nd around was
deafening; above the howl of the wind could be heard the creaking of the
timbers, and the boat seemed to shiver as each fresh gust struck her.

In half an hour he looked out again. There was, as yet, but little sea;
the force of the wind seemed to flatten the water, and the instant a
wave lifted its head it was cut off as if by a knife, and carried
away in spray. The boat herself was moving rapidly through the water,
dragging the spar behind her, and Gervaise almost trembled at the
thought of the speed at which she would have flown along had it not been
for the restraint of the floating anchor. Gradually the sea got up, but
the light craft rode easily over it, and Gervaise, after commending
his safety to God, lay down, and was soon fast asleep. In spite of the
motion of the vessel, he slept soundly for many hours. When he awoke he
opened the cabin door and looked out. A tremendous sea was running, but
he thought the wind, although so strong that he could scarce lift his
head above the shelter of the bulwark, was less violent than it had
been when it first broke upon him. He saw to his satisfaction that the
felucca breasted the waves lightly, and that although enveloped in spray
she took no green water over the bows.

The spar and sail acted not only as a floating anchor, but as a
breakwater, and the white crested waves, which came on as if they
would break upon the boat, seemed robbed of half their violence by
the obstruction to their course, and passed under the felucca without
breaking. For forty-eight hours the gale continued; at the end of
that time it ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun. The sun shone
brightly out, the clouds cleared entirely away. It was some hours before
the sea went down sufficiently for Gervaise to attempt to get the spar
on deck again. It was a heavy task, taxing his strength to the utmost,
but after a deal of labour it was got on board, and then raised to its
position at the masthead; the sail was shaken out, and the felucca again
put on her course.

CHAPTER XX BELEAGUERED

One morning towards the end of May, 1480, Sir John Boswell was standing
with some other knights on St. Stephen's Hill, near the city, having
hurried up as soon as a column of smoke from a bonfire lighted by the
lookout there, gave the news that the Turkish fleet was at last in
sight. A similar warning had been given a month previously, but the
fleet had sailed past the island, being bound for