"We can't beat off their warships! Man the longboat!" Mr. Bludsoe ordered, "We'll have to trust to yonder mist to hide us. We ought to be able to reach the Spanish coast if it holds!" The moon had been clouded by a fog. We could feel the haze settling upon us. The change seemed to precede a storm. With the war-ships nearly upon us, we rowed off into the haze, taking the prisoners with us. When we were a league from the shore, we heard a gun fired. I thought that the corsairs, who by this time had doubtless found that we had deserted the ship, were cruising in search of us and had fired the gun in our direction. No balls struck the water near us, however, and we rowed on desperately. Mr. Bludsoe questioned Mustapha. "It is the hurricane signal on shore," the youth explained. "It means that the barometer has fallen tremendously, and that a storm's on the way. You need have no fear of pursuit. The ships that came out to attack you will seek shelter now. We shall all sink if you do not make for the beach!" Mr. Bludsoe ordered us to row towards the Moroccan shore, in a direction that would take us clear of the harbor. Heavy gusts of wind beat down upon us and floods of rain poured over our straining muscles. The wind became a gale and threatened to come with greater intensity. Furious waves leaped up on every side to swallow our boat. We gave up hope of reaching the shore, and rowed on expecting every uncertain stroke of our oars to be the last. Suddenly Mr. Bludsoe's voice rang out calm and strong through the tempest. "There's a ship ahead. It must be one of those that came out to attack us. Yet it's better to take our chances aboard her than to stay in this sea. Pull towards her!" The ship loomed up larger than we had expected. Her sails were cut differently from those of the corsairs. Against the gray of the storm we caught sight of the American flag. "By all that's holy," the mate cried, "she's a Yankee frigate!" The frigate, whose commander was shifting her to the shelter of the harbor, caught sight of us as we plunged towards her bow. Willing hands dipped down to help us climb over her side. The frigate's name was _George Washington_. Her commander, Captain William Bainbridge, was bearing to the Dey of Algiers certain presents. With great joy I learned that peace had been made between Algiers and the United States, and that Alexander and his comrades were on their way home. Of these things I shall have more to tell later. We were not yet out of danger. The hurricane now seemed to be concentrated over us. The wind's force must have been over a hundred miles an hour. The tremendous gusts struck the heavy vessel with the force of battering rams and drove her forward as if she were a cockle-shell. We could see the shore looming up.