to exist
in security, even on the brink of destruction. This was the moment, when
nature gave the first of those signals that were "intelligible to vulgar
capacities. The whole vault of the heavens was now veiled, with the
exception of the spot so often named, which lay nearly above the brawling
torrents of the Rhone. This fiery opening resembled a window admitting of
fearful glimpses into the dreadful preparations that were making up among
the higher peaks of the Alps. A flash of red quivering light was emitted,
and a distant, rumbling rush, that was not thunder but rather resembled
the wheelings of a thousand squadrons into line, followed t