J. ARAGO 79 



diffuses a sulphureous smell. A dull, hollow roar- 

 ing soon announces to the attentive mariner the 

 impending danger. . . . The merry songs have 

 ceased, and are succeeded by an alarming silence. 

 The danger is measured with a glance. The cap- 

 tain speaks ; the men fly to obey his orders. The 

 furled sails no longer catch the wind, which roars 

 and howls among the rigging : the ship gradually 

 yields to the rapid motion of the billows. Perched 

 on the tops of the masts, and at the extremities of 

 the yards, the sailors display redoubled boldness. 

 An order is scarcely given before it is executed. 

 They are no longer those faint-hearted cowards, 

 described by barbarous historians as trembling at 

 the approach of danger ; they are, on the con- 

 trary, intrepid mariners, whom the combined 

 elements are incapable of appalling. Whether 

 touching the clouds, or at the bottom of the abyss, 

 they are constantly the same ; and they care as 

 little for the thunderbolt as for the sunken rock. 

 But the uproar increases ; the cloud hovers over 

 the vessel ; wave dashes against wave ; lightnings 

 rend the cloud ; from its murky sides burst tor- 

 rents of wind and hail. The ship is carried away. 

 The rapidity of its motions prevents any attempt 

 to counteract them ; and the profoundest darkness 

 would render such an attempt useless. The roar- 

 ing of the waves, the pealing of the thunder, the 

 howling of the cordage, the cracking of the tackle, 



