John Eckstein, a resident of Germantown, a middle-aged man who was in entire sympathy with Spangenberg’s plans for religious work in Pennsylvania, resolved to accompany him on his trip to Georgia. They sailed from Philadelphia on the 22nd of May, 1737, and had a long and very trying voyage. The Captain and crew were evil men, given to cursing and swearing, and more than once they threatened to murder the two passengers, whom they called sorcerers, and accused of bringing the continuous head winds and frequent storms upon them. Seventy-seven long days the voyage lasted; twice they sailed southward past Cape Hatteras, and twice were they driven back to north and east, taking weeks to recover the distance lost; and the Captain finally discovered that not only were the elements against him, but his helmsman was slyly hindering their progress all he could, for some malicious purpose of his own. To the mental strain of the long journey was added physical discomfort, for firewood gave out, so that no cooking could be done, and for a month the crew lived on hard tack, dried cherries soaked in water, and raw fish,--dolphins caught as need required. Spangenberg and his companion had brought provisions to supplement the ship’s fare, but long before the voyage was ended their store of butter and sugar was exhausted. Dried ham and tongue had a tendency to increase their thirst, but by soaking tea in cold water they made a beverage which bore at least a fancied resemblance to that brewed on shore. Then the supply of water ran low, each man’s allowance was reduced to a pint a day, and even this small amount would have failed had they not been able occasionally to catch rainwater to replenish their casks. The Captain at last opened a keg of beer found in his cargo, and sold his passengers enough to relieve their thirst, for which they were very grateful. But unkind words, delay, uncooked food, thirst, were not all that Spangenberg and his companion had to bear, for actual danger was added to their experience from time to time. High waves broke over the ship, winds tore away the sails, and a water-spout threatened total destruction. So late was the ship in reaching port that she was given up for lost, and word was sent to Pennsylvania which caused much grief,--needless grief, for Spangenberg’s days of service were not to be ended thus. It sounds almost trivial to say that in the midst of trials of body, mind and soul Spangenberg occupied himself with making buttons, but no doubt the homely, useful labor did its part toward rendering endurable the seemingly endless days.