Long jets of fire darted across the hatchways, and we were forced to take refuge on the taffrail at the extreme end of the poop.

Mrs.
Kear was laid in the whale-boat that hung from the stern, Miss Herbey persisting to the last in retaining her post by her side.
No pen could adequately portray the horrors of this fearful night.

The "Chancellor" under bare poles, was driven, like a gigantic fire-ship with frightful velocity across the raging ocean; her very speed as it were, making common cause with the hurricane to fan the fire that was consuming her.

Soon there could be no alternative between throwing ourselves into the sea, or perishing in the flames.
But where, all this time, was the picrate?
perhaps, after all, Ruby had deceived us and there was no volcano, such as we dreaded, below our feet.
At half-past eleven, when the tempest seems at its very height there is heard a peculiar roar distinguishable even above the crash of the elements.

The sailors in an instant recognize its import.
"Breakers to starboard!" is the cry.
Curtis leaps on to the netting, casts a rapid glance at the snow-white billows, and turning to the helmsman shouts with all his might "Starboard the helm!" But it is too late.