Free The Pilot by James Fenimore Cooper

her head-sails were shaken, her after-yards trimmed,
and her helm shifted, before she had time to run upon the danger that
had threatened, as well to leeward as to windward. The beautiful fabric,
obedient to her government, threw her bows up gracefully towards the
wind again; and, as her sails were trimmed, moved out from among the
dangerous shoals, in which she had been embayed, as steadily and swiftly
as she had approached them.
    A moment of breathless astonishment succeeded the accomplishment of this
nice manoeuvre, but there was no time for the usual expressions of
surprise. The stranger still held the trumpet, and continued to lift his
voice amid the howlings of the blast, whenever prudence or skill
required any change in the management of the ship. For an hour longer
there was a fearful struggle for their preservation, the channel
becoming at each step more complicated, and the shoals thickening around
the mariners on every side. The lead was cast rapidly, and the quick eye
of the pilot seemed to pierce the darkness with a keenness of vision
that exceeded human power. It was apparent to all in the vessel that
they were under the guidance of one who understood the navigation
thoroughly, and their exertions kept pace with their reviving
confidence. Again and again the frigate appeared to be rushing blindly
on shoals where the sea was covered with foam, and where destruction
would have been as sudden as it was certain, when the clear voice of the
stranger was heard warning them of the danger, and inciting them to
their duty. The vessel was implicitly yielded to his government; and
during those anxious moments when she was dashing the waters aside,
throwing the spray over her enormous yards, each ear would listen
eagerly for those sounds that had obtained a command over the crew that
can only be acquired, under such circumstances, by great steadiness and
consummate skill. The ship was recovering from the inaction of changing
her course, in one of those critical tacks that she had made so often,
when the pilot, for the first time, addressed the commander of the
frigate, who still continued to superintend the all-important duty of
the leadsman.
    "Now is the pinch," he said, "and if the ship behaves well, we are safe
—but if otherwise, all we have yet done will be useless."
    The veteran seaman whom he addressed left the chains at this portentous
notice, and calling to his first lieutenant, required of the stranger an
explanation of his warning.
    "See you yon light on the southern headland?" returned the pilot; "you
may know it from the star near it?—by its sinking, at times, in the
ocean. Now observe the hummock, a little north of it, looking like a
shadow in the horizon—'tis a hill far inland. If we keep that light
open from the hill, we shall do well—but if not, we surely go to
pieces."
    "Let us tack again," exclaimed the lieutenant.
    The pilot shook his head, as he replied:
    "There is no more tacking or box-hauling to be done tonight. We have
barely room to pass out of the shoals on this course; and if we can
weather the 'Devil's Grip,' we clear their outermost point—but if not,
as I said before, there is but an alternative."
    "If we had beaten out the way we entered," exclaimed Griffith, "we
should have done well."
    "Say, also, if the tide would have let us do so," returned the pilot,
calmly. "Gentlemen, we must be prompt; we have but a mile to go, and the
ship appears to fly. That topsail is not enough to keep her up to the
wind; we want both jib and mainsail."
    "'Tis a perilous thing to loosen canvas in such a tempest!" observed the
doubtful captain.
    "It must be done," returned the collected stranger; "we perish without
it—see the light already touches the edge of the hummock; the sea casts
us to leeward."
    "It shall be done," cried Griffith, seizing the trumpet from the hand of
the pilot.
    The orders of the lieutenant were executed almost as soon as issued;
and, everything being ready, the enormous folds of