on his heel and swung away from me.

In the chart-room was Captain West, pulling on his long sea-boots.
That would have told me had there been no barometer, though the
barometer was eloquent enough of itself. The night before it had
stood at 30.10. It was now 28.64. Even in the pampero it had not
been so low as that.

"The usual Cape Horn programme," Captain West smiled to me, as he
stood up in all his lean and slender gracefulness and reached for his
long oilskin coat.

Still I could scarcely believe.

"Is it very far away?" I inquired.

He shook his head, and forebore in the act of speaking to lift his
hand for me to listen. The Elsinore rolled uneasily, and from
without came the soft and hollow thunder of sails emptying themselves
against the masts and gear.

We had chatted a bare five minutes, when again he lifted his head.
This time the Elsinore heeled over slightly and remained heeled over,
while the sighing whistle of a rising breeze awoke in the rigging.

"It's beginning to make," he said, in the good old Anglo-Saxon of the
sea.

And then I heard Mr. Pike snarling out orders, and in my heart
discovered a growing respect for Cape Horn--Cape Stiff, as the