And yet, I say again, and swear it now, that there’s something all glorious and gracious in the wind. These warm Trade Winds, at least, that in the clear heavens blow straight on, in strong and steadfast, vigorous mildness; and veer not from their mark, however the baser currents of the sea may turn and tack, and mightiest Mississippies of the land swift and swerve about, uncertain where to go at last. And by the eternal Poles! These same Trades that so directly blow my good ship on; these Trades, or something like them — something so unchangeable, and full as strong, blow my keeled soul along!

To it! Aloft there! What d’ye see?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing! And noon at hand! The doubloon goes a-begging! See the sun! Aye, aye, it must be so. I’ve