The water receded with incredible speed. Submerged wreckage lifted above the surface. The street became the bed of a cataract that foamed and boiled on its rush to the sea. Presently the wharf emerged, and at its end even a substantial remnant of the house could be descried. How it had survived that long was one of the inexplicable mysteries of the storm. Suddenly Peter, who was at one of the windows, gave a cry, and the other negroes crowded about him to peer out. The sea was still running high, and as a large wave lifted above the level of the others, it thrust into view the hull of a half-submerged boat. Before the watchers could see, the wave dropped its burden into a trough, but the old man showed them where to look, and presently a big roller caught it up, and swung it, bow on, for all to see. There was a flash of scarlet gunnel, and, beneath it, a bright blue bird with open wings. “De ‘Seagull’!” cried a dozen voices together. “My Gawd! dat Jake’ boat!” All night Clara had sat in a corner of the room with the baby in her arms, saying no word to anyone. She was so still that she seemed to be asleep, with her head upon her breast. But once, when Bess had gone and looked into her face, she had seen her eyes, wide and bright with pain. Now the unfortunate woman heard the voices, and sprang to the window just in time to see the craft swoop into a hollow at the head of the pier. She did not scream out. For a moment she did not even speak. Then she spun around on Bess with the dawn of a wild hope in her dark face. “Tek care ob dis baby ’til I gits back,” she said, as she thrust the child almost savagely into Bess’s arms. Then she rushed from the room. The watchers at the window saw her cross the street, splashing wildly through the kneedeep water. Then she ran the length of the wharf, and disappeared behind the sheltering wall of the house. It was so sudden, and tired wits move slowly. Several minutes had passed before it occurred to anyone to go with her. Finally Peter turned from the window. “Dat ’oman ain’t ought tuh be out dey by sheself,” he said. “Who goin’ out dey wid me, now?” One of the men volunteered, and they started for the door. A sound like the detonation of a cannon shook the building to its foundations. The gale had returned, smashing straight downward from some incredible height to which it had lifted during the lull. The men turned and looked at one another. Shock followed shock in rapid succession. Those who stood by the windows felt them give inward, and instinctively threw their weight against the frames. The explosions merged into a steady roar of sound that surpassed anything that had yet occurred. The room became so dark that they could no longer see one another. The barricaded windows were vaguely discernible in bars of muddy grey and black. Deeply rooted walls swung from the blows, and then settled slowly back on the recoil.