hidden from us by the drift of sprays.

When we officers clambered at last upon the poop, he seemed to come
out of that numbed composure, and shouted to us down wind: "Try
the pumps." Afterwards he disappeared. As to the ship, I need not
say that, although she was presently swallowed up in one of the
blackest nights I can remember, she did not disappear. In truth, I
don't fancy that there had ever been much danger of that, but
certainly the experience was noisy and particularly distracting--
and yet it is the memory of a very quiet silence that survives.



XXIV.



For, after all, a gale of wind, the thing of mighty sound, is
inarticulate. It is man who, in a chance phrase, interprets the
elemental passion of his enemy. Thus there is another gale in my
memory, a thing of endless, deep, humming roar, moonlight, and a
spoken sentence.

It was off that other cape which is always deprived of its title as
the Cape of Good Hope is robbed of its name. It was off the Horn.
For a true expression of dishevelled wildness there is nothing like
a gale in the bright moonlight of a high latitude.

The ship, brought-to and bowing to enormous flashing seas,
glistened wet from deck to trucks; her one set sail stood out a