Man Ho! Slowly, fitfully, broke the morning in the East, showing the desolate brig forging heavily through the water, which sluggishly thumped under her bows.

While leaping from sea to sea, our faithful Chamois, like a faithful dog, still gamboled alongside, confined to the main- chains by its painter.

At times, it would long lag behind; then, pushed by a wave like lightning dash forward; till bridled by its leash, it again fell in rear.
As the gray light came on, anxiously we scrutinized the features of the craft, as one by one they became more plainly revealed.

Every thing seemed stranger now, than when partially visible in the dingy night.

The stanchions, or posts of the bulwarks, were of rough stakes, still incased in the bark.