In the midst of these labours our author published, in July, 1704, The Storm; or, a Collection of the most remarkable Casualties, which happened in the tempest, on the 23rd of November, 1703[37]. In explaining the natural causes of winds De Foe shows more science, and in delivering the opinions of the ancients that this island was more subject to storms than other parts of the world, he displays more literature than he has been generally supposed to possess. Our author is moreover entitled to yet higher praise. He seized that awful occasion to inculcate the fundamental truths of religion; the being of a God, the superintendency of Providence, the certainty of heaven and hell, the one to reward, the other to punish. While, as he tells himself, he lay friendless in the prison of Newgate, his family ruined, and himself without hopes of deliverance, a message was brought him from a person of honour, whom till that time he had not the least knowledge of. This was no less a person than sir Robert Harley, the speaker of the house of commons. Harley approved probably of the principles and conduct of De Foe, and doubtless foresaw, that, during a factious age, such a genius could be converted to many uses. And he sent a verbal message to the prisoner, desiring to know what he could do for him. Our author readily wrote the story of the blind man in the gospel; concluding--_Lord, that I may receive my sight_. When the high-fliers were driven from the station which enabled them to inflame rather than conciliate, Harley became secretary of state, in April, 1704. He had now frequent opportunities of representing the unmerited sufferings of De Foe to the queen and to the treasurer; yet our author continued four months longer in gaol. The queen, however, inquired into his circumstances; and lord Godolphin sent, as he thankfully acknowledges, a considerable sum to his wife, and to him money to pay his fine and the expense of his discharge. Here is the foundation, says he, on which he built his first sense of duty to the queen, and the indelible bond of gratitude to his first benefactor. "Let any one say, then," he asks, "what I could have done, less or more than I have done for such a queen and such a benefactor?" All this he manfully avowed to the world[38], when queen Anne lay lifeless and cold as king William, his first patron; and when Oxford, in the vicissitude of party, had been persecuted by faction, and overpowered, though not conquered, by violence.