The wind was slowly rising, and by three o’clock as, with a dozen seals in our boat, we were deliberating whether to go on or turn back, the recall flag was run up at the schooner’s mizzen—­a sure sign that with the rising wind the barometer was falling and that our sailing-master was getting anxious for the welfare of the boats.

Away we went before the wind with a single reef in our sail.  With clenched teeth sat the boat-steerer, grasping the steering oar firmly with both hands, his restless eyes on the alert—­a glance at the schooner ahead, as we rose on a sea, another at the mainsheet, and then one astern where the dark ripple of the wind on the water told him of a coming puff or a large white-cap that threatened to overwhelm us.  The waves were holding high carnival, performing the strangest antics, as with wild glee they danced along in fierce pursuit—­now up, now down, here, there, and everywhere, until some great sea of liquid green with its milk-white crest of foam rose from the ocean’s throbbing bosom and drove the others from view.  But only for a moment, for again under new forms they reappeared.  In the sun’s path they wandered, where every ripple, great or small, every little spit or spray looked like molten silver, where the water lost its dark green color and became a dazzling, silvery flood, only to vanish and become a wild waste of sullen turbulence, each dark foreboding sea rising and breaking, then rolling on again.  The dash, the sparkle, the silvery light soon vanished with the sun, which became obscured by black clouds that were rolling swiftly in from the west, northwest; apt heralds of the coming storm.

We soon reached the schooner and found ourselves the last aboard.  In a few minutes the seals were skinned, boats and decks washed, and we were down below by the roaring fo’castle fire, with a wash, change of clothes, and a hot, substantial supper before us.  Sail had been put on the schooner, as we had a run of seventy-five miles to make to the southward before morning, so as to get in the midst of the seals, out of which we had strayed during the last two days’ hunting.

We had the first watch from eight to midnight.  The wind was soon blowing half a gale, and our sailing-master expected little sleep that night as he paced up and down the poop.  The topsails were soon clewed up and made fast, then the flying jib run down and furled.  Quite a sea was rolling by this time, occasionally breaking over the decks, flooding them and threatening to smash the boats.  At six bells we were ordered to turn them over and put on storm lashings.  This occupied us till eight bells, when we were relieved by the mid-watch.  I was the last to go below, doing so just as the watch on deck was furling the spanker.  Below all were asleep except our green hand, the “bricklayer,” who was dying of consumption.  The wildly dancing movements of the sea lamp cast a pale, flickering light through the fo’castle and turned to golden honey the drops