Down came the storm and smote amain, The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused like a frightened steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

And fast through the midnight, dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept, Toward the reef of Norman's Woe.

--_Wreck of the "Hesperus_."

Ishmael remained upon the quarterdeck, gazing out upon the stormy glory of the sea and sky until he was interrupted by the most prosaic, though the most welcome of sounds--that of the dinner-bell.

Then he went below.

On his way to the saloon he stopped at the entrance of the second cabin; called one of the stewards, and while putting a piece of money in his hand, requested him to take a bowl of soup up to the old man on deck, and to see that he wanted nothing.

Then Ishmael paid a visit to each of his suffering companions.

First he opened the door of Judge Merlin's stateroom, and found that gentleman with his face sulkily turned to the wall, and in a state of body and mind so ill and irritable as to make all attempts at conversation with him quite dangerous to the speaker.

Next Ishmael looked in upon Mr. Brudenell, whom he luckily found fast asleep. And then, after having given the stateroom stewards a strict charge concerning the comfort of these two victims, Ishmael passed on to the dining saloon. It was nearly empty. There were even fewer people gathered for dinner than there had been for breakfast.

The tables had the storm-guards upon them, so that each plate and dish sat down in its own little pen to be kept from slipping off in the rolling of the ship. But this arrangement could not prevent them from occasionally flying out of their places when there was an unusually violent toss.

At the table where Ishmael sat there was no one present except the old retired merchantman, Captain Mountz, who sat on the opposite side, directly under the port lights. And with the rolling of the ship these two diners, holding desperately onto the edge of the table, were tossed up and down like boys on a see-saw plank.

The mingled noise of wind and wave and ship was so deafening as to make conversation difficult and nearly impossible. And yet Ishmael and the captain seemed to feel in courtesy compelled to bawl at each other across the table as they see-sawed up and down.

"The gale seems to have knocked down all our fellow passengers and depopulated our saloon," cried Ishmael, soaring up to the sky with his side of the table.

"Yes, sir, yes, sir; a lot of land-lubbers, sir; a lot of lubbers, sir! Gale? Nothing but a capful of wind, sir! Nothing but a capful of wind!" roared the captain, sinking down to the abyss on his side of the table.

Here the steward, seizing a favorable moment, deftly served them with soup. And nothing but the utmost tact and skill in marine legerdemain enabled this functionary to convey the soup from the tureen to the plates. And when there, it required all the attention and care of the diners to get it from plate to lip. And, after all, more than half of it was spilled.

"Thank goodness, that is over! The solids won't give us so much trouble," said the captain, handing his empty plate to the steward.

The second course was served. But the motion of the ship increased so much in violence that the two diners were compelled to hold still more firmly on to the edge of the table with one hand, while they ate with the other, as they were tossed up and down.

"You're a good sailor, sir!" bawled the captain as he pitched down out of sight.

"Yes, thank Heaven!" shouted Ishmael, flying up.

Then came a tremendous lurch of the ship.

"Oh, I must see that wave!" cried the captain, imprudently climbing up to look out from the port-light above him.

He had scarcely attained the desired position when there came another, an unprecedented toss of the ship, and the unlucky captain lay sprawling on the top of the table--with one wide-flung hand deep in the dish of mashed turnips and the other grasping the roast pig, while his bullet head was butted into Ishmael's stomach.

"Blast the ship!" cried the discomfited old man--very unnecessarily, since there was "blast" enough, and to spare.

"'Only a capful of wind,' captain! 'Only a capful of wind,'" said Ishmael, in a grave, matter-of-fact way, as he carefully assisted the veteran to rise.

"Humph! humph! humph! I might have known you would have said that.

Ha! glad none of the women are here to see me! I s'pose I've done for the mashed turnips and roast pig; and I shouldn't wonder if I had knocked your breath out of your body, too, sir," sputtered the old man, trying to recover his feet, a difficult matter amid the violent pitching of the ship.

"Oh, you've not hurt me the least," said Ishmael, still rendering him all the assistance in his power.

But this mishap put an end to the dinner. For the captain's toilet sadly needed renovating, and the table required putting right.

Ishmael went up on deck--a nearly impossible feat for any landsman, even for one so strong and active as Ishmael was, to accomplish with safety to life and limb, for the ship was now fearfully pitched from side to side, and wallowing among the leaping waves.

High as the wind was--blowing now a hurricane--the sky was perfectly clear, and the sun was near its setting.

Ishmael found his old servant sitting propped up against the back of the wheel-house, looking out at one of the most glorious of all the glorious sights in nature--sunset at sea.

"As soon as the sun has set you must go down and turn in, Morris.

The wind is increasing, and it is no longer safe for a landsman like you to remain up here," said his master.

"Mr. Ishmael, sir, you must just leave me up here to my fate. As to getting me down now, that is impossible; I noticed that it took both your hands, as well as both your feet, to help yourself up," replied the professor.

"What! do you mean to stay on deck all night?"

"I see no help for it, sir; I should be pitched downstairs and have my neck broken, or be washed into the sea and get drowned, by any attempt to go below."

"Nonsense, Morris; the sun has gone down now; follow his example. I will take you safely," said Ishmael, offering his arm to the old man in that kind, but peremptory, way that admitted of no denial.

A sailor near at hand came forward and offered his assistance. And between the two the professor was safely taken down to the second cabin and deposited in his berth.

A German Jew, who shared the professor's stateroom, saw the party coming, and exclaimed to a fellow-passenger:

"Tere's tat young shentleman mit his olt man again. Fader Abraham!

he ish von shentleman; von drue shentleman!"

"A 'true gentleman,' I believe you, Isaacs. Why, don't you know who he is? He is that German prince they've been making such a fuss over, in the States. I saw his name in the list of passengers.

Prince--Prince Edward of--of Hesse--Hesse something or other, I forget. They are all Hesses or Saxes up there," said his interlocutor.

"No, no," objected the Jew. "Dish ish nod he. I know Brince Etwart ven I see him. He ish von brince, but nod von shentleman. He svears ad hish mens."

The near approach of the subject of this conversation prevented farther personal remarks. But when Ishmael had seen his old follower comfortably in bed, the Jew turned to him and, as it would seem, for the simple pleasure of speaking to the young man whom he admired so much, said:

"Zir; te zhip rollts mush. Tere vill pe a gread pig storm."

"I think so," answered Ishmael courteously.

"Vell, if zhe goesh down do te boddom tere vill pe von lesh drue shentleman in de vorlt, zir. Ant tat vill be you."

"Thank you," said Ishmael, smiling.

"Ant tere vill pe von lesh Sherman Shew in te vorlt. Ant tat vill pe me."

"Oh, I hope there is no danger of such a calamity. Good-night!" said Ishmael, smiling upon his admirer and withdrawing from the cabin.