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Adams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)

"Our World, Or, the Slaveholder's Daughter"

Slowly, as they neared, did it come bolder and
bolder to view, until it shone out a long belt of white panoramic
banks. Low, and to the unpractised eye deceptive of distance, the
mate pronounced it not many miles off, and, the wind freshening
fair, kept the little bark steadily on her course, hoping thereby to
gain it before night came on: but the sun sank in a heavy cloud when
yet some four miles intervened. Distinctly they saw a cluster of
houses on a projecting point nearly ahead; but not a sail was off
shore, to which the increasing wind was driving them with great
violence.
And now that object which had been sighted with so much welcome in
the morning-that had cheered many a drooping heart, and seemed a
haven of safety, threatened their destruction. The water shoaled;
the sea broke and surged in sharp cones; the little craft tippled
and yawed confusedly; the counter eddies twirled and whirled in
foaming concaves; and leaden clouds again hung their threatening
festoons over the awful sea. To lay her head to the sea was
impracticable-an attempt to "lay-to" under the little sail would be
madness; onward she rode, hurrying to an inevitable fate. Away she
swept through the white crests, as the wind murmured and the sea
roared, and the anxious countenance of the mate, still guiding the
craft with a steady hand, seemed masked in watchfulness. His hand
remained firm to the helm, his eyes peered into the black prospect
ahead: but not a word did he utter.


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