A cloud of what appeared to be genuine smoke came drifting across our bows just then, and the air had grown strangely hot, but nobody seemed to notice it. I think we unconsciously attributed these things to the Captain’s artillery. The men were huddled and Frenchy alone was still defiant. His case was desperate and he was a desperate man. He made a step forward—perhaps he thought the men would follow him—a movement that a second later would have been a spring at the Captain’s throat. One hand he held close to his side and in it something gleamed. There was an instant of dead silence, then—just above our heads— “_All hands aloft to shorten sail! The Pampeiro!_” Everybody looked up. Officer Larkins had come on the bridge and his rich voice rang out like a clarion peal. Frenchy stopped. The men sprang into life. They were ready enough to obey, now, but it was too late! [Illustration: “Then, somebody was clinging to me.”—Page 93. ] I had seen cyclones in the West, but the Pampeiro is different. From the smoke across our bow there came a lurid flash, and thunder that seemed to hit every part of the vessel at once. I heard the smashing of wood and ripping of canvas overhead, and just in front of me I saw a great wave come pouring over the ship’s side. Somebody seized my hand and there was a startled cry of my name. Then somebody was clinging to me—somebody that I was holding close and helping into the cabin. In the half blackness I saw that Chauncey Gale and Ferratoni were just behind. The cabin was dark and the ship pitching violently. It was all over in ten minutes. The vessel still rolled, but the storm had passed. Zar, who had been napping when the Pampeiro struck, came running in to her mistress. “You po’ li’l’ lam’, how wet you is!” she said, “an’ how yo’ heart beat—so frightened!” She bore off her charge, and the rest of us took account of stock. We found we had lost some sail—a top-mast—several steamer chairs, and one man—Frenchy—who had been directly in the path of the wave. “That’s what that shark meant,” said Chauncey Gale solemnly, “he won’t follow us any more. And say, Biff, it was worth the price of admission to hear you comb those fellows down. By the great corner-stone, but you did it beautiful!” On the whole there were compensations. We had seen a Pampeiro, for one thing, and we had got rid of a mutiny; a disturbing element had been removed and an old superstition had been confirmed. Altogether, everybody was satisfied, including the shark. But to me had come an added joy. In the moment of danger it was to _me_ that Edith Gale had turned. That night we walked the deck together. The sky was clear and black again, though the sea was still billowy, and there was a chill head-wind which, with our damaged rigging, necessitated the use of steam.