s own mind that he would learn as soon
as possible.

The sun set in the west, and the evening star arose to cheer the world
with her presence, while the greater luminary retired. Slowly the day
retreated and dusky night came on. One by one the stars shone out,
faintly at first, as if too modest to do more than glimmer, but stronger
and brighter, and more numerous by degrees, until the whole sky became
like a great resplendent milky way.

Still there was no evidence that a double-reef in the mainsail was
necessary; no indication that the weather-glass had told a truthful
tale.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE STORM, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

It came at length with awful speed and fury.

At first there was a stifling heat in the atmosphere; then clouds began
to dim the sky. Mysterious and solemn changes seemed to be taking place
in nature--noiselessly for a time. Ere long the war began with a burst
of heaven's artillery. It was distant at first; muttering, prolonged,
and fitful, like the rattling musketry of advancing skirmishers. Soon a
roar of deafening thunder rent the sky. Another and another followed,
with blinding flashes of lightning between, while rain came down in
torrents.

The order had been given to take in the mainsail, and the little vessel
was almost under bare poles, when the storm burst upon it, and threw it
nearly on its beam-ends.

Righting from the first shock, it sprang away like a living creature
trying to escape from some deadly foe. Ere long the waves were up and
the storm was raging in all its fury.

"If it holds like this till to-morrow, we'll be in port by noon," said
Haco Barepoles to Gaff as they stood near the wheel, holding on to the
backstays, and turning their backs to the seas that swept heavily over
the side from time to time.

"You speak as if you wor _sure_ o' gettin' in," said Gaff.

"Well, we an't sure o' nothin' in this world," replied the skipper; "if
Providence has willed it otherwise, we can't help it, you know. We must
submit whether we will or no."

"D'ye know," rejoined Gaff, "it has often bin in my mind, that as
Christian men, (which we profess to be, whether we believe our own
profession or not), we don't look at God's will in the right way. The
devil himself is obliged to submit to God whether he will or no, because
he can't help it. Don't 'ee think it would be more like Christians if
we was to submit _because_ it is His will?"

Before Haco could answer