"What do you think, Captain Mountz?" inquired a gentleman, "will this fair wind continue long?"
"What the deuce is the wind to me? I'm a passenger," responded the irresponsible retired captain.
They remained on deck enjoying the starlit glory of the sea and sky until a late hour, when, fatigued and sleepy, they went below and sought their berths. To new voyagers there is in the first night at sea something so novel, so wild, so weird, so really unearthly, that few, if any, can sleep. They have left the old, still, safe land far behind, and are out in the dark upon the strange, unstable, perilous sea. It is a new element, a new world, a new life; and the novelty, the restlessness, and even the dangers, have a fascination that charms the imagination and banishes repose. A few voyages cure one of these fancies; but this is how a novice feels.
And thus it was with Ishmael. Fatigued as he was, he lay awake in his berth, soothed by the motion of the vessel and the sound of the sea, until near morning, when at length he fell into a deep sleep. It was destined to be a brief one, however.
Soon every passenger was waked up by the violent rolling and tossing of the ship; the creaking and groaning of the rigging; the howling and shrieking of the wind, and the rising and falling of the waves.
All the brave and active passengers tumbled up out of their berths and dressed quickly, while the timid and indolent cowered under their sheets and waited the issue.
Ishmael was among the first on deck. Day was dawning.
Here all hands were on the alert: the captain swearing his orders as fast as they could be obeyed. One set of men were rapidly taking in sail. Another set were seeing to the life boats. The sea was running mountains high; the ship rolling fearfully; the wind so fierce that Ishmael could scarcely stand.
He saw old Captain Mountz on deck, and appealed to him.
"We are likely to have a heavy gale?"