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Once a ship loaded with pleasure-seekers was sailing from North China to Shanghai. High winds and stormy weather had delayed her, and she was still one week from port when a great plague broke out on board. This plague was of the worst kind. It attacked passengers and sailors alike until there were so few left to sail the vessel that it seemed as if she would soon be left to the mercy of winds and waves. On all sides lay the dead, and the groans of the dying were most terrible to hear. Of that great company of travellers only one, a little boy named Ying-lo, had escaped. At last the few sailors, who had been trying hard to save their ship, were obliged to lie down upon the deck, a prey to the dreadful sickness, and soon they too were dead. Ying-lo now found himself alone on the sea. For some reason-he did not know why-the gods or the sea fairies had spared him, but as he looked about in terror at the friends and loved ones who had died, he almost wished that he might join them. The sails flapped about like great broken wings, while the giant waves dashed higher above the deck, washing many of the bodies overboard and wetting the little boy to the skin. Shivering with cold, he gave himself up for lost and prayed to the gods, whom his mother had often told him about, to take him from this dreadful ship and let him escape the fatal illness. Una vez, un barco cargado de buscadores de placer zarpó del norte de China hacia Shangai. Los fuertes vientos y las tormentas la habían retrasado, y aún estaba a una semana del puerto cuando una gran plaga estalló a bordo. Esta plaga fue de la peor clase. Atacó a pasajeros y marineros por igual hasta que quedaban tan pocos para navegar en el barco que parecía que pronto quedaría a merced de los vientos y las olas.

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