Ludlow
gazed at it in melancholy, and for a time he ceased to think of his ship,
while memory dwelt, in sadness, on those scenes of boyish happiness, and
of professional pleasures, in which his ancient shipmate had so largely
participated. The roar of a gun, whose stream of fire flashed nearly to
their faces, and the sullen whistling of its shot, which crossed the raft,
failed to awaken him from his trance.
"Stand firm to the mess-chest!" half-whispered the Skimmer, motioning to
his companions to place themselves in attitudes to support the weaker of
their party, while, with sedulous care, he braced his own athletic person
in a manner to throw all of its weight and strength against the seat.
"Stand firm, and be ready!"
Ludlow complied, though his eye scarce changed its direction. He saw the
bright flame that was rising above the arm-chest, and he fancied that it
came from the funeral pile of the young Dumont, whose fate, at that
moment, he was almost disposed to envy. Then his look returned to the grim
countenance of Trysail. At moments, it seemed as if the dead master spoke;
and so strong did the illusion become, that our young sailor more than
once bent forward to listen. While under this delusion, the body rose,
with the arms stretched upwards. The air was filled with a sheet of
streaming fire, while the ocean and the heavens glowed with one glare of
intense and fiery red. Notwithstanding the precaution of the 'Skimmer of
the Seas,' the chest was driven from its place, and those by whom it was
held were nearly precipitated into the water.
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