Voyage and Shipwreck
187
from the wintry winds, and that the neighboring town, being so small,
would afford little occupation for three hundred sailors and passengers
during a stay of several months. Port Phenice, but thirty-four miles
distant, had a well-sheltered harbor, and was in all other respects a far
more desirable place in which to winter.
The centurion decided to follow the judgment of the majority. Ac-
cordingly, “when the south wind blew softly,” they set sail from Fair
Havens, with the flattering prospect that a few hours would bring them
to the desired harbor. All were now rejoicing that they had not fol-
lowed the advice of Paul: but their hopes were destined to be speedily
disappointed. They had not proceeded far, when a tempestuous wind,
such as in that latitude often succeeds the blowing of the south wind,
burst upon them with merciless fury. From the first moment that the
wind struck the vessel, its condition was hopeless. So sudden was the
blow, that the sailors had not a moment in which to prepare, and they
could only leave the ship to the mercy of the tempest.
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After a time they neared the small island of Clauda, and while
under its shelter they did all in their power to make ready for the worst.
The boat would be their only means of escape, in case the ship should
founder; but while in tow it was every moment likely to be dashed to
pieces. The first work was to hoist it on board the ship. This was no
easy task; for it was with the utmost difficulty that the seamen could
perform the simplest duty. All possible precaution was taken to render
the ship firm and secure, and then there was nothing left to do but to
drift at the mercy of wind and wave. There was no place into which
they could run for shelter, the wind was driving them, and even the
poor protection afforded by the little island would not avail them long.
Such was the disastrous ending of the day which had begun with soft
breezes and high hopes.
All night the tempest raged, and the ship leaked. The next day,
all on board—soldiers, sailors, passengers, and prisoners—united in
throwing overboard everything that could be spared. Night came again,
but the wind did not abate. The storm-beaten ship, with its shattered
mast and rent sails, was tossed hither and thither by the fury of the
gale. Every moment it seemed that the groaning timbers must give
way as the vessel reeled and quivered under the tempest’s shock. The
leak rapidly increased, and passengers and crew worked constantly at
the pumps. There was not a moment’s rest for one on board. “The