The ships lost sight of each other. Sailors and adventurers all gave themselves up for death. In a delirium of fear they confessed their sins to whoever would heed the dismal catalogue. Ave Marias, invocations of the saints, and such fragments of Scripture as they knew, were groaned forth on all sides, rather as invocations than prayers, as the days went by, and still the furious battle of nature raged. The fellow to that storm not even the veteran navigator of all seas had experienced before. At times during the blackness of the night it would seem to the affrighted mariners as though hell itself had opened its jaws to swallow them. Making a pathway for themselves through the darkness, the raging billows would suddenly rush onwards brilliant with light, and surround the ship and its awe-struck occupants with a sea of flame. For a day and night the heavens glowed as a furnace; and the reverberating peals of thunder sounded to the distracted sailors as the last despairing cries from the other ships of their sinking comrades. What was becoming of the wretched, foolhardy creatures on board Ovando's proud fleet they had no longer care to think. Drenched with the ceaseless sheet of rain, which poured down day and night throughout that long week of storm continually, exhausted with toil, worn with fears, Columbus and his company were to be still further tried by the majestic terrors of those southern seas. Wildly tossed as was the whole ocean, it suddenly became observed, with deepening dread, that in one spot the agitation was still redoubled. Even as they looked the waters reared themselves higher and yet higher, grim and terrible as a giant pillar of molten lead; while a livid cloud bent down from the heavens to meet it. Thus joining, and ever gathering fresh size and force as it sucked up the waves in its headlong course, the dreadful column rushed on towards the ships. The Admiral came forth from his cabin with the iron-clasped Bible open in his hands, to exorcise the evil spirit abroad for their destruction. Men hardened in callousness fell on their knees in silent prayer. Antonio de Alaminos stood gazing with fixed eyes at the invincible enemy. His skill and knowledge were powerless in the presence of that foe. As he stood there waiting for the end he was startled by a voice beside him so clear, so calm, that it was distinct even in the midst of that wild tumult. "Alaminos, thinkest thou that we shall live through the storm?" Starting, the pilot turned his gaze for a moment from the advancing column, and exclaimed: "Montoro! boy, hast thou no fears?" "None," was the low, soft answer of his lips. "None," was the answer of his rapt, earnest eyes, full of a beautiful awe and reverence. "He holds the storm in His hand, and us." Even as the boy spoke the vessel swerved, the waterspout passed on beside it, and they were safe. "The Admiral's Bible has saved us," exclaimed the mariners, as wild with joy as they had been with fear.