and so, for the next three or four days, I sailed steadily on
without further incident.

About a week after meeting with the hostile blacks, half a gale
sprang up, and I busied myself in putting the ship into trim to
weather the storm, which I knew was inevitable. I happened to be
looking over the stern watching the clouds gathering in dark, black
masses, when a strange upheaval of the waters took place almost at
my feet, and a huge black fish, like an exaggerated porpoise,
leaped into the air close to the stern of my little vessel.

It was a monstrous, ungainly looking creature, nearly the size of a
small whale. The strange way it disported itself alongside the
ship filled me with all manner of doubtings, and I was heartily
thankful when it suddenly disappeared from sight. The weather then
became more boisterous, and as the day advanced I strove my utmost
to keep the ship's head well before the wind; it was very
exhausting work. I was unable to keep anything like an adequate
look-out ahead, and had to trust to Providence to pull me through
safely.

All this time I did not want for food. Certainly I could not cook
anything, but there was any quantity of tinned provisions. And I
fed Bruno, too. I conversed with him almost hourly, and derived
much encouragement and sympathy therefrom. One morning sometime
between the fifteenth and twentieth day, I was scanning the horizon
with my customary eagerness, when suddenly, on looking ahead, I
found the sea white with the foam of crashing breakers; I knew I
must be in the vicinity of a sunken reef. I tried to get the ship
round, but it was too late. I couldn't make the slightest