‘But it was too late, mates. The sky got black, and with a loud roar the squall came, tearing up the sea before it, and in the very centre of the flying foam Ned swore he saw Foul-Weather Don, with his arms stretched forth, as if in triumph. In an instant the blast struck the sails, heaving the turtler bodily on her broadside, and as she lurched over, the heavy box of gold fetched away with a mighty surge, and went crashing through and through the frail bulwark, and then with a great plunge down to the bottom of the ocean, there to lie, mates, even until the day when the sea shall give up its dead! All this passed in a moment, and the next instant the ship, as though relieved by having cast forth the guilty gold, righted with a heavy roll, which sent the seamen sprawling across the deck, with their knives in their hands, and bloody gashes in their faces and limbs. The squall was over, and the sun burst out; Ned rushed to the lee-beam, and saw, just where the gold had fallen into the sea, the bottom of a boat all covered with barnacles and sea-weed, which he knew well. She seemed now saturated and rotten with water, for the charm was off her, mates; and while Ned gazed at her, she went gradually down into the great depths of the sea, and the sharks sunk out of sight with her. As they disappeared, Ned felt a heavy load leave his heart, and he thought that he had got cheaply rid of it, even at the expense of the gold. The curse was taken off him, and he rather surprised the turtlers, who were standing looking very like fools, by cutting a set of capers on the deck. The first thing they did was to try for soundings, but the line ran out every fathom, and the lead touched no bottom. So they lengthened the cord with every piece of loose rope in the ship, but the sea appeared unfathomable. The gold was sunk in a gulf from which no power of man could raise it; and so at length, mutually cursing and blaming each other, they wore the ship round, and stood back to pursue their turtling cruise. From that time to this, mates, no mariner has ever seen Foul-Weather Don. Ned Purvis got safely back to England, and, as I informed you already, he told this tale, aboard the Bristol ship, to him who made it known to me. Regarding its truth, I leave every man to judge for himself.’ CHAPTER IX. THE AUTHOR, WITH SUNDRY OF HIS COMRADES, SET OUT FOR THE CREEK WHERE HE LEFT HIS BARK, AND THERE BRAVELY CAPTURE A SPANISH SCHOONER.