Captain Collins was an excellent fellow, a lively and agreeable companion, and a perfect gentleman. The two mates, Messrs. Trufant and Gorham, were unexceptionable; I was soon on the best terms with them, and anticipated a pleasant voyage.
But, somehow or other, these three gentlemen were a little morose on this pleasant Saturday morning. It was quite unaccountable to me.
“What can be the reason?” I asked myself. “Can it be that they don’t like pleasant weather, and would prefer it cold and stormy?” I had heard such things, of sea-faring men. [Reader, when you hear it said that sailors enjoy stormy weather, don’t believe it.]
About ten o’clock the first mate, Mr. Trufant, after several earnest consultations with the Captain, came out of the cabin,—while I was standing on deck enjoying the pleasant breeze and the fine view I had of the waste of waters—and called out:
“Steward!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the steward, from the galley.
“Get up a few barrels of potatoes, and what other things you may need from the after-hatch: we’re going to have a gale o’ wind.”
[That was what the matter was. The barometer was getting low.]
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the steward.
The wind was still N. W., and glancing in that direction, I perceived that some solid-looking, lead colored clouds were rising above the horizon.