gloomy scene, the little bark seemed like a speck upon the bosom of
the sea. It was the first mate's watch on deck. The wind, then
blowing from the W.S.W., began to increase and veer into the
westward; from whence it suddenly chopped into the northward. The
mate paced the quarter wrapt in his fearnought jacket, and at every
turn giving a glance aloft, then looking at the compass, and again
to the man at the wheel, as if he had an instinct of what was
coming.

He was a fearless navigator, yet, like many others who had yielded
to the force of habit, was deeply imbued with that prevalent
superstition so common to sailors, which regards a particular ship
as unlucky. Imagine an old-fashioned boatswain, with north-country
features strongly marked, a weather-beaten face, and a painted
south-wester on his head, and you have the "Mister Mate" of the old
brig Janson.

"Keep her full, my hearty. We must take in our light sails and go on
the other tack soon. If we don't catch it before daylight, I'll miss
my calculation. She's an unlucky old craft as ever I sailed in, and
if the skipper a'n't mighty careful, he'll never get her across.
I've sworn against sailing in her several times, but if I get across
in her this time, I'll bid her good-by; and if the owners don't give
me a new craft, they may get somebody else. We're just as sure to
have bad luck as if we had cats and parsons aboard."

Thus saying, he descended the companion-way, and reported the
appearance of the weather to the skipper, who arose quickly, and,
consulting his barometer, found it had fallen to near the lowest
scale. After inquiring the quarter of the wind, and how she headed,