The morning light was welcome and George's Shoals being well cleared, the vessel's course was altered to the eastward, bringing the wind more on the side and steadying her movements. This is one of the pleasures of sea life, the cessation of motion. "Then are they glad because they be quiet." But as sea-life originates the evil, it deserves no credit for the temporary relief. The breeze moderated and we made easy progress, while the crew were busily at work stowing anchors and chains, putting on chafing gear, and making the various preparations for a long voyage. A pilot boat came under our stern to satisfy her curiosity as to our identity. As she disappeared, we felt that our last friend on American shores had left us, and we set our faces resolutely towards the regions beyond. The next day the weather became threatening. Though October had set in, no gale had yet occurred fit to be named "the equinoctial storm," therefore, one was considered due by all who believed in that old-fashioned institution. A gale did come, but its connection with the equinox was not clearly established. It blew fiercely enough, however, to deserve that respectable title, and forced the vessel to lie to under a close-reefed main-topsail, which finally had to be "goose-winged" (one side of it furled.) The mate went aloft himself to encourage the crew in braving the storm. For two hours it blew with almost hurricane violence, or as the mate expressed it, "a perfect screamer," and we began to fear we should not escape unharmed, as the seas were getting very "ugly." But the _Rocket_ lay to safely and behaved splendidly. All night the wind held on with violence, but at day-break it began to moderate and we escaped with no other damage than splitting a jib and foretopmast staysail. A gale of wind at night is a sublime, though fearful, scene. The ship plunges wildly in the darkness, and skies and waters are equally black, only relieved by the foaming crests of the mountain waves. But perhaps the most impressive feature is the music of the gale, nature's grand organ, or, if any prefer the simile, its bagpipe. The sub-bass of the storm, as it sweeps over the waves against the hull and through the lower rigging of the ship, forms the great volume of sound, and above, in constantly changing variety, come shrieks, screams, wailings and whistlings of every pitch and intensity, sounding from aloft as the wind drives through sheave-holes, against the small rigging, and into cracks in the spars. Few listen to these sounds without an impression of awe or even dread, and many a brave heart, which scarcely knows the meaning of the word fear, has felt a thrill and shudder as the discordant screams and howlings of the midnight gale unite with the roaring and dashing of the breaking waves.