A Second Tempest

It was as if I had hardly more than regained my courage through the pious advice of the priest, before another storm came up, equal in fury to three or four such gales as we had first experienced, and I was not the only member of that company who believed our final day had come.

Even Captain Lowe, who had declared that the Ark  was so seaworthy as to make fair weather even in great storms, meaning she was a stanch sea boat, admitted that only by God's mercy could we hope to live through the tempest.

Even while the ship was rolling and pitching as if bent on tearing herself asunder, and all our gentlemen, together with many of the serving men, were in the great cabin holding fast to everything which was firmly fixed, in order to avoid being thrown violently about, did John whisper in my ear that of a verity Friday was an unlucky day. At the same time he reminded me that this was Friday, the twenty-ninth of November, and I was not heartened when I heard Father Altham say it seemed as if all the spirits and witches of Maryland were battling against us.

One of the gentlemen, I think it was my uncle, declared that the sailors had seen sunfish swimming against the sun's course, which was a sure sign of a furious storm, and verily it was a tempest such as one may not see, and live, more than once in a lifetime.

There poured forth such a force of wind as would seemingly blow our ship under water at every blast, and before midnight came the Ark  was stripped of her mainsail, it having been torn from the boltropes and carried away on the wings of the storm.

I question if there was one in the great cabin, save Father White, who was not on his knees in prayer when the captain came below, saying there was no reason why he or his crew should remain on deck, since they were powerless in every way.

The helm had been lashed, and the ship was left to blow about on those fearful waves like a helpless raft, while we who were beneath the decks looked death in the face during every second of each minute that passed so slowly.

But God, who holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand, took heed to us even as He does to the sparrow's fall, and when the winds were spent and the waves had subsided, not one of all our company was missing, while, save for the loss of the mainsail, the Ark  was in as seaworthy a condition as when we left Cowes.

It was as if the witches of Maryland, having tried to overwhelm us by tempests, were wearied of their efforts, for from that time until we were come to land, the weather could not have been sweeter. Each day was the wind favoring, and, until Christmas came, our voyage was much like some excursion for pleasure.