about, making her their sport, as if she was a mere cock-boat.

Stronger and stronger blew the gale; darkness came on and covered the
world of waters, and through that darkness the ship had to force her way
amid the foaming, hissing seas. Darker and darker it grew, till the
lookout men declared that they might as well have shut their eyes, for
they could scarcely make out their own hands when held at arm's length
before their noses.

Suddenly, however, the darkness was dispelled by the vivid flashes of
lightning, which, darting from the low hanging clouds, circled about
their heads, throwing a lurid glare on the countenances of all on deck.
Once more all was dark; then again the forked lightning burst forth
hissing and crackling through the air, leaping along the waves and
playing round the quivering masts. Now the big ship plunged into the
trough of the sea with a force which made it seem as if she was never
going to rise again; but up the next watery height she climbed, and when
she got to the top, she stopped as if to look about her, while the
lightning flashed brighter than ever; and then, rolling and pitching,
and cutting numerous other antics, she lifted up her stern as if she was
going to give a vicious fling out with her heels, and downwards she
plunged into the dark obscurity, amid the high foam-topped seas, which
hissed and roared high above her bulwarks. Her crew walked her deck
with but little anxiety, although they saw that the gale was likely to
increase into a hurricane; for they had long served together, they knew
what each other was made of, and they had confidence in their officers
and in the stout ship they manned.

The watch below had hitherto remained in their hammocks, and most of
them, in spite of the gale, slept as soundly as ever. What cared they
that the ship was roiling and tumbling about? They knew that she was
watertight and strong, that she had plenty of sea-room, and that they
would be roused up quickly enough if they were wanted. There was one
person, however, who did not sleep soundly--that was her Captain, Josiah
Penrose. He could not forget that he had the lives of some eight
hundred beings committed to his charge, and he knew well that, even on
board a stout ship with plenty of sea-room, an accident might occur
which would require his immediate presence on deck. He was therefore
sitting up in his cabin, holding on as best he could, and attempting to
read--a task under all ci