“And the billows were knocking at the poor ship’s side like sledge hammers; and the lightnings fell around us scorchingly, with forked bolts, as arrows from the hand of a giant; the thunders overhead, close overhead, crashing from a concave cloud that hung about us heavily—­a dense, black, suffocating curtain—­roared and raved as nothing earthly can, but thunder in the tropics; the rain was as a cataract, literally rushing in a mass:  the winds appeared not winds, nor whirlwinds, but legions of emancipated demons shrieking horribly, and flapping their wide wings; a flock of night-birds flying from the dawn; and all else was darkness, confusion, rolling and rocking about, the screams of women, the shouts of men, curses and prayers, agony, despair, and—­peace, deep peace.

“On a sudden, to our great astonishment, all was silent again, oppressively silent; and, but for the swell upon the seas, all still.  The tornado had rushed by:  that troop of Tartar horse, having sacked the village, are departed, now in full retreat:  the blackness and the fury are beheld on our lee, hastening across the broad Atlantic to Cuba or Jamaica:  and behold, a tranquil temperate sky, a kindly rolling sea, a favouring breeze, and—­not a sail, but some slight jury-rig, to catch it.

“Many days we drifted like a log upon the wave; provisions running short, and water—­water under tropical suns—­scantily dealt out in tea-cups.  Then, poor old Mackie’s health gave way; and I dreaded for her death:  one living witness is worth a cart-load of cold documents.  So I nursed and watched her constantly:  till the foolish folks on board began to say I was her son:  ah! me, for your sake I wish it had been so.

“And at length, just as some among the sailors were hinting at a mutiny for spirits, and our last case of Gamble’s meat was opened for the sick, our look-out on the jury-mast gave the welcome note of ‘Land!’ and soon, to us on deck, the heights of St. Helena rose above the sea.  Towed in by friendly aid, here we are, then, precious Emily, refitting:  and, as it must be a week yet before we can be ready, I have taken my old woman to a lodging upon land, and rejoice (what have I to do with joy?) to see her speedily recovering.”

The remainder of Charles’s long letter is so stupid, so gloomy, so loving, and so little to the purpose, that I take an editor’s privilege, and omit it altogether.  Of course he was coming home again, as soon as the Samarang and Jeanie Mackie would permit.

CHAPTER XXV.

TRIALS.

THE general recovered; as slowly, indeed, as Emily had, but it is gratifying to add, as surely.  And now that loving couple might be seen, weakly creeping out together, when the day was finest:  tottering white December leaning on a sickly fragile May.  There were no concealments now between them, no reservings, and heart-stricken Emily heard from her repentant father’s lips the story of her birth:  she was, he said, his own daughter by a native princess, the Begum Dowlia Burruckjutli.