It was some time, however, before Francis went below.  The scene was novel to him, and he was astonished at the sight of the waves, and at the manner in which they tossed the great ship about, as if she were an eggshell.  But when it became quite dark, and he could see nothing but the white crests of the waves and the foam that flew high in the air every time the bluff bows of the ship plunged down into a hollow, he took the captain’s advice and retired to his cabin.

He was on deck again early.  A gray mist overhung the water.  The sea was of a leaden colour, crested with white heads.  The waves were far higher than they had been on the previous evening, and as they came racing along behind the Bonito each crest seemed as if it would rise over her stern and overwhelm her.  But this apprehension was soon dispelled, as he saw how lightly the vessel rose each time.  Although showing but a very small breadth of sail, she was running along at a great rate, leaving a white streak of foam behind her.  The captain was standing near the helm, and Francis made his way to him.

“Well, captain, and how are you getting on, and where are we?” he asked, cheerfully.

“We are getting on well enough, Messer Francisco, as you can see for yourself.  The Bonito is as good a sea boat as ever floated, and would not care for the wind were it twice as strong as it is.  It is not the storm I am thinking about, but the islands.  If we were down in the Mediterranean I could turn into my cot and sleep soundly; but here it is another matter.  We are somewhere up among the islands, but where, no man can say.  The wind has shifted a bit two or three times during the night, and, as we are obliged to run straight before it, there is no calculating to within a few miles where we are.  I have tried to edge out to the westward as much as I could, but with this wind blowing and the height of the ship out of water, we sag away to leeward so fast that nothing is gained by it.

“According to my calculation, we cannot be very far from the west coast of Mitylene.  If the clouds would but lift, and give us a look round for two minutes, we should know all about it, as I know the outline of every island in the Aegean; and as over on this side you are always in sight of two or three of them, I should know all about it if I could get a view of the land.  Now, for aught we know, we may be running straight down upon some rocky coast.”

The idea was not a pleasant one, and Francis strained his eyes, gazing through the mist.

“What should we do if we saw land, captain?” he asked presently.

“Get out the oars, row her head round, and try to work either to the right or left, whichever point of land seemed easiest to weather.  Of course, if it was the mainland we were being driven on there would be no use, and we should try and row into the teeth of the gale, so as to keep her off land as long as possible, in the hope of the wind dropping.  When we got into shallow water we should drop our anchors, and still keep on rowing to lessen the strain upon them.  If they gave, there would be an end to the Bonito.  But if, as I think, we are driving towards Mitylene, there is a safe harbour on this side of the island, and I shall certainly run into it.  It is well sheltered and landlocked.”