Christmas week was a stormy one. We now had an opportunity to see the ocean in its angrier moods. On December 23d, we were running at our greatest speed before a fresh breeze; the ship, a pyramid of canvas, dashed proudly through the water. The wind increasing, the captain furled three studding-sails, and went below to breakfast. Before the meal was over, a wave came rolling in at our stern-windows, flooding the cabin, and at the same instant, a boom, unable to bear the strain, snapped asunder, one fragment dropping into the sea. The lighter sails were soon got in, but still every thing creaked and strained. The flying-jib was then furled, and the spanker brailed up; the fore topgallant-sail, main royal, and main topgallant-sails soon followed. Still the wind was not satisfied; order followed order; the courses were got in; the sailors rushed aloft, and lying out upon the yards, took reef after reef in the top-sails, until at noon we were dashing ahead with a few narrow strips of canvas stretched to the gale, and the waves tossing us on their broad brawny backs, or flinging over us their foaming tops.
During the whole day an India-bound ship was in full view, keeping pace with all our
