Scenes changed before his eyes, place succeeded
place, and event followed event, in all the hurry of
delirium; but they were all connected in some way with the great
object of his mind. He was sailing over a boundless expanse of
sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the angry waters, lashed
into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every side. There
was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the
howling storm; her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast,
and her deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the sides,
over which huge waves every instant burst, sweeping away some
devoted creatures into the foaming sea. Onward they bore,
amidst the roaring mass of water, with a speed and force which
nothing could resist; and striking the stem of the foremost
vessel, crushed her beneath their keel. From the huge whirlpool
which the sinking wreck occasioned, arose a shriek so loud and
shrill--the death-cry of a hundred drowning creatures, blended
into one fierce yell--that it rung far above the war-cry of the
elements, and echoed, and re-echoed till it seemed to pierce air,
sky, and ocean. But what was that--that old gray head that rose
above the water's surface, and with looks of agony, and screams
for aid, buffeted with the waves! One look, and he had sprung
from the vessel's side, and with vigorous strokes was swimming
towards it.
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