A Gale 



wet. I never was in such a storm of rain in my life ; sky 

 as black as ink ; great clouds sweeping over the dark sea 

 before a very violent gusty wind ; now and then the tops of 

 the African mountains looking down through a break in the 

 mist. The moan of the gale through the vibrating shrouds, 

 the splash of the paddles, and the plank-deafened metallic 

 din of machinery straining against the tempest, made a sort 

 of melancholy, unmusical accompaniment to our uncomfort, 

 which was so complete, and on so grand a scale, as to gather 

 a sort of consolation from its own sublimity. 



You may imagine what sort of work it was, from the fact 

 of our taking about nine hours to go thirty miles in a great 

 steamer. However, there is an end to all things, and we 

 got ashore before gunfire. 



The next day was Sunday, and it rained and blew great 

 guns. As we sat painting, Morin came in ; we asked him to 

 dine, and he greatly enlivened our evening. I gave him my 

 Sevillian navaja to cut the pages of his new Courrier when 

 he got to Paris. Our conversation with Morin shifted from 

 French to English, and from English to French, as often as 

 the speaker came to a difficulty and relapsed into his own 

 language to explain himself better. 



To-day (Monday) is our last day, and now or never we 

 must see the wonders of the Rock. We were waked early 

 by Morin, who came to say his adieux and mille choses. He, 

 of course, had to sleep on shore ; because the fortress is 

 locked up at sunset, and nobody can go in or out on pain of 

 death. Since breakfast I have been out buying a variety of 

 things — tape, a packing-needle, a pair of spurs (English spurs 

 are much sharper than Spanish, and we are preparing a plea- 

 sant little surprise for the flanks of our lazy ponies), half-a- 

 pound of gunpowder, a pencil. Sec. The diplomatic waiter 

 has gone to get us permission to see the galleries. 



193 



