Well, there was nothing else to do but pump the beans out on the instalment plan. Just as soon as a certain quantity got on top of the valve or clapper, it acted effectually as an automatic shut-off for the water. The hurricane had been blowing for three days and our worst danger--the terror of all sailors--was close at hand. We were drifting towards the Florida reefs. A few hours more and the ship, with all hands, would be a thing of the past. There was no possibility of escape unless the gale abated or the wind shifted to another direction. Birds by the hundreds were flying for our vessel. They were land birds of all kinds and sizes, probably blown to sea from Cuba. Striking the rigging or any part of the vessel, they would be instantly killed. Every nook and corner on the deck was filled with their dead bodies. The wind blew them around like so much dust. One was found in the compass-box, under the compass. Its presence was made known by the smell of a decaying body after the storm was over. The anchor-chain boxes had a fine assortment sandwiched in between the big iron links. Those we could not get out and, consequently, the odour was anything but pleasant in that locality. The sea had changed in colour from green to a milky white. This showed that we were getting into shoal water. The agitation of the waves was bringing up fine white coral, which formed the bottom of the ocean in the locality of the reef. Towards sundown the hurricane had passed us, the wind gradually veering around to the north, which made a fair wind for us to Mobile. All sail was set, the damage repaired as much as possible, the cook made a lot of good strong coffee, and then all hands took turns in taking a much-needed sleep. A remarkable sight on that trip I have forgotten to mention: one pleasant evening the sun was exactly even on the west horizon and a bright full moon on the eastern. It lasted only a few minutes, but it was a beautiful sight. All the time I have passed on the ocean, I never saw the phenomenon but that once.