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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



coal-black shape upon the gloomy blueness of the air. I was a

youngster then, and suffering from weariness, cold, and imperfect



oilskins which let water in at every seam. I craved human

companionship, and, coming off the poop, took my place by the side



of the boatswain (a man whom I did not like) in a comparatively dry

spot where at worst we had water only up to our knees. Above our



heads the explosive booming gusts of wind passed continuously,

justifying the sailor's saying "It blows great guns." And just



from that need of human companionship, being very close to the man,

I said, or rather shouted:



"Blows very hard, boatswain."

His answer was:



"Ay, and if it blows only a little harder things will begin to go.

I don't mind as long as everything holds, but when things begin to



go it's bad."

The note of dread in the shouting voice, the practical truth of



these words, heard years ago from a man I did not like, have

stamped its peculiarcharacter on that gale.



A look in the eyes of a shipmate, a low murmur in the most

sheltered spot where the watch on duty are huddled together, a



meaning moan from one to the other with a glance at the windward

sky, a sigh of weariness, a gesture of disgust passing into the



keeping of the great wind, become part and parcel of the gale. The

olive hue of hurricane clouds presents an aspectpeculiarly



appalling. The inky ragged wrack, flying before a nor'-west wind,

makes you dizzy with its headlong speed that depicts the rush of



the invisible air. A hard sou'-wester startles you with its close

horizon and its low gray sky, as if the world were a dungeon



wherein there is no rest for body or soul. And there are black

squalls, white squalls, thunder squalls, and unexpected gusts that



come without a single sign in the sky; and of each kind no one of

them resembles another.



There is infinitevariety in the gales of wind at sea, and except

for the peculiar, terrible, and mysterious moaning that may be



heard sometimes passing through the roar of a hurricane - except

for that unforgettable sound, as if the soul of the universe had



been goaded into a mournful groan - it is, after all, the human

voice that stamps the mark of human consciousness upon the



character of a gale.

XXV.



There is no part of the world of coasts, continents, oceans, seas,

straits, capes, and islands which is not under the sway of a



reigning wind, the sovereign of its typical weather. The wind

rules the aspects of the sky and the action of the sea. But no



wind rules unchallenged his realm of land and water. As with the

kingdoms of the earth, there are regions more turbulent than






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