Then from the horizon black like the wall of a distant cliff comes the wind, washing waves over the bow of the boat and knocking the fire from its place, and then the fire begins to devour the flesh of the boat. Then the men fight the fanned flames with buckets of water and the soil of potted plants and the breath of their lungs and then, suddenly, somehow, the fire is gone. Then for a moment the burned boat rides in the lee of a valley between two high mountains of water, and then the mountains clap together like a pair of hands and the boat is broken apart like match-sticks. Then the men cling to the splinters of their lives and fear a grave in the dark mud far below them and forget forever their voyage of discovery, and they call out in voices drowned by the wind, “We are doomed.” And only then does one voice shine forth like a beacon, and in unwavering tones declare, “You are saved.”