i6 FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 



gloom to distinguish the fatal Ught— for light it is— surely approaching! 

 There is hope yet that the coming craft may drift across our bows without 

 striking us, for the tide is setting over that way somewhat. Yonder she 

 emerges from the gloom, and we can distinguish the dim outline of her spais 

 and hull. It seems as if nothing short of a miracle can prevent the danger 

 from culminating. The skipper has twice lifted his axe to strike the sever- 

 ing blow at the cable, but the remembrance of the vessels to leeward of us 

 causes him to hesitate. But for this we should doubdess have cut at the 

 first alarm. Now she rises on the crest of a sea, right ahead of us, and five 

 seconds more will tell the tale. The suspense which thrills every breast 

 suspends respiration ; almost stops circulation. The tongue is powerless, 

 and all the facukies are concentrated in the eyes. Every gaze is riveted on 

 the vessel as she rises, more on the bow this time, and every man draws 

 a great breath of relief, for we know that the danger is past ! 



She is now abreast of us, but going away slowly on the starboard quarter. 

 So near is she that we feel her cable running up across our own, but we 

 know from its buoyancy that there is no anchor on the end of it, so we have 

 no fear of its hooking hold of us. Away into the gloom, out of sight, drifts 

 the fated vessel, her crew unconscious of the new perils so near at hand, to 

 leeward. The drift she was making when we lost sight of her would take 

 her very, very near the vessel whose bearings we took on the starboard quar- 

 ter before the storm set in. God help the poor fellows ! To be adrift on 

 Georges Bank at such a time, among a fleet of vessels, is a danger only 

 to be realized by those who have been through some experience of the kind. 



Is it by chance that the snow shortly after this suddenly ceases ? The 

 cessation is of but short duration, but as it clears to leeward all eyes are 

 searching for the lights, and soon one is descried as it rises on the sea. We 

 try to see the other — we know there must be two in that direction. The 

 next sea reveals to all that there are two lights there, together ! A loud 

 and horrified cry announces this discovery, and then every man seems frozen 

 to a statue. The terrible interest centered in those entangled lights seems 

 to suspend every sense but that of sight, which it intensifies. 



This scene has scarcely become distinct, when like a vision it fades away. 

 The snow falls again, and the lights disappear, whether behind the curtain 

 of snow, or whether they sink into the embrace of the furious giant who was 

 yesterday so softly enchanting us, we are in doubt. But of the end of the 

 encounter there is, alas ! no room even for doubt. 



Daylight breaks, or rather, creeps, on us at last. I question if there is 

 a man on board, be he infidel or Christian, who does not feel a sense of 

 thankfulness as he recognizes the long-deferred light slowly spreading over 

 and through the scene. The crests of the breaking seas become visible 

 further and further. The snowflakes show up in relief against the increas- 



