"The north wind! The black north wind!" shouted the steersman, and the
sailors echoed his cry dismally, for they knew the terrors of that wind
upon the Syrian coast. Then the gale began to rage. By daylight the
waves were running high as mountains and the wind hissed through the
rigging, driving them forward beneath a small sail. Nehushta crawled out
of the cabin, and, in the light of an angry dawn, saw far away the white
walls of a city built near the shore.
"Is not that Appolonia?" she asked of the captain.
"Yes," he answered, "it is Appolonia sure enough, but we shall not
anchor there this voyage. Now it is Alexandria for us or nothing."
So they rushed past Appolonia and forward, climbing the slopes of the
rising seas.
Thus things went on. About mid-day the gale became a hurricane, and do
what they would they were driven forward, till at length they saw
the breakers forming on the coast. Rachel lay sick and prostrate, but
Nehushta went out of the cabin to watch.
"Are we in danger?" she asked of a sailor.
"Yes, accursed Christian," he replied, "and you have brought it on us
with your evil eye."
Then Nehushta returned to the cabin where her mistress lay almost
senseless with sea-sickness.
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