s so greatly among the
short white waves, that it is plainly to be seen that she is short of
ballast and lading. She is a Venetian trading vessel, bound first to the
Isle of Candia, where she will complete her cargo and add to the number
of her crew. This Candia or Crete (the very Crete by which St. Paul
passed on his voyage to Italy) was at that time under the hard rule of
Venice, and its poor inhabitants did her service upon land and sea. The
ship stayed at Candia only so long as enabled her to complete her stores
of cotton and spice and wine, which were destined for some northern or
western market, some French or British port. She was deep enough in the
water now, and on her deck lay many an unstowed bale, many a cask of
wine, for which the sad-looking Cretan sailors, in their tunics and
short cloaks, had not yet been able to find room. Sixty-eight men were
now on board, including the patron or owner, Master Piero Quirini, and
Christoforo Fioravanti, the sailing-master. Quirini, in his quaint
Italian dress, looking strangely unlike a modern sailor, stood amid the
piles of merchandise, giving quick orders for its stowage, while the
sailing master made all ready for the long voyage which was just
beginning.

For in those days a voyage into the western sea was counted, specially
while boisterous autumn gales made sailing difficult, as a long and
hazardous undertaking. They all knew it must be many months ere they
could hope to see home again; but little did any of them guess the
strange sad fortunes which should befall them. The Cretan sailors looked
back wistfully at the groups of their friends, their wives and mothers
and children, whom they had left weeping on the shore, but they did not
think how many there were among them who would never return to tell the
story of their long voyage. But some at least among them knew and felt
that they were in the hands of God for life or for death, and that
nothing could really hurt them if they were "followers of that which is
good."

The ship at first sailed on prosperously enough. The sea was calm, and
the sky clear above them. The sailors sang their sweet Italian or
Grecian songs, as they hurried to and fro, or leant over the bulwarks,
watching the blue water.

Their course lay northward now, and wind and wave were sweeping them
toward the perilous northern seas. The days had been already growing
short when the ship left Candia, and now December, with its cold and
darkness