the West Wind's dominions most thickly populated with generations
of fine ships and hardy men. Heroic deeds and adventurous exploits
have been performed there, within the very stronghold of his sway.
The best sailors in the world have been born and bred under the
shadow of his sceptre, learning to manage their ships with skill
and audacity before the steps of his stormy throne. Reckless
adventurers, toiling fishermen, admirals as wise and brave as the
world has ever known, have waited upon the signs of his westerly
sky. Fleets of victorious ships have hung upon his breath. He has
tossed in his hand squadrons of war-scarred three-deckers, and
shredded out in mere sport the bunting of flags hallowed in the
traditions of honour and glory. He is a good friend and a
dangerous enemy, without mercy to unseaworthy ships and faint-
hearted seamen. In his kingly way he has taken but little account
of lives sacrificed to his impulsive policy; he is a king with a
double-edged sword bared in his right hand. The East Wind, an
interloper in the dominions of Westerly weather, is an impassive-
faced tyrant with a sharp poniard held behind his back for a
treacherous stab.

In his forays into the North Atlantic the East Wind behaves like a
subtle and cruel adventurer without a notion of honour or fair
play. Veiling his clear-cut, lean face in a thin layer of a hard,
high cloud, I have seen him, like a wizened robber sheik of the
sea, hold up large caravans of ships to the number of three hundred
or more at the very gates of the English Channel. And the worst of
it was that there was no ransom that we could pay to satisfy his
avidity; for whatever evil is wrought by the raiding East Wind, it
is done only to spite his kingly brother of the West. We gazed
helplessly at the systematic, cold, gray-eyed obstinacy of the