A WATERSPOUT. 147

Singularly fine was the weather; wonderfully clear the
sky ; the air calm; the temperature in the vicinity of the
Progressive Age noticeably high, when, suddenly, without
the slightest warning, the sea between the brig and the
schooner, and distant from the former perhaps a mile and
a quarter, became agitated, boiling up from the surface as
if forced by some submarine explosion. Then it leaped
upward until the spectator could hardly decide whether
the waves ascended, or a column had formed from the
thin, white cloud, which suddenly descended, and one
could not have counted more than five before a great
pillar of swirling water started in a direct line toward the
almost motionless schooner.

« A waterspout!” Ben shouted. “That craft is
doomed ! ”’

For the briefest interval of time he stood as if trans-
fixed with horror, his hand unconsciously resting upon
Miss Dunham’s shoulder, where it had fallen when he
attempted to direct her gaze toward the terrible but fasci-
nating sight. Then the sailorly instinct within him was
awakened, and he cried, hurriedly:

“Order the boats lowered away, Mr. Bean! Those
poor fellows will need help from us mighty soon, unless
something wonderful happens to prevent the catastrophe.”

The young girl could not trust herself to speak. With
dilated eyes, and lips parted before the quick breath which
came in gasps, she watched the awful spectacle.

There was absolutely not a breath of wind.

Those on board the apparently doomed craft could do