The Blockade Runner — page 105: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

106 THE BLOCKADE RUNNER. He carefully made his way to his own stateroom, and in half an hour was asleep, little reckoning that it was his last night of life. In the meanwhile the Foxhound was dashing toward Nassau, as though eager to reach her destination. Captain Powell had gone below, and Mr. Cresson, the second officer, kept watch on deck with Foul- weather Tom. They were both on the steamer’s bridge, keeping a sharp lookout forward for any signal from the man stationed at the forecastle head. At four bells the mist lifted a bit, and suddenly the figure of the lookout was seen to wave his arm wildly, with a hoarse cry of “ Port—hard a-port!” thrown by the wind violently into the pilot’s teeth. The helmsman caught the repeated order and jammed the wheel over hard. | “A brig close under our forefoot!” came the cry again from the catheads. Mr. Cresson sprang to the starboard rail, where for a moment he was lost in a cloud of hissing spray, as the steamer careened that way. He caught a glance of the stern of a trim-looking craft, evidently lying to in the gale. The mist had heretofore concealed her position, and now the steamer was upon her and her fate was sealed. Those on board the brig had only just discovered their danger. Her helm was shifted, and there was great confusion on her deck, but it was too late to avoid the calamity. Her sheets were let fly, and with a wild lurch she — rolled over, broadside to the Foxhound, which at that instant gave a leap like a horse clearing a gate, and then Comichooksseom