No! there it was again, this time nothing but a spark, close by, on a level, perhaps, with our mizzen.

So near was it, I wondered whether it might not be the lighting of a match at our own guns.

It went again: and as it did so, my finger, almost without my knowing it, tightened on the trigger of my pistol and it went off.
At the same moment, there was a blaze, a roar, a crash, and a shout.
For an instant the _Misericorde_ reeled in her course and quivered from stern to stern.

Then, another shout and a wild irregular roar astern.
Then our good ship gathered herself together and leapt forward once more into the darkness, and the peril was passed.
All was over so suddenly that the pistol was still smoking in my hand as I leapt from the forecastle and rushed aft.
"Is all well ?" I shouted.
"All well," said Ludar, quietly.

"She grazed our poop and no more." "And the maiden ?" said I.
"All well," cried she, cheerily from the helm, "and fair in the wind." "Stand at your posts still," cried Ludar.
So for another half-hour yet we stood at our posts, just as we had stood before the crisis came; and not a word said any one.
Then in the stormy east came a faint flush of dawn, and we knew that this perilous night was over.
"Seaman," said Ludar, "relieve the maiden at the helm, and bid her come hither." She came, radiant and triumphant.
"Sir Ludar," she said, "I thank you for letting me hold the helm this night.