As the ship gathered headway and swung around, Mr. John Dunlap, who stood in the stern, heard a weird chant, which he recognized as coming from below him. He looked over the railing and saw old Sybella standing upright in the canoe in which she had been thrust by the crew, waving her skinny bare arms, and chanting, “Tu Konk, the great one Send her the Black Goat White cow, Black kid White teat, Black mouth Tu Konk, Oh, Tu Konk Black Blood, Oh, Tu Konk Call back, Oh! Tu Konk.” When Sybella saw Mr. Dunlap she ceased her song, and began hurling savage and barbarous curses upon him and his, which continued until the tortured old gentleman could neither hear nor see the crone longer. There was just enough cargo aboard the “Adams” to steady her and give her the proper trim. As soon as Jack secured enough offing, in sailors’ parlance he “cut her loose.” Everything in shape of sail that could draw was set, the skipper took the deck nor did he leave it again until he sprang into a yawl in Boston harbor. On the second day out from Port au Prince, the wind increased to the fury of a gale, but still no stitch of cloth was taken from the straining masts and yards of the “Adams.” Two stalwart sailors struggled with the wheel, the muscles of their bared and sinewy arms standing out taut, as toughened steel. The ship pitched and leaped like a thing of life. The masts sprang before the gale as if in their anguish they would jump clear out of the ship. With steady, hard set eyes, the skipper watched each movement of his ship. He knew her every motion as huntsman knows the action of his well-trained hound. His jaws were locked, the square, firm, Anglo-Saxon chin might have been modeled out of granite, so rock-like did it look. Away goes a sail, blown into fragments that wildly flap against the yard. Will the skipper ease her now? Old Brice looked toward the master, saw something in his eyes, and saw him shake his head— “Lay along here to clear up the muss, and set another sail!” bawled Brice, and again he looked toward the skipper; this time Jack nodded. Brave old John Dunlap scarcely ever left the deck. He had a sailor’s heart and he had mingled with those of the sea from babyhood. He saw the danger and going to his namesake, said, “Carry all she’ll bear Jack. If you lose the ship, I’ll give you ten; get me to Boston quickly, lad, or wreck the ship.” “I will,” was all the answer that came from Jack’s tightly pressed lips, nor did he change his gaze from straight ahead while answering—yet the old man knew that Jack would make his promise good. He, who in the hollow of His hand doth hold the sea, knew of their need and favoring the object of such speed, did send unto that ship safety through the storm and favoring winds thereafter. No yacht, though for speed alone designed, ever made such time, or ever will, or ever can, as made the good ship “Adams” from Port au Prince to Boston harbor.