Ishmael went up on deck—a nearly impossible feat for any landsman, even for one so strong and active as Ishmael was, to accomplish with safety to life and limb, for the ship was now fearfully pitched from side to side, and wallowing among the leaping waves.
High as the wind was—blowing now a hurricane—the sky was perfectly clear, and the sun was near its setting.
Ishmael found his old servant sitting propped up against the back of the wheel-house, looking out at one of the most glorious of all the glorious sights in nature—sunset at sea.
"As soon as the sun has set you must go down and turn in, Morris. The wind is increasing, and it is no longer safe for a landsman like you to remain up here," said his master.
"Mr. Ishmael, sir, you must just leave me up here to my fate. As to getting me down now, that is impossible; I noticed that it took both your hands, as well as both your feet, to help yourself up," replied the professor.
"What! do you mean to stay on deck all night?"
"I see no help for it, sir; I should be pitched downstairs and have my neck broken, or be washed into the sea and get drowned, by any attempt to go below."
"Nonsense, Morris; the sun has gone down now; follow his example. I will take you safely," said Ishmael, offering his arm to the old man in that kind, but peremptory, way that admitted of no denial.
A sailor near at hand came forward and offered his assistance. And between the two the professor was safely taken down to the second cabin and deposited in his berth.
A German Jew, who shared the professor's stateroom, saw the party coming, and exclaimed to a fellow-passenger: