gathered round his cabin to be of assistance if he should require it;
for they also looked for young Abraham as the Shiloh of their race,
and would have died for old Issachar, unredeemed as they thought him,
except by his goodness to their prince and favorite.

A high tide, following a series of dreadful storms, arose on the coast
of the peninsula, as if the Gulf Stream, like a vast ploughshare, had
thrown the Atlantic up from its furrow and tossed it over the beach of
Assateague.

The sturdy ponies were all drowned. The sea was undivided from the
bay. Pungy boats and canoes drifted helplessly along the coast, and
the Eli alone was out of danger in the harbor of New York, waiting to
receive young Abraham. At last the freshet crept over the house-tops,
and nothing remained but the cottage of the Jew, planted on piles,
which lifting it higher than the surrounding houses, yet threatened it
the more if the water should float it from its pedestal and send it to
sea. Every effort was made to induce the Jew to abandon it, but he was
obdurate.

"By the tables of the law!" he said, "living or dead, here will I
abide until my son returns."

The bravest negro left the island of Chincoteague at last, placing
food beside old Issachar, and there he lay upon his pallet, with
nothing to pierce the darkness of his lair except that sacred cross he
had raised from the depths of the ocean. That object, like a sentient,
overruling thing, still shed its lustre upon the wretched interior of
the deserted hut, and, day by day, repeated its story to the neglected
occupant.