Having passed the Island of Cythera during the night, by next morning the yacht was ploughing the placid waters of the Cretan Sea. Placid waters these generally are, especially during the months of the halcyon, but now a stiff breeze was blowing steadily from the north, which by noon increased to a fierce gale. As far as the eye could see, there appeared nothing but a vast expanse of tumbling waves, their whiteness above accentuated by the green blackness below, as they flung their shattered spray as in derision against the grim sky. Threatening masses of gloomy clouds lay along the northern horizon, fronted by the bleak island of Santorin, which scowled in savage grandeur in the cloudy distance. Gray sky, gray sea, driving rain, and sudden gusts of wind, making the streaming sails crack like pistol-shots with the violent lurching of the vessel;—it was like a North Sea picture; nor would any one surveying the dreary scene have believed the boat was sailing over the enchanting waters of the Mediterranean.

The three gentlemen, after an uncomfortable breakfast, owing to the rolling of the yacht, which upset everything on the table in spite of the fiddles, were now on deck, holding on to whatever they could support themselves by, for The Eunice tossing about like a cork in the yeasty surge, made it no small difficulty for those on board to retain their equilibrium. Wrapped up in oilskins, they were sufficiently dry and warm, for, in spite of the mist and drenching rain, the weather was not in the least chilly—a thing to be thankful for in such a predicament. The yacht schooner, rigged fore and aft, was a capital sea boat; so, apprehending no danger, they joked and laughed during the lulls of the gale at their hardships, and gazed with interest on the wild spectacle afforded by the seething waters. Maurice and the poet were comforting themselves with tobacco, while Caliphronas, excited by the wildness of the scene, was clinging to the weather rigging, and facing the keen whips of wind, rain, and spray like some antique sea-god. Occasionally he would shout out a few sentences to his companions, but, owing to the tumult around, they could only catch his meaning every now and then.

“Often like this—Ægean!—sudden gales—have no fear.”

“Confound that man!” growled Maurice, who was standing shoulder to shoulder with Crispin; “he thinks no one has any pluck but himself.”

“On the contrary, he is trying to keep up his spirits,” replied Crispin, steadying himself with difficulty as the yacht took a big dip into the trough of the sea; “there is a good deal of brag about Caliphronas, but if we were in any real danger he would not crow so loudly. These Greeks are all afraid of the sea; and if the colonization of the world had been left to them, I am afraid America would never have been discovered.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are always afraid of venturing out of sight of the land. They slip about boldly enough among these isles of Elishah, as Ezekiel calls them, but if they lose sight of Mother Earth, all their courage leaves them. Their Hellenic ancestors were just the same, for all their poets call Ocean names, such as ‘a hungry beast,’ ‘a ravenous monster,’monster,’ and similar pleasant titles. I think Homer, with his ‘multitudinous laughter of the sea,’ is the only poet who pays Ocean a compliment.”

“Yet the Greek genius has produced a great sea drama in the ‘Odyssey.’”

“A voyage of necessity, not pleasure—Man the sport of the unjust gods; but I fancy Ulysses had a touch of the adventurous Phoenician in his blood. Besides, Greek bravery produced a great sea drama at Salamis; yet, withal, I decline to believe the Hellenes, ancient or modern, were sailors.”

“Yet Arnold calls them ‘The young, light-hearted masters of the wave.’”

“A charming line, which applies but to Ægean waters. Masters of the wave, forsooth! Why, they were never masters of anything liquid larger than a puddle. The Greeks never loved Nature in her grandest moods, and—saving Æschylus—both shaggy mountain and roaring waters were alien to their genius.”

“Yet they loved Nature.”

“Nature the Mother, not Nature the Enemy. Hill, meadow, wood, fountain, river, they loved; but mountain and ocean they feared.”

“Would a Greek Wordsworth have been possible?”

“Ah, now you open up a large field of inquiry! No; I do not think the actual spirituality of Wordsworth would have appealed to a Greek. The Hellenic poet of that class would have been like Keats—he would have sung exquisitely of vitalized Nature, of her incarnate forces, Pan and Demeter, nymphs and satyrs; but none but a modern poet, conversant with the haggardness of modern life, with his soul steeped in the religion of the unseen, could have produced those ‘thoughts too deep for tears’ such as we find in Wordsworth. Theocritus and Bion are your Nature poets of external loveliness, but Arnold and Wordsworth sang deeper strains, and sought the naked soul of Nature, which was but a veiled Isis to the Greek.”

“Hallo! what island is that?” cried Maurice, who had been idly listening to such fragments of this discourse as he had caught. “Look to your left.”

In the misty distance a great black mass loomed vague and indistinct on the lee side of the vessel, apparently about seven miles off, though the magnifying vapor seemed to bring it nearer.

“I am not sure,” replied Crispin, straining his eyes; “we are in the middle of a number of islets.”

“The deuce! isn’t that rather dangerous?”

“It would be to any one who did not know these waters; but Martin has been here with me often before, and knows every rock in the vicinity. Besides, we are comparatively safe, as the engines are of large horse-power compared with the size of the boat.”

Martin was the captain of the yacht, and at present was personally attending to the wheel, with an anxious expression on his weather-beaten face, for it was no light task to steer the boat safely through these clusters of islands, especially when the magnifying properties of the mist cause them to appear in dangerous proximity to the ship, thus deceiving the eye into thinking she was entangled among hidden reefs. Luckily Captain Martin had a clear head, and, being a splendid seaman, knew the capabilities of The Eunice thoroughly; so Crispin felt quite content to leave affairs in his hands, so long as he was at the helm.

“Kamila!” shouted Caliphronas, alluding to the misty island.

“No,” shouted back Crispin; “Kamila too far off.”

“Kamila!” cried the Greek for the second time, whereupon Crispin was much impressed with his insistence.

“Caliphronas knows these seas thoroughly,” he said to Maurice quietly; “he has sailed all over them with his rascal friend; so if this is Kamila, we must be nearer Melnos than I thought.”

“Had you not better see Martin?” suggested Maurice, shaking himself like a huge water-dog, as a shower of spray flew over him.

Crispin nodded an assent, and began to struggle towards the wheel, where Martin was standing. It was rather difficult, owing to the slipperiness of the wet deck and the tossing of the yacht, which one moment would be poised on the crest of a wave, and the next ingulfed in a foam-streaked valley of green water, which threatened to swamp her. However, by holding on to anything he could seize, Crispin managed to get close to the captain, who, in his efforts to keep the ship’s head right, was straining every muscle to hold the wheel, which was almost torn out of his grasp in a retrograde direction, every time a wave smashed against her helm.

“Kamila!” screamed Crispin in Martin’s ear, as he pointed to the dim mass.

Martin shook his head doubtfully.

“Too far south’ard. We’re nigher Anapli, I reckon.”

“And Melnos?”

“Straight ahead. Who says ’tis Kamila?”

“Count Caliphronas!”

“Hum! he knows these parts too. I’ll go and have another look at the chart.”

“If it’s Kamila, Melnos is just round the shoulder.”

“Can’t believe we’ve got so far out of the course. Why, if”—

At this moment a tremendous wave struck the yacht midships, making her reel and strain under the irresistible blows of the sea, and the jolly-boat on the port side was smashed up like matchwood, the iron davits being twisted out of all shape in the giant grip of the water. The Eunice shuddered under the stroke, paused almost imperceptibly, then sprung forward like a spur-touched horse, and in another second was out of danger, riding lightly on the frothing crest of a huge wave, from whence she slid down smoothly into the smaragdine hollow beyond.

“Boat gone!” quoth the captain, regaining his breath; “bad loss.”

Crispin thought so too, but had no time to reply, for at this moment the raucous voice of the captain was heard shouting to the second officer as he passed by,—

“Send Gurt here! look sharp!”

Gurt was a grizzled old salt with one eye, and an unlimited capacity for rum, who, having knocked about in these latitudes all his sinful life, knew the Archipelago like a book. When he arrived, the captain put him in charge of the wheel, and went off, not to his cabin to look at the chart, but down to the engine-room, as he feared for the safety of the propeller. Crispin followed him, and they staggered like drunken men along the streaming decks towards the hatch. Down the iron ladder leading to the engine-room they scrambled, holding on like grim death, for the yacht was now rolling at an angle of twenty-five degrees, an uncomfortable motion which she occasionally varied by dipping her bows so deeply into the water that her stern was sticking nearly straight up in the air; in fact, to use a nautical expression, she stood on her head.

The screw beat the waves regularly enough when in its normal position, but the moment the yacht lifted, it was out of the water, whirling round and round with tremendous velocity, coming down again with a resonant smash, which threatened to snap off short the huge fans of the propeller. To obviate this danger, Martin spoke to the chief engineer, who, at once recognizing the perilous position, took his station beside the throttle-valve, and immediately the yacht dipped her nose, shut off steam, so that, when she plunged her stern again into the waters, the down-stroke was not so dangerous to the motionless blades.

The enormous steel bars of the cranks, shining with oil in the dim lamplight, arose and fell irregularly, owing to the pitching of the vessel, one moment slowing down to half speed, the next beating the air as rapidly as the wings of a swallow. Round and round swept the giant wheels with noiseless speed, and nothing could be heard but the lash of the waves thrashing the sides of the yacht, the intermittent throbbing of the machinery, and the sharp hiss of escaping steam, but the moment the engineer put his hand to the throttle-valve, in an instant the screw, already spinning like a top, hung motionless, until, with the recurring lurch, the great pistons again began to slide smoothly in and out of the cylinders. It was wonderful to see the absolute command this one man had over the colossal mass of machinery, which worked or rested as he let on or shut off steam at every plunge of the ship.

As Martin and the poet returned to the deck, they heard the smashing of dishes in the pantry, the subsequent bad language of the stewards, and The Eunice groaned, creaked, strained, and shrieked like a living being as she strove to make headway against the furious blast.

“All right!” yelled Crispin when they were once more on the streaming decks.

“Right enough, as long as we’re in the open sea,” retorted Martin gloomily, “but Lord help us if we touch any of them darned reefs.”

The islands of the Ægean are very dangerous to ships, as their ragged reefs, running out to sea like roots, can scarcely be noticed save in calm weather, when the thin line of white breaking on the smooth surface of the water betrays the hidden teeth below. It was of these treacherous reefs the captain was afraid, as in such a furious gale there was every chance of the ship striking, in spite of the utmost care being taken to navigate her properly. Fortunately, with her helm and screw, which were to her as a bridle is to a horse. The Eunice could skirt these perils with the greatest dexterity, and the real danger lay in the chance of her running on some sunken rock not set down in the chart. Martin, doubtful as to the island on the lee side, went off to his cabin for the chart, knowing he could safely leave the steering to Gurt, who indeed was better than any chart, and knew more of these seas than all the Admiralty put together.

Crispin returned to Maurice, and reported all that had been done, much to Roylands’ satisfaction, for, however brave a man may be, it is not pleasant to think that every moment he may be hurled into eternity. Caliphronas was still clinging to the weather rigging, but his face was graver than of yore, for he too knew the dangers of these waters, and good ship though The Eunice was, an unknown rock piercing her bottom would sink her rapidly, while the furious waves dashing against her, thus firmly held, would not leave enough of her stout timbers to make a cigar-box.

All that afternoon they continued beating about in that weary sea near the Island of Kamila, for Kamila it proved to be on examination of the chart, much to the vexation of Captain Martin, who was considerably startled to find he was out of his course. However, such ignorance was not unpardonable, as the divergence from the course arose from the fact that, owing to the captain being constantly at the wheel, and only hastily glancing at the chart when he was able, he did not notice sufficiently the constant sagging of the vessel, and she had therefore, unknown to him, drifted more to the south than he fancied.

Contrary to his expectation, the gale, instead of abating, increased in fury, and great masses of blinding rain came sweeping down in torrents on the ship, while the gusty wind, straining the wet sails to their utmost tension, tautened the weather rigging like bars of steel. The crew were all picked men, forty in number, the captain was a first-class sailor, the engines powerful, the boat stanch, yet all these could avail but little against the colossal force of wind and wave, which seemed resolved to conquer this brave little craft struggling so gallantly against their Titanic forces.

Meals that day they had none, for it was impossible to sit at the table, but the steward cut some sandwiches, with which, in conjunction with brandy and water, they were able to sustain themselves. Even Caliphronas, quite contrary to his usual custom, was so overwhelmed by the peril of their position, that he took some spirits, which brought the color back to his pale cheeks. Maurice was not at all afraid, having plenty of British pluck, and, but for Helena, would have cared but little if his unhappy life was ended by the seething mass of waters raging on all sides.

Owing to the cloudy sky, the incessant rain, and the absence of sunlight, the darkness fell sooner than usual, with sudden transition from day to night. No more the enchanted twilight of the previous evening, the calm sea, silver moon, and glittering stars; nothing but pitchy gloom, with roaring waves rising in liquid masses to the black sky, and black sky raining down torrents on roaring waves, while between the welkin and the spume flew The Eunice like a stormy petrel, keeping afloat only through the dexterity with which she was managed. At times a jagged flash of lightning gleaming blue as steel divided the solid blackness with sabre-like stroke, but the succeeding thunder, loud as it was, hardly added to the deafening clamor of the storm, which stunned the ears of those human beings, fighting so determinedly for their lives against the appalling forces of Nature.

“‘Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground,’” quoted Crispin grimly, as he clung to a stout rope. “My faith, I don’t think we are born to be hanged, Maurice!”

“Do you think there is danger, Creespeen?” cried Caliphronas, whose teeth were chattering in his head.

“Rather; we might go to the bottom any moment,” replied Maurice, who, despite the peril of the position, could not help smiling at the cowardice of the Greek. “Be a man, Caliphronas!—you aren’t afraid of death, I suppose?”

“Oh, but I am!—I am!” shivered the Count in abject fear. “To leave this world I love for I know not what. Oh, what comes after?”

“God!” said Crispin solemnly.

“God!” echoed the Greek in a tone of despairing conviction. “What is God? I know nothing beyond this world—what I see!—what I feel!—nothing else. But you say there is a God!—there is a God! Oh, what will He say to me?”

“Ask your own conscience.”

“Conscience!” cried Caliphronas, with a sneer, which but ill became his ghastly face; “what do I know of conscience? I have been wicked, but no worse than my neighbors. After all, it is death and then—annihilation. It is that I fear—to no longer see the sun, nor feel the wind, nor life in the veins. Life is so glad, death so terrible! But I will undo some of my work that you saints call wicked. Yes, I will tell you, Mr. Maurice, the reason I brought you to Melnos.”

“Oh, tell me, tell me!” cried Maurice eagerly; “you brought me here to”—

He did not finish the sentence, for at this moment a gust of unexampled strength tore past them with a shriek, and snapped the mainmast by the board, crashing it downward with tremendous force. Falling over the side, it impeded the yacht’s course, and brought her gunwale dangerously near the water. The black smoke poured in volumes from her funnel, the screw beat the water with enormous power, but the heavy mass, the huge canvas, the entanglement of ropes, all held her back, and down on one side, to the great imperilling of her safety.

“Axes!” roared Martin, in a voice of thunder; “cut away the ropes! Look smart, my lads, for your lives! If she pitches to wind’ard, and brings the mast against the bilge, it’s all Davy Jones for sure!”

The sailors flew to do his bidding, and though, owing to the perpetual pitching of the vessel, they could not work continuously, yet in the space of half an hour they managed to clear away the wreckage, which fell over into the boiling waters, while the yacht righted herself like a trembling deer. The man at the wheel of course kept the set course indicated by the captain, but, the engines being slowed down during the clearance episode, the ship sagged gradually to leeward, until she drifted dangerously near to the rocks of Kamila.

All were so busily engaged clearing away the wreckage, that this new peril was unnoticed, until the moon, half-obscured by the flying scud, shone out palely on the wild scene. Attracted by the glimmer of the planet, Martin looked up suddenly from his work, only to see the towering cliffs of the island near at hand, and the caps of the sea rising like fountains of spouting foam over the cruel-looking rocks.

Roaring to pass the word to the engineer to give her every inch of steam she was worth, in order to shoot her far enough ahead to clear the rocks, Martin sprang with one bound to the wheel, wrenched it out of the sailor’s hands, and put the helm hard down, so that the yacht’s head flew up in the wind just in time to avert a frightful catastrophe. Immediately on the increased speed of the vessel, she plunged forward into every wave, and all on board feared that each new dive into the rough sea would be the last, for she shipped seas freely, and tons of water swept her deck fore and aft. At the last fearful dive, there was the sound of a sudden snap, as if the boat had touched a rock; she shuddered through her whole length, and after the engines had whirled for a minute with inconceivable velocity, they suddenly stopped.

“My God!” cried Martin, guessing the reason of the stoppage; “the propeller has gone! God help us now!”

Fortunately, the way the ship ran through the water shot her to the windward sufficiently to clear the Kamila reef, but, as she could not be kept ahead to sea, owing to the fury of the gale, she had again to be kept off, so that the remaining sails would tend to steady her from the violent lurching. All this time the steam was blowing off; and then, the fires being drawn, all the sooty inhabitants of the engine-room, like so many Cyclops, poured on deck, to do what they could in saving the vessel.

During the time she was clearing the reef, the moon had withdrawn her light, but now she shone forth in her full splendor through a rent in a cloud, whereupon a sight was revealed which struck terror into the hearts of all on board.

“Melnos!” cried Crispin and the Greek in one breath.

“It’s all over!” said Martin gloomily. “No screw—only one mast—we’ll never clear that island.”

Maurice, straining his eyes through the glimmer of moon and star half-obscured by flying clouds, saw a high, conical-shaped mountain, rising sheer out of the sea, at a distance of about three miles. The snows of the summit gleamed pale in the moonlight, below was darkness, but at the base of the peak spouted fountains of white surf on the jagged rocks running seaward.

“It’s kingdom come, gentlemen,” said the captain, with a grim smile, as he looked at that sky-piercing peak looming hugely in the vague light.

“The boats”—began Caliphronas, who was quite pale; whereupon Martin turned on him sharply.

“The boats, sir! what boats could live in that sea? The jolly-boat is gone—the steam pinnace is pretty well smashed up, so there are only the gig and the lifeboat to save forty-five lives.”

“You’ll try to launch the boats, at all events,” said Crispin quickly.

“Oh yes! all that can be done will be done, you can depend, sir; but it’s a poor look-out.”

With these dispiriting words, the captain went away to see after the life-belts, and served out one to each man, which gave them at least some chance of floating to land. Martin neglected no chance of saving the ship, and put the helm up, whereon the fierce wind filled the remaining canvas, and drove The Eunice slowly ahead. For fully an hour she drifted to leeward, now being quite unmanageable, owing to the loss of screw and mast. Straight ahead lay Melnos, with the fierce surf thundering at its base, and the ship, unable to be guided, was drifting slowly but surely on to the rocks. Maurice, with considerable forethought, took Crispin with him below, and they filled their travelling-flasks with brandy. Meanwhile, the crew, utterly demoralized by the hopelessness of the situation, made for the spirit-room; but the captain placed himself in front of it with a revolver, and swore to shoot the first man who came forward. Still, as the men were weary from work, and wet and cold with long exposure, he ordered rum to be served out, which reconciled them somewhat to his prohibition of too much drinking.

“Die like men, not beasts,” said Martin, thrusting the revolver back again when the crew were more manageable; “there is still a chance of saving our lives by the boats, and that will be gone if drink is in you.”

By this time the yacht was so near the island that they could hear the roar of the surf, and see the white tongues of the waves running up the black rocks. Overhead heavy masses of clouds were moving like battalions across the sky, but the rain had ceased, and at intervals the moon shone out, which gave them but small comfort, as it enabled them to see only too clearly the perils which awaited them. The wind was still furious, and the sea rolling mountains high; its huge billows, topped with ragged fringes of foam glimmering in the fitful light, kept sweeping over the deck. Several men were swept overboard into the trough of the sea, but no assistance could be rendered by those on board, and with despairing cries they sank in the furious waters.

Crispin, pitying the terror of Caliphronas, in spite of his dislike for the wily Greek, took him below and gave him some brandy. The Count was just raising the glass to his lips, when they were both levelled by a tremendous shock, which made the ship tremble from stem to stern.

“God! she has struck!” cried Crispin, and tore up the stairs as hard as he was able, followed by Caliphronas, who was now nerved by despair.

The Eunice had struck about a quarter of a mile from the shore, but so fierce were the waves between her and the land, that it seemed as though no boat could live in that hell of waters. However, as a last hope, the captain ordered the lifeboat to be lowered, which was accordingly done; but the moment it touched the water all discipline was at an end, for the men, seeing the means of safety, rushed in a tumultuous crowd to take advantage of it. In a few minutes the lifeboat was filled with a black mass of human beings, in spite of the captain’s efforts to maintain order, and cutting the ropes they made for the shore. Hardly had the boat left the ship, when, caught by a huge wave, she capsized, and the waves were black with shrieking masses of humanity.

“O God! O God!” groaned Crispin, hiding his face; “they will all be drowned.”

And so they were, for, in spite of their life-belts, the waves griped the drowning men with irresistible force, and dashed them mangled corpses against the rocks. Of the crowd of living, breathing creatures that had gone off a few minutes before, not one remained alive, and the survivors felt that their fate would be the same.

“Lower away the gig!” shouted Martin, going up to where the boat was hanging; “and if you cowards rush her, I’ll shoot freely.”

Cowed by his revolver, which was covering them with its six deadly cartridges, the men did as they were ordered, and, placing the boat in charge of the mate, the captain made them all get in in orderly fashion.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Martin to the three who stood near him, “get in quick—the yacht will soon be under water.”

“But yourself?”

“It’s my duty to stick to the ship,” said the brave old man; “if she goes down, I go down—if she doesn’t, there will be hope of safety; but I will be the last to leave her.”

“There’s room in the boat,” called the mate; “quick, for your lives.”

Caliphronas needed no urging, but sprang into the boat, then, either from treachery or terror, cut the rope which held her to the yacht with a knife he had in his hand. There was a shout of execration from the crew, but the act was irremediable, and the gig plunged away into the darkness; the last seen by the four survivors on deck being Caliphronas, furiously fighting with two of the men, who were trying to hurl him overboard.

The yacht was now nearly under water, and on her deck stood Martin, Maurice, Crispin, and Gurt.

“Only one hope,” cried Martin, furiously shaking his fist at the retreating boat; “climb up the mast!”

They flew to the weather rigging, and Maurice, Crispin, and Gurt managed to climb up, but just as Martin was springing for the rope, a heavy sea swept the yacht fore and aft, and he was carried overboard. They heard his despairing cry as he went down into the trough of the sea, but there was no time to say anything, for with one final plunge the yacht went down, and the three human beings scrambled up the rigging as fast as they could, followed by the water, which seemed loath to surrender its prey. Fortunately The Eunice had sunk near the shore, so, when she finally settled down, about thirty feet of the remaining mast was sticking up out of the water, and to this clung the three survivors in desperate anxiety, expecting every moment to be shaken off into the depths below. At any moment the mast might break off, or a roll of the submerged yacht send it into the water; so, with this terrible dread in their hearts, these three human beings clung madly to their only refuge.

Below raged the fierce waters, around was the darkness, above the clouded sky and the veiled moon, while amid all this horror hung those three unfortunates to their slender spar, waiting with dread and hope for the morning’s light.