And night came down and Captain Shard sent for his diver.  With the sea getting up it was hard work for the diver, but by midnight things were done to Shard’s satisfaction, and the diver said that of all the jobs he had done—­but finding no apt comparison, and being in need of a drink, silence fell on him and soon sleep, and his comrades carried him away to his hammock.  All the next day the chase went on with the English well in sight, for Shard had lost time overnight with his wheels and axles, and the danger of meeting the Spaniards increased every hour; and evening came when every minute seemed dangerous, yet they still went tacking on towards the East where they knew the Spaniards must be.

And at last they sighted their topsails right ahead, and still Shard went on.  It was a close thing, but night was coming on, and the Union Jack which he hoisted helped Shard with the Spaniards for the last few anxious minutes, though it seemed to anger the English, but as Shard said, “There’s no pleasing everyone,” and then the twilight shivered into darkness.

“Hard to starboard,” said Captain Shard.

The North wind which had risen all day was now blowing a gale.  I do not know what part of the coast Shard steered for, but Shard knew, for the coasts of the world were to him what Margate is to some of us.

At a place where the desert rolling up from mystery and from death, yea, from the heart of Africa, emerges upon the sea, no less grand than her, no less terrible, even there they sighted the land quite close, almost in darkness.  Shard ordered every man to the hinder part of the ship and all the ballast too; and soon the Desperate Lark, her prow a little high out of the water, doing her eighteen knots before the wind, struck a sandy beach and shuddered, she heeled over a little, then righted herself, and slowly headed into the interior of Africa.

The men would have given three cheers, but after the first Shard silenced them and, steering the ship himself, he made them a short speech while the broad wheels pounded slowly over the African sand, doing barely five knots in a gale.  The perils of the sea he said had been greatly exaggerated.  Ships had been sailing the sea for hundreds of years and at sea you knew what to do, but on land this was different.  They were on land now and they were not to forget it.  At sea you might make as much noise as you pleased and no harm was done, but on land anything might happen.  One of the perils of the land that he instanced was that of hanging.  For every hundred men that they hung on land, he said, not more than twenty would be hung at sea.  The men were to sleep at their guns.  They would not go far that night; for the risk of being wrecked at night was another danger peculiar to the land, while at sea you might sail from set of sun till dawn:  yet it was essential to get out of sight of the sea for if anyone knew they were there they’d have cavalry after them.  And