Panic seized the sailors, and Bar Shalmon was unable to pacify them.
"Someone on board has brought us ill-luck," said the boatswain, looking pointedly at Bar Shalmon; "we shall have to heave him overboard."
His comrades assented and rushed toward Bar Shalmon.
Just at that moment, however, the look-out in the bow cried excitedly, "Land ahead!"
The ship still refused to answer the helm and grounded on a sandbank. She shivered from stem to stern but did not break up. No rocks were visible, only a desolate tract of desert land was to be seen, with here and there a solitary tree.
"We seem to have sustained no damage," said the captain, when he had recovered from his first astonishment, "but how we are going to get afloat again I do not know. This land is quite strange to me."
He could not find it marked on any of his charts or maps, and the sailors stood looking gloomily at the mysterious shore.
"Had we not better explore the land?" said Bar Shalmon.
"No, no," exclaimed the boatswain, excitedly. "See, no breakers strike on the shore. This is not a human land. This is a domain of demons. We are lost unless we cast overboard the one who has brought on us this ill-luck."
Said Bar Shalmon, "I will land, and I will give fifty silver crowns to all who land with me."