We sailed in the evening with the moon at full, and the wind at
west-north-west. So soon as we got from under the lee of the land the
breeze struck us, and it came on to blow like thunder, so that we were
all soon reduced to our storm staysails; and there we were, transports,
merchantmen, and men-of-war, rising on the mountainous billows one
moment, and the next losing sight of everything but the water and sky
in the deep trough of the sea, while the seething foam was blown over
us in showers from the curling manes of the roaring waves. But
overhead, all this while, it was as clear as a lovely winter moon could
make it, and the stars shone brightly in the deep blue sky; there was
not even a thin fleecy shred of cloud racking across the moon's disc.
Oh, the glories of a northwester!

But the devil seize such glory! Glory, indeed! with a fleet of
transports, and a regiment of soldiers on board! Glory! why, I daresay
five hundred rank and file, at the fewest, were all cascading at one
and the same moment,--a thousand poor fellows turned outside in, like
so many pairs of old stockings. Any glory in that? But to proceed.

Next morning the gale still continued, and when the day broke there was
the frigate standing across our bows, rolling and pitching, as she tore
her way through the boiling sea, under a close-reefed main-topsail and
reefed foresail, with top-gallant-yards and royal masts, and everything
that could be struck with safety in war-time, down on deck. There she
lay, with her clear black bends, and bright white streak, and long tier
of cannon on the maindeck, and the carronades on the quarterdeck and
forecastle grinning through the ports in the black bulwarks, while the
white hammocks, carefully covered by the hammock-cloths, crowned the
defences of the gallant frigate fore and aft, as she delved through the
green surge--one minute rolling and rising on the curling white crest