There is a fascination for him in the scene that words cannot express.
When he has had enough he will find his state-room and sleep, for surely
he needs it after being awake a good deal of the preceding night at
Valetta.

Darker grow the heavens. Thunder rolls, and the electric current cuts
the air, illuminating the wild scene with a picturesque touch that is
almost ghastly in its yellow white.

The steamer is well built, and in good condition to withstand the
tempest, roar as it may. John tires of the weird spectacle at last,
and he, too, makes a plunge for the cabin, reaching it just in time to
escape a monster wave that makes the vessel stagger, and sweeps along
the deck from stem to stern.

Below he finds considerable confusion, such as is always seen on board a
steamer during a storm. Timid men looking as white as ghosts, frightened
women wringing their hands and screaming with each plunge of the ship,
as if they expect it to be the last.

A few foreign passengers are aboard, and they do not seem free from the
contagion, though inclined to be more stoical than the Europeans.

As the steamer plunges, some of the passengers are huddled in a corner.
Loud praying can be heard, and those who are least accustomed to such
things on ordinary occasions are most vehement now.

A Mohammedan is kneeling on his rug, with his face turned in the
direction of Mecca, as near as he can judge, and going through with
the strange rigmarole of bows and muttered phrases that constitute his