nge in the weather came next
day: storm-clouds stretched their arms across the sky; from the east,
to all appearances, might come a fierce harmattan, or from the south
might come the fierce hurricane. Every point of the compass threatened
a wild storm. My attention was turned to reefing sails, and no time
was to be lost over it, either, for the sea in a moment was confusion
itself, and I was glad to head the sloop three points or more away
from her true course that she might ride safely over the waves. I was
now scudding her for the channel between Africa and the island of
Fuerteventura, the easternmost of the Canary Islands, for which I was
on the lookout. At 2 P.M., the weather becoming suddenly fine, the
island stood in view, already abeam to starboard, and not more than
seven miles off. Fuerteventura is twenty-seven hundred feet high, and
in fine weather is visible many leagues away.

The wind freshened in the night, and the _Spray_ had a fine run
through the channel. By daylight, September 3, she was twenty-five
miles clear of all the islands, when a calm ensued, which was the
precursor of another gale of wind that soon came on, bringing with it
dust from the African shore. It howled dismally while it lasted, and
though it was not the season of the harmattan, the sea in the course
of an hour was discolored with a reddish-brown dust. The air remained
thick with flying dust all the afternoon, but the wind, veering
northwest at night, swept it back to land, and afforded the _Spray_
once more a clear sky. Her mast now bent under a strong, steady
pressure, and her bellying sail swept the sea as she rolled scuppers
under, courtesying to the waves. These rolling waves thrilled me as
they tossed my ship, passing quickly under her keel. This was grand
sailing.

September 4, the wind, still fresh, blew from the north-northeast, and
the sea surged along with the sloop. About noon a steamship, a
bullock-droger, from the river Plate hove in sight, steering
northeast, and making bad weather of it. I signaled her, but got no
answer. She was plunging into the head sea and rolling in a most
astonishing manner, and from the way she yawed one might have said
that a wild steer was at the helm.

On the morning of September 6 I found three flying-fish on deck, and a
fourth one down the fore-scuttle as close as possible to the
frying-pan. It was the best haul yet, and afforded me a sumptuous
breakfast and dinner.

The _Spray_ had n