The mighty storm increased in power as Christmas approached, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and fifty----. Wrecks came ashore on
the submerged shoal of Chincoteague, but there were now no wreckers to
labor for salvage. The Eli, too, was overdue. One night a familiar gun
was heard at sea, thrice, and twice thrice, and Issachar raised up and
said, in anguish:

"It is my schooner. My son is at hand and in danger. Oh! for a day's
strength, as I had it in my youth, to go to his relief through the
surf. But, miserable object that I am! I cannot rise from my bed. What
help, what hope, in the earth or in heaven can I implore?"

The naked cross beamed brightly all at once in the darkness of the
cabin. Issachar felt the legend it conveyed, and with piety, not
apostacy, he uttered:

"O Paschal Lamb! O Waif of God! Die Thou for me this night, and give
me to look upon the countenance of my son!"

The Jew, intently gazing at the cross, passed into such a stupor or
ecstasy that he had no knowledge of the flight of time. He only knew
that, after a certain dreamy interval, the door of his house yielded
to a living man, and, nearly naked with breasting the surf and
fighting for life, young Abraham staggered into the hut and recognized
his father.

"O son!" cried Issachar, "I feel the news thou hast to tell. The Eli
is wrecked and thou only hast survived. The moments are precious.
Hark! this house is yielding to the buoyant current. Stay not for me,