Now that his attention was awakened, he could distinctly hear every word of their conversation, which amused and interested him greatly, and which he considered himself perfectly justified in benefiting by, as he had given them fair warning of his proximity, by observing to them, “It’s a fine night, lads.”—and receiving the answer, “Yes, sir, it is.” “My eyes, Bill!” said one of the recumbents, “ain’t this here a fine breeze?” “Wait till ye sees the end on’t, Jem,” replied the other; “it’s my notion ye’ll change your tune before long.” “Mayhap I may, Bill; but I hates to be watching the weather-glass of evil. What makes you so down in the mouth?” “I’ll tell ye what, Jem—I don’t like this here move at all. I never seed no good come of sailing on a Friday. Why couldn’t the skipper have kept her fast by the nose for another day, ’stead of running in the very teeth of mischief in this way? I wonders as how the Admiralty doesn’t give an order agin sailing on sich an unlucky day.” “Why, sure, Bill, you don’t call sich a breeze as this unlucky? If this is what you call Friday’s luck, I hope I may always sail on a Friday.” “Well, we’ll see, Jem; but, if so be as you doesn’t think that there’s bad luck in a Friday, you’re out of your latitude, that’s all.” “Watch, man the royal cluelines!” interrupted the men in their confab, and startled all the watch to their feet. The breeze was gradually freshening, and the small masts were beginning to complain; but the night was clear, and cold, and beautiful—and Philip retired to his cot, laughing at the superstitious fears of the sailor, but, at the same time, unconsciously almost to himself, affected by them. The breeze continued steady till they had cleared the Channel, and were standing to the south, when it began gradually to die away and draw a-head; and, on the night of the third day from their departure, the scene was completely changed. Thick, heavy masses of cloud had been gathering to the southward all the afternoon; cloud after cloud rearing its dark head, and then remaining stationary, like an army assembling all its forces before being put in motion. Towards night, the breeze began to freshen from the southward, and the clouds to rise slowly and sullenly, as if compelled unwillingly to tear themselves from their resting-place on the horizon, while the light “scud” drove rapidly across, high up in the heavens. A large, dull halo surrounded the moon, and her light struggled dimly and ominously through the watery and angry-looking vapours that flitted across it. Everything portended a coming storm; the ship herself seemed to be aware of the approaching conflict, plunging and rolling as if in ineffectual efforts to make her escape; while her timbers groaned and creaked, as she tossed about in the confused sea, and seemed to utter mournful cries, as the wind moaned in hollow gusts through her rigging. All the small sails were taken in, and soon the loud