That day, and the day following, the weather was so extremely cold, that the salt water of old Ocean, as it splashed over the bulwarks, froze into a nasty uncomfortable slush, upon the deck. On the third morning—that of Saturday, the sixteenth of March—the air was much milder, and I began to entertain the liveliest hopes that we were to be favored with pleasant weather, that I might sit by the low bulwarks of the forecastle deck, and watch the blue waves foaming and splashing as the ship plowed its way through them. Captain Collins was an excellent fellow, a lively and agreeable companion, and a perfect gentleman. The two mates, Messrs. Trufant and Gorham, were unexceptionable; I was soon on the best terms with them, and anticipated a pleasant voyage. But, somehow or other, these three gentlemen were a little morose on this pleasant Saturday morning. It was quite unaccountable to me. “What can be the reason?” I asked myself. “Can it be that they don’t like pleasant weather, and would prefer it cold and stormy?” I had heard such things, of sea-faring men. [Reader, when _you_ hear it said that sailors enjoy stormy weather, don’t believe it.] About ten o’clock the first mate, Mr. Trufant, after several earnest consultations with the Captain, came out of the cabin,—while I was standing on deck enjoying the pleasant breeze and the fine view I had of the waste of waters—and called out: “Steward!” “Ay, ay, sir,” responded the steward, from the galley. “Get up a few barrels of potatoes, and what other things you may need from the after-hatch: we’re going to have a gale o’ wind.” [That was what the matter was. The barometer was getting low.] “Ay, ay, sir,” said the steward. The wind was still N. W., and glancing in that direction, I perceived that some solid-looking, lead colored clouds were rising above the horizon. “Going to blow, is it?” I said, to the mate, as he walked by me. “Yes, a little,” he replied, as he proceeded to give some order to the sailors. A couple of hours passed by, and I saw no indications of a storm. It had grown a trifle cloudy; and the wind had increased but little. “We won’t have that gale, after all, will we?” I remarked, as we sat at dinner. The captain laughed. “Give it time,” said he. “The barometer usually warns in advance. If you don’t see a fresh breeze before morning, there will be a big change in the weather somewhere.” I said no more. After dinner I was on deck, and, observing that the sailors were working the pumps, I said to Mr. Gorham, the second mate: “The ship leaks a little, does it?” “O, yes,” he replied, indifferently: “all ships leak more or less.” “I hope ours will leak _less_, then, if we get in a gale,” I said. “So do I,” he returned; “but I fear it will leak _more_.” The ship was rocking somewhat, but I had not yet grown sea-sick. In fact, persons who have once been sea-sick are not quite so easily or so severely affected the second time.