e ship manoeuvred to
pass close to windward of the derelict. Then, from our mast-head, a
horrible sight became visible. Lying about the weather-beaten deck,
in various postures, were thirteen corpses, all far advanced in decay,
which horrible fact fully accounted for the intolerable stench that had
driven us away. It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say that we promptly
hauled our wind, and placed a good distance between us and that awful
load of death as soon as possible. Poor wretches! What terrible calamity
had befallen them, we could not guess; whatever it was, it had been
complete; nor would any sane man falling across them run the risk of
closer examination into details than we had done. It was a great pity
that we were not able to sink the prahu with her ghastly cargo, and so
free the air from that poisonous foetor that was a deadly danger to any
vessel getting under her lee.

Next day, and for a whole week after, we had a stark calm such a calm as
one realizes who reads sympathetically that magical piece of work, the
"Ancient Mariner." What an amazing instance of the triumph of the human
imagination! For Coleridge certainly never witnessed such a scene as he
there describes with an accuracy of detail that is astounding. Very
few sailors have noticed the sickening condition of the ocean when the
life-giving breeze totally fails for any length of time, or, if they
have, they have said but little about it. Of course, some parts of the
sea show the evil effects of stagnation much sooner than others; but,
generally speaking, want of wind at sea, if long continued, produces
a condition of things dangerous to the health of any land near by.
Whale-ships, penetrating as they do to parts carefully avoided by
ordinary trading vessels, often afford their crews an opportunity of
seeing things mostly hidden from the sight of man, when, actuated by
some mysterious impulse, the uncanny denizens of the middle depths of
the ocean rise to higher levels, and show their weird shapes to the sun.

CHAPTER XII. WHICH TREATS OF THE KRAKEN

It has often been a matter for considerable surprise to me, that while
the urban population of Great Britain is periodically agitated over the
great sea-serpent question, sailors, as a class, have very little to say
on the subject. During a considerable sea experience in all classes of
vessels, except men-of-war, and in most positions, I have heard a fairly
comprehensive catalogue of subject