in a fog--In the open
sea--The man in the moon takes an interest in the voyage--The first
fit of loneliness--The _Spray_ encounters _La Vaguisa_--A bottle of
wine from the Spaniard--A bout of words with the captain of the
_Java_--The steamship _Olympia_ spoken--Arrival at the Azores.

I now stowed all my goods securely, for the boisterous Atlantic was
before me, and I sent the topmast down, knowing that the _Spray_ would
be the wholesomer with it on deck. Then I gave the lanyards a pull and
hitched them afresh, and saw that the gammon was secure, also that the
boat was lashed, for even in summer one may meet with bad weather in
the crossing.

In fact, many weeks of bad weather had prevailed. On July 1, however,
after a rude gale, the wind came out nor'west and clear, propitious
for a good run. On the following day, the head sea having gone down, I
sailed from Yarmouth, and let go my last hold on America. The log of
my first day on the Atlantic in the _Spray_ reads briefly: "9:30 A.M.
sailed from Yarmouth. 4:30 P.M. passed Cape Sable; distance, three
cables from the land. The sloop making eight knots. Fresh breeze N.W."
Before the sun went down I was taking my supper of strawberries and
tea in smooth water under the lee of the east-coast land, along which
the _Spray_ was now leisurely skirting.

At noon on July 3 Ironbound Island was abeam. The _Spray_ was again at
her best. A large schooner came out of Liverpool, Nova Scotia, this
morning, steering eastward. The _Spray_ put her hull down astern in
five hours. At 6:45 P.M. I was in close under Chebucto Head light,
near Halifax harbor. I set my flag and squared away, taking my
departure from George's Island before dark to sail east of Sable
Island. There are many beacon lights along the coast. Sambro, the Rock
of Lamentations, carries a noble light, which, however, the liner
_Atlantic_, on the night of her terrible disaster, did not see. I
watched light after light sink astern as I sailed into the unbounded
sea, till Sambro, the last of them all, was below the horizon. The
_Spray_ was then alone, and sailing on, she held her course. July 4,
at 6 A.M., I put in double reefs, and at 8:30 A.M. turned out all
reefs. At 9:40 P.M. I raised the sheen only of the light on the west
end of Sable Island, which may also be called the Island of Tragedies.
The fog, which till this moment had held off, now lowered over the sea
like a pall. I was in a world of fog, shut off from the