"I'll go below and take a squint at
the glass."

"What does he mean by that, Tom," said I, when the captain was gone, "I
never saw a calmer or a finer night. Surely there is no chance of a
storm just now."

"Ay, that shows that you're a young feller, and han't got much
experience o' them seas," replied my companion. "Why, boy, sometimes
the fiercest storm is brewin' behind the greatest calm. An' the worst
o' the thing is that it comes so sudden at times, that the masts are
torn out o' the ship before you can say Jack Robinson."

"What! and without any warning?" said I.

"Ay, _almost_ without warnin'; but not _altogether_ without it. You
heer'd the captain say he'd go an' take a squint at the glass?"

"Yes; what is the glass?"

"It's not a glass o' grog, you may be sure; nor yet a lookin'-glass.
It's the weather-glass, boy. Shore-goin' chaps call it a barometer."

"And what's the meaning of barometer?" I inquired earnestly.

Tom Lokins stared at me in stupid amazement.

"Why, boy," said he, "you're too inquisitive. I once asked the doctor
o' a ship that question, and says he to me, `Tom,' says he, `a barometer
is a glass tube filled with quicksilver or mercury, which is a metal in
a soft or fluid state, like water, you know, and it's meant for tellin'
the state o' the weather.'

"`Yes, sir,' I answers, `I know that, well enough.'

"`Then why did you ask?' says he, gettin' into a passion.

"`I asked what was the meanin' o' the _word_ barometer, sir,' said I.

"The doctor he looked grave at that, and shook his head. `Tom,' says
he, `if I was to go for to explain that word, and all about the
instrument, in a scientific sort o' way, d'ye see, I'd have to sit here
an' speak to you right on end for six hours or more.'

"`Oh, sir,' says I, `don't do it, then. _Please_, don't do it.'

"`No more I will,' says he; `but it'll serve your turn to know that a
barometer is a glass for measurin' the weight o' the air, and, _somehow
or other, that_ lets ye know wots a-coming. If the mercury in the glass
rises high, all's right. If it falls uncommon low very sudden, look out
for squalls; that's all. No matter how smooth the sea may be, or how
sweetly all natur' may smile, don't you believe it; take in every inch
o' canvas at once.'"

"That was a queer explanation, Tom."

"Ay, but it was a true one, as you shall see before long."

As I looked out upon the calm sea, which lay like a sheet of glass,
without