upon them now, except as they may bear some direct reference to this
tale I seek to tell. As such those weeks cannot be wholly ignored, for
they form a part of the events to follow--events which might not be
clearly understood without their proper picturing.

We were fifty-three days at sea, driven once so far to the southward
by a severe storm, which struck us the second day out, as to sight the
north coast of Africa before we were able to resume our westward
course. To those of us who were tightly shut into those miserable
quarters below these facts came only as floating rumors, yet the
intense suffering involved was all real enough. For forty-two hours we
were battened down in darkness, flung desperately about by every mad
plunge of the vessel, stifled by poisoned air and noxious odors, and
all that time without a particle of food. If I suffered less than
some others it was simply because I was more accustomed to the sea. I
was not nauseated by the motion, nor unduly frightened by the wild
pitching of the brig. Lying quietly in my berth, braced to prevent
being thrown out, amid a darkness so intense as to seem a weight,
every sound from the deck above, every lift of the vessel, brought to
my mind a sea message, convincing me of two things--that the _Romping
Betsy_ was a staunch craft, and well handled. Terrific as the gale
became I only grew more confident that she would safely weather it.

Yet God knows it was horrible enough even to lie there and listen, to
feel the hurling plunges downward, the dizzy upsweeping of the hull;
to hear the cries, groans and prayers of frightened men, unseen and
helpless in the darkness, the creaking timbers, the resounding blows
of the waves against the sides, the horrid retching of the sick, the
snarling, angry voices as the struggling mass was flung back and
forth, the curses hurled madly into the darkness. They were no longer