twenty-four. We shall see.

7th.--A most horrible night! My hammock, which I had foolishly preferred to
a bed, not having room to swing in, threw me furiously against the wall,
till fearing a broken head, I jumped out and lay on the floor. To-day there
is a comparative calm, a faint continuation of the Norte, which is an air
with variations. Everything now seems melancholy and monotonous. We have
been tossed about during four days in sight of Vera Cruz, and are now
further from it than before. The officers begin to look miserable; even the
cook with difficulty preserves his equilibrium.

Sunday, 8th.--A Norte! The sky is watery, and covered with shapeless masses
of reddish clouds. This is a great day amongst all Spanish Catholics, _Le
Virgen de la Concepcion_, the patroness of Spain and the Indies; but no
mass to-day; the padre sick and the Norte blowing. What a succession of
long faces--walking barometers!

9th.--Yesterday evening the wind held out false hopes, and every one
brightened up with caution, for the wind, though faintly, blew from the
right quarter. The rain ceased, the weather cleared, and "hope, the
charmer," smiled upon us. The greater was our disappointment when the
breeze died away, when the wind veered to the north, and when once more the
most horrible rolling seized the unfortunate Jason, as if it were possessed
by a demon. Finding it impossible to lie in my hammock, I stretched myself
on the floor; where, during a night that seemed interminable, we were
tossed up and down, knocked against the furniture, and otherwise
maltreated.

This morning there is little wind, but that little from the north, so that
the termination of our voyage appears as far off now as it did eight days