about me, and at
first thought that my wife and daughters had, in their terror, turned
into their berths; but soon, amid the creaking of the bulkheads, and the
rattling of the rigging, and the roaring of the storm, a gentle, sweet
voice reached my ears. It was that of my daughter Susan. She had not
heard me enter. She was on her knees praying, so were her mother and
sisters, all round the table in the cabin. She was lifting up her voice
to our loving, merciful Father in Heaven;--to the same God who stilled
the raging of the storm on Gennesaret, and said to the sea, "Peace, be
still." She was praying, dear girl, for me especially, that I might be
preserved, even though the vessel were dashed to pieces; but, that if it
was His will, that the schooner and all on board might be saved.

I cannot tell you how much confidence the prayer of that dear child gave
me; I am sure--I was then sure--that God hears such prayers. The rest
of the family too had been praying; they were not prayers forced out by
fear, but just such trusting, hopeful prayers as God loves to honour. I
stood for a few moments till Susan ceased, and when she did, I uttered a
low "Amen." The dear ones heard me, and looked up, but did not rise
from their knees; indeed, the vessel was tumbling about so much, that it
was with difficulty they could hold on. I told them what I was come
down for, and striking a light, I took down my chart from the beckets in
which it hung, and spread it out on the table. I anxiously marked down
the position in which, by my calculations, I believed the schooner then
was. A league or more to the eastward there was, I found, an island
with a bay inside it, affording anchorage for small vessels. For a
large ship it would have been utterly useless. Here, again, was an
advantage which my humble little schooner possessed over a bigger craft.
Giving a parting kiss to my wife and daughters, I leaped again on deck.

It was a question whether we should be able to keep off the shore till
we could reach the island. I could see the surf breaking furiously on
the rocks to leeward, and the gale blew as heavily as ever. A slight
shift of wind might save us. If the wind held as it then did, I had no
hopes for the little _May Flower_.

The day was drawing to a close. Every instant the danger increased.
The gale, instead of breaking, raged more furiously than ever. Closer
and closer the schooner drifted towards the shore. It would ha