A heavy swell began to come from the southeast. Our sails flapped
against the masts, and the ship rolled from side to side as heavily
as if she had been water-logged. There was so little wind that she
would not steer.
At 2 P.M. we had a squall, accompanied by thunder and rain. The
seamen, growing restless, looked anxiously ahead. They said we would
have a dirty night of it, and that it would not be worth while to
turn into their hammocks. As the second mate was describing a gale
he had encountered off Cape Race, Newfoundland, we were suddenly
taken all aback, and the blast came upon us furiously. We continued
to scud under a double-reefed mainsail and foretopsail till dusk;
but, as the sea ran high, the captain thought it safest to bring
her to. The watch on deck consisted of four men, one of whom was
appointed to keep a lookout ahead, for the weather was so hazy
that we could not see two cables' length from the bows. This man,
whose name was Tom Willis, went frequently to the bows as if to
observe something; and when the others called to him, inquiring
what he was looking at, he would give no definite answer. They
therefore went also to the bows, and appeared startled, and at
first said nothing.
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