As it was late autumn
the first week in October--I rather wondered at this, for even in
my brief experience I had learned to dread a "fall" voyage across
the "Western Ocean."
Gradually the face of the sky changed, and the feel of the air,
from balmy and genial, became raw and cheerless. The little wave
tops broke short off and blew backwards, apparently against the
wind, while the old vessel had an uneasy, unnatural motion,
caused by a long, new swell rolling athwart the existing set of
the sea. Then the wind became fitful and changeable, backing
half round the compass, and veering forward again as much in an
hour, until at last in one tremendous squall it settled in the
N.W. for a business-like blow, Unlike the hurried merchantman who
must needs "hang on" till the last minute, only shortening the
sail when absolutely compelled to do so, and at the first sign of
the gales relenting, piling it on again, we were all snug long
before the storm burst upon us, and now rode comfortably under
the tiniest of storm staysails.
We were evidently in for a fair specimen of Western Ocean
weather, but the clumsy-looking, old-fashioned CACHALOT made no
more fuss over it than one of the long-winged sea-birds that
floated around, intent only upon snapping up any stray scraps
that might escape from us.
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