Our watch had an afternoon watch below, for the
first time since leaving San Diego, and having inquired of the third
mate what the latitude was at noon, and made our usual guesses as to
the time she would need, to be up with the Horn, we turned in, for a
nap. We were sleeping away "at the rates of knots," when three
knocks on the scuttle, and "All hands ahoy!" started us from our
berths. What could be the matter? It did not appear to be blowing
hard, and looking up through the scuttle, we could see that it was a
clear day, overhead; yet the watch were taking in sail. We thought
there must be a sail in sight, and that we were about to heave-to
and speak her; and were just congratulating ourselves upon it- for we
had seen neither sail nor land since we had left port- when we heard
the mate's voice on deck, (he turned-in "all standing," and was always
on deck the moment he was called,) singing out to the men who were
taking in the studding-sails, and asking where his watch were. We
did not wait for a second call, but tumbled up the ladder; and
there, on the starboard bow, was a bank of mist, covering sea and sky,
and driving directly for us.
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