top, and encircling curtains, exciting their general inspection. It moved off, and Douglas beheld the vessel they had quitted, so late in danger of being lost, ride prosperously on the main: when the Indians broke into a religious song in Hindostanee; "Protect us from the dangers of the deep, and forgive us our sins," echoed forth in responses long and deep. Those tones, at first low, plaintive, wild, by degrees increased, as they drew near the surf, to sounds of louder depth; by the mingled howl and clamour of their voices, the Indians tried to exceed the roaring of the waves, redoubling as the waves redoubled in tumult.
The uproar of the sea, the yell of the Indians, the rapidity with which the boat at intervals was driven, threatening at every moment to be engulphed, might have infused terror into the most undaunted; the senses were nearly astounded, when, by the most violent motion, the boat, encompassed by the tremendous wave, was at last pitched high and dry on shore; the glittering spray receded, the Indians sprang to land, and the passengers were at length landed on the shores of India.
