Free The Pilot by James Fenimore Cooper Page A

the mainsail were
trusted loose to the blast. There was an instant when the result was
doubtful; the tremendous threshing of the heavy sail seemed to bid
defiance to all restraint, shaking the ship to her centre; but art and
strength prevailed, and gradually the canvas was distended, and bellying
as it filled, was drawn down to its usual place by the power of a
hundred men. The vessel yielded to this immense addition of force, and
bowed before it like a reed bending to a breeze. But the success of the
measure was announced by a joyful cry from the stranger, that seemed to
burst from his inmost soul.
    "She feels it! she springs her luff! observe," he said, "the light opens
from the hummock already: if she will only bear her canvas we shall go
clear."
    A report, like that of a cannon, interrupted his exclamation, and
something resembling a white cloud was seen drifting before the wind
from the head of the ship, till it was driven into the gloom far to
leeward.
    "'Tis the jib, blown from the bolt-ropes," said the commander of the
frigate. "This is no time to spread light duck—but the mainsail may
stand it yet."
    "The sail would laugh at a tornado," returned the lieutenant; "but the
mast springs like a piece of steel."
    "Silence all!" cried the pilot. "Now, gentlemen, we shall soon know our
fate. Let her luff—luff you can!"
    This warning effectually closed all discourse, and the hardy mariners,
knowing that they had already done all in the power of man to insure
their safety, stood in breathless anxiety, awaiting the result. At a
short distance ahead of them the whole ocean was white with foam, and
the waves, instead of rolling on in regular succession, appeared to be
tossing about in mad gambols. A single streak of dark billows, not half
a cable's length in width, could be discerned running into this chaos of
water; but it was soon lost to the eye amid the confusion of the
disturbed element. Along this narrow path the vessel moved more heavily
than before, being brought so near the wind as to keep her sails
touching. The pilot silently proceeded to the wheel, and, with his own
hands, he undertook the steerage of the ship. No noise proceeded from
the frigate to interrupt the horrid tumult of the ocean; and she entered
the channel among the breakers, with the silence of a desperate
calmness. Twenty times, as the foam rolled away to leeward, the crew
were on the eve of uttering their joy, as they supposed the vessel past
the danger; but breaker after breaker would still heave up before them,
following each other into the general mass, to check their exultation.
Occasionally, the fluttering of the sails would be heard; and when the
looks of the startled seamen were turned to the wheel, they beheld the
stranger grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the water
to the canvas. At length the ship reached a point where she appeared to
be rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when suddenly her
course was changed, and her head receded rapidly from the wind. At the
same instant the voice of the pilot was heard shouting:
    "Square away the yards!—in mainsail!"
    A general burst from the crew echoed, "Square away the yards!" and,
quick as thought, the frigate was seen gliding along the channel before
the wind. The eye had hardly time to dwell on the foam, which seemed
like clouds driving in the heavens, and directly the gallant vessel
issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy waves of the sea.
    The seamen were yet drawing long breaths, and gazing about them like men
recovered from a trance, when Griffith approached the man who had so
successfully conducted them through their perils. The lieutenant grasped
the hand of the other, as he said:
    "You have this night proved yourself a faithful pilot, and such a seaman
as the world cannot equal."
    The pressure of the hand was warmly returned by the unknown mariner, who
replied:
    "I am no stranger to the seas, and I may yet find my grave in them. But
you, too,