‘To make a long story short, mates, before midnight, such a gale was blowing from the eastward, that there was nothing for it but to put the ship before the wind; and not only that day, but that week, and for three weeks after that, did the hurricane, for it was little else, continue, blowing the ship entirely out of her course, until at length, the captain and crew knew that they had sailed from near the coast of Africa to the coast of America, and that if the wind did not soon take off, they would be run plump ashore, either on the continent or one of the islands. Meanwhile Foul-Weather Don, as before, never rose from the cabin, nor broke bread nor spoke word. Indeed, if he were talkative, he had no one but himself to hold converse with; for captain, quartermaster, mates, and all, lived forward, and gave up the cabin to the phantom passenger. But Foul-Weather Don was not the only thing which stuck to the ship. The sharks kept way with her as steadily in the thundering gale as in the light breeze. The crew could see them occasionally, ploughing along in the troughs of the sea, one on each quarter, and keeping their places as exactly as if they were towing after the ship. Well, all hands got low and mopish. The old captain was fairly unmanned; and even Ned Purvis, dare-devil as he was, began to quail. At last, they knew by their reckoning, and by the look of the sky towards sundown, that they were approaching the land, and that one way or the other their fate would soon be settled. So one evening, the men were gathered in groups, watching the signs of the sky, and pointing out to each other right ahead the warm coloured clouds which sailors know hang over the land. The weather looked as wild as ever; the scud above flew even faster than the waves below; and you should have seen the battered look of the craft as she went staggering along, under a rag of canvas, which was becalmed every moment in the troughs of the sea. Indeed the ship looked almost a wreck. Her bulwarks had been washed away long ago, the hatchways were all battened down. Out of three boats she had carried, only one was left, being strongly lashed to the deck, while the sea-battered skiff of Foul-Weather Don, although there was not so much as a rope yarn to make it fast, had never budged for all the great seas, which had been for weeks rolling over and over the decks, so that the men were obliged to lash themselves to ringbolts, and to the masts, and never could light a fire, or wear a stitch of dry clothing. ‘Well, as I was saying, the poor fellows were holding on as well as they could, and wondering where the ship and they themselves would be to-morrow by that time, when the two seamen, who were taking their turn at the helm ropes, gave a loud shout, and the rest turning about, saw Foul-Weather Don standing upon the deck. ‘“He’s going—he’s going,” whispered old Captain Purvis. “The Lord hath preserved us in his great goodness.”