he placid restfulness of
a "whole gale" of wind, with everything snug aloft and no chance of
let-up during the watch. Between these occasional puffs would come
long pauses of dead calm, in which the midshipman of the watch would
enter in the log: "1 A.M., 0 knots; 2 A.M., 6 fathoms (3/4 knot); 3
A.M., 0 knots; 4 A.M., 1 knot, 2 fathoms;" the last representing
usually a guess of the officer of the deck as to what would make the
aggregate for the four hours nearly right. It did not matter, for we
were hundreds of miles from land and the sky always clear for
observations. Few of the watch got much sleep, because of the
perpetual bracing; and all the while the ship rolling and sending, in
the long, glassy ocean swell, unsteadied by the empty sails, which
swung out with one lurch as though full, and then slapped back all
together against the masts, with a swing and a jerk and a thud that
made every spar tremble, and the vessel herself quiver in unison. Nor
were we alone. Frequently two or three American clippers would be
hull-up at the same moment within our horizon, bound the same way; and
it was singular how, despite the apparently unbroken calm, we got away
from one another and disappeared. Ships lying with their heads "all
around the compass" flapped themselves along in the direction of their
bows, the line of least resistance.

I do not know at what hour under such circumstances we had struck the
trades, but when I came on deck at midnight we had got them steady and
strong. As there was still a good-deal of casting to make, the ship
had been brought close to the wind on the port tack; the bowlines
steadied out, but not dragged, every sail a good rap full, "fast
asleep," without the tremor of an eyelid, if I may so style a weather
leach, or of any inch of the canvas, from the royals down to the
courses. Every condition was as if arranged for a special occasion, or
to recompense us for the tedium of the horse latitudes. The moon was
big, and there was a clear sky, save for the narrow band of tiny
clouds, massed like a flock of sheep, which ever fringes the horizon
of the trades; always on the horizon, as you progress, yet never
visible above when the horizon of this hour has become the zenith of
the next. After the watch was mustered and the lookouts stationed,
there came perfect silence, save for the slight, but not ominous,
singing of the wind through the rigging, and the dash of the water
against the bows, audible for