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thought associated closely with the consciousness of the land



somewhere ahead and of the great speed of the ship。  Fair wind;



fair wind!  Who would dare to grumble at a fair wind?  It was a



favour of the Western King; who rules masterfully the North



Atlantic from the latitude of the Azores to the latitude of Cape



Farewell。  A famous shove this to end a good passage with; and yet;



somehow; one could not muster upon one's lips the smile of a



courtier's gratitude。  This favour was dispensed to you from under



an overbearing scowl; which is the true expression of the great



autocrat when he has made up his mind to give a battering to some



ships and to hunt certain others home in one breath of cruelty and



benevolence; equally distracting。







〃No; sir。  Can't see very far。〃







Thus would the mate's voice repeat the thought of the master; both



gazing ahead; while under their feet the ship rushes at some twelve



knots in the direction of the lee shore; and only a couple of miles



in front of her swinging and dripping jib…boom; carried naked with



an upward slant like a spear; a gray horizon closes the view with a



multitude of waves surging upwards violently as if to strike at the



stooping clouds。







Awful and threatening scowls darken the face of the West Wind in



his clouded; south…west mood; and from the King's throne…hall in



the western board stronger gusts reach you; like the fierce shouts



of raving fury to which only the gloomy grandeur of the scene



imparts a saving dignity。  A shower pelts the deck and the sails of



the ship as if flung with a scream by an angry hand; and when the



night closes in; the night of a south…westerly gale; it seems more



hopeless than the shade of Hades。  The south…westerly mood of the



great West Wind is a lightless mood; without sun; moon; or stars;



with no gleam of light but the phosphorescent flashes of the great



sheets of foam that; boiling up on each side of the ship; fling



bluish gleams upon her dark and narrow hull; rolling as she runs;



chased by enormous seas; distracted in the tumult。







There are some bad nights in the kingdom of the West Wind for



homeward…bound ships making for the Channel; and the days of wrath



dawn upon them colourless and vague like the timid turning up of



invisible lights upon the scene of a tyrannical and passionate



outbreak; awful in the monotony of its method and the increasing



strength of its violence。  It is the same wind; the same clouds;



the same wildly racing seas; the same thick horizon around the



ship。  Only the wind is stronger; the clouds seem denser and more



overwhelming; the waves appear to have grown bigger and more



threatening during the night。  The hours; whose minutes are marked



by the crash of the breaking seas; slip by with the screaming;



pelting squalls overtaking the ship as she runs on and on with



darkened canvas; with streaming spars and dripping ropes。  The



down…pours thicken。  Preceding each shower a mysterious gloom; like



the passage of a shadow above the firmament of gray clouds; filters



down upon the ship。  Now and then the rain pours upon your head in



streams as if from spouts。  It seems as if your ship were going to



be drowned before she sank; as if all atmosphere had turned to



water。  You gasp; you splutter; you are blinded and deafened; you



are submerged; obliterated; dissolved; annihilated; streaming all



over as if your limbs; too; had turned to water。  And every nerve



on the alert you watch for the clearing…up mood of the Western



King; that shall come with a shift of wind as likely as not to whip



all the three masts out of your ship in the twinkling of an eye。















XXVII。















Heralded by the increasing fierceness of the squalls; sometimes by



a faint flash of lightning like the signal of a lighted torch waved



far away behind the clouds; the shift of wind comes at last; the



crucial moment of the change from the brooding and veiled violence



of the south…west gale to the sparkling; flashing; cutting; clear…



eyed anger of the King's north…westerly mood。  You behold another



phase of his passion; a fury bejewelled with stars; mayhap bearing



the crescent of the moon on its brow; shaking the last vestiges of



its torn cloud…mantle in inky…black squalls; with hail and sleet



descending like showers of crystals and pearls; bounding off the



spars; drumming on the sails; pattering on the oilskin coats;



whitening the decks of homeward…bound ships。  Faint; ruddy flashes



of lightning flicker in the starlight upon her mastheads。  A chilly



blast hums in the taut rigging; causing the ship to tremble to her



very keel; and the soaked men on her decks to shiver in their wet



clothes to the very marrow of their bones。  Before one squall has



flown over to sink in the eastern board; the edge of another peeps



up already above the western horizon; racing up swift; shapeless;



like a black bag full of frozen water ready to burst over your



devoted head。  The temper of the ruler of the ocean has changed。



Each gust of the clouded mood that seemed warmed by the heat of a



heart flaming with anger has its counterpart in the chilly blasts



that seem blown from a breast turned to ice with a sudden revulsion



of feeling。  Instead of blinding your eyes and crushing your soul



with a terrible apparatus of cloud and mists and seas and rain; the



King of the West turns his power to contemptuous pelting of your



back with icicles; to making your weary eyes water as if in grief;



and your worn…out carcass quake pitifully。  But each mood of the



great autocrat has its own greatness; and each is hard to bear。



Only the north…west phase of that mighty display is not



demoralizing to the same extent; because between the hail and sleet



squalls of a north…westerly gale one can see a long way ahead。







To see! to see! … this is the craving of the sailor; as of the rest



of blind humanity。  To have his path made clear for him is the



aspiration of every human being in our beclouded and tempestuous



existence。  I have heard a reserved; silent man; with no nerves to



speak of; after three days of hard running in thick south…westerly



weather; burst out passionately:  〃I wish to God we could get sight



of something!〃







We had just gone down below for a moment to commune in a battened…



down cabin; with a large white chart lying limp and damp upon a



cold and clammy table under the light of a smoky lamp。  Sprawling



over that seaman's silent and trusted adviser; with one elbow upon



the coast of Africa and the other planted in the neighbourhood of



Cape Hatteras (it was a general track…chart of the North Atlantic);



my skipper lifted his rugged; hairy face; and glared at me in a



half…exasperated; half…appealing way。  We have seen no sun; moon;



or stars for something like seven days。  By the effect of the West



Wind's wrath the celestial bodies had gone into hiding for a week



or more; and the last three days had seen the force of a south…west



gale grow from fresh; through strong; to heavy; as the entries in



my log…book could testify。  Then we separated; he to go on deck



again; in obedience to that mysterious call that seems to sound for



ever in a shipmaster's ears; I to stagger into my cabin with some



vague notion of putting down the words 〃Very heavy weather〃 in a



log…book not quite written up…to…date。  But I gave it up; and



crawled into my bunk instead; boots and hat on; all standing (it



did not matter; everything was soaking wet; a heavy sea having



burst the poop skylights the night before); to remain in a



nightmarish state between waking and sleeping for a couple of hours



of so…called rest。







The south…westerly mood of the West Wind is an enemy of sleep; and



even of a recumbent position; in the responsible officers of a



ship。  After two hours of futile; light…headed; inconsequent



thinking upon all things under heaven in that dark; dank; wet and



devastated cabin; I arose suddenly and staggered up on deck。  The



autocrat of the North Atlantic was still oppressing his kingdom and



its outlying dependencies; even as far as the Bay of Biscay; in the



dismal secrecy of thick; very thick; weather。  The force of the



wind; though we were running before it at the rate of some ten



knots an hour; was so great that it drove me with a steady push to



the front of the poop; where my commander was holding on。







〃What do you think of it?〃 he addressed me in an interrogative



yell。







What I really thought was that we both had had just about enough of



it。  The manner in which the great West Wind chooses at times to



administer his possessions does not commend itself to a person of



peaceful and law…abiding disposition; inclined to draw 

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