I walked to the bulwark, scanned the north-western horizon, and perceived that it was beginning to wear a threatening aspect. The wind was stronger, the waves rolling higher, and the sailors grave and thoughtful. It was no easy matter for me to stand, without holding to something: and hatch-houses, masts, bulwarks, ropes and belaying-pins came quite handy to brace myself against, or cling to with one hand. In another hour, the wind was blowing hard, the waves were running high, and one of them jumped over the bulwarks, and wet everybody on deck—myself included. That is what sailors term, “Shipping a sea.” “You had better stand within the cabin,” observed the second mate. I thought so, too, made my way to the door, and stepped in. The cabin was built on deck; but a high sill at the bottom of the door-way kept the water from running in. I then stood at the cabin-door for a couple of hours, grasping each side of the door-way to brace myself, and watched the rising gale. CHAPTER XLI. J. SMITH’S CURIOSITY TO SEE A GALE MORE THAN SATISFIED. ANOTHER heavy wave dashed over the bulwarks, and fell upon the deck, with a thump that made the ship tremble. The wind rose higher, and was soon howling among the rigging with a fierceness entirely new to me. Wave after wave swept over, and the deck was continually washed with the agitated waters. Evening came and I had no appetite for supper. Night came, darkness frowned on the furious sea, the wind increased in violence, and fairly screamed among the ropes, shrouds, masts, and yards; we were indeed in a gale. The ship tumbled about so, that I got sick; but determined not to give way to it. I stood by the cabin door, leaned over the high sill, and contributed my dinner to the waters of the ocean. The sails had all been taken in but the three lower top-sails, and with those still unfurled, we had been running before the wind. These were now taken in—except the lower main top-sail, which is always left unfurled, in order to control the ship—and the vessel was hove to: that is, turned with her head to the wind, her bow a point or two off, in order that she might rise on the waves. When these measures had been taken, it seemed to me that the wind just tried how hard it could blow; and to do it justice, I must say, that it blew much harder than I had ever before thought it could. Wave after wave—every successive one seeming to run higher and higher—struck the ship, which was continually trembling, and straining, and “working,” as though it might at any moment break to splinters. Ah, I began to realize that a storm at sea is no luxury! Reader, if you have not seen one, you are fortunate. If you ever start on a voyage, pray earnestly for smooth weather, and if your prayers are answered be very thankful.