"Dead calm," replied the passenger.
"We shall not get in to-morrow at this rate."
"Captain 'Siah says we shall have more wind than we want before morning," added the smoker. "He wishes the brig was twenty miles farther out to sea, for his barometer has gone down as though the bottom had dropped out of it."
"It looks like one of those West India showers," added the steward, as he glanced out at one of the doors of the galley.
The calm and silence which had pervaded the deck of the Waldo seemed to be broken. Captain 'Siah had given his orders to the mate, who was now shouting lustily to the crew, though there was not a breath of air stirring, and the brig lay motionless upon the still waters. The vessel was a considerable distance within the range of islands which separate Penobscot Bay from the broad ocean. The water was nearly as smooth as a mill-pond, and Harvey had found no more difficulty in writing in his diary than if the Waldo had been anchored in the harbor of Rockland, whither she was bound, though she had made the land some distance to the eastward of Owl's Head.
Harvey Bath walked out upon the deck, after putting on an overcoat to protect him from the chill air of the evening, for he felt that his life depended upon his precaution. In the south-west the clouds were dense and black, indicating the approach of a heavy shower. In the east, just as dense and black, was another mass of clouds; and the two showers seemed to be working up towards the zenith.
"Cast off the fore tack!" shouted the mate. "Let go the fore sheet!"
When this last order was given, it was the duty of the cook to execute it; and, ordinarily, this is about the only seaman's duty which the "doctor" is called upon to perform. Harvey promptly cast off the sheet, and the hands at the clew-garnets hauled up the foresail. The flying-gib and top-gallant sails had already been furled, and the canvas on the brig was soon reduced to the fore-topsail, fore-topmast staysail, and spanker; and these sails hung like wet rags, the vessel drifting with the tide, which now set up the bay.
The dense black clouds slowly approached the zenith, and it was dark before there appeared to be any commotion of the elements. As the gloom of the evening increased, the lightning became more vivid, the zigzag chains of electric fluid darting angrily from the inky masses of cloud which obscured the sky. The heavy thunder sounded nearer and more overhead, indicating the nearer approach of the two showers. Scarcely did the flashing lightning—almost instantly followed by the cannon-like crash of the thunder—blaze and peal on one side of the brig, before the flaming bolt and the startling roar were taken up on the other side, as though the two tempests on either hand were vying with each other for the mastery of the air.
Captain Josiah Barnwood, familiarly called, even by the crew, who were his friends and neighbors, Captain 'Siah, nervously walked his quarter-deck, after he had taken every precaution which a careful sailor could take; for, even if his practised eye had not taught him that there was wind in the clouds in the south-west, the barometer had earnestly admonished him of violent disturbances in the atmosphere. He had done everything he could for the safety of the brig, but he blamed himself—though without reason, for the change of weather had been sudden and unexpected—for coming into the bay when it was so near night. The brig was surrounded on nearly every side by rocky islands and numerous reefs, with the chances that thick weather would hide the friendly lights from his view. But it was a summer day, and, until late in the afternoon, when there was no wind to help him, no change could have been anticipated.