At noon the log reads:
Lat. Long. Weather Remarks
41.34 56.28 Fresh gale: W. SW.
Dis. 317 SW. S. S. W., rough
quarterly sea.
Average Speed: 13.49
We have run into a storm, or it has run in upon us. "Fresh gale"
means a wind blowing 50 or 60 miles an hour. But our ship is very
steady. Still there is a good deal of motion--of that queer,
all-round, uncertain, miserable motion so apt to induce sea-sickness.
My companion, though he has been so seldom to sea, is a better sailor
than I. As for me, I feel that I could very easily be quite sick if
I wanted to. But I don't want to, and up to a certain point one can
fight this sickness off. My chief occupation all day is fighting off
seasickness. The wild winds, the wailing sea-waves, the reeling,
staggering ship keep telling me it is of no use; that I had better
crawl into my berth and give up the uneven struggle. But I hold out
in spite of all of them. As I write this in the steamer's library at
6 p.m. the battle is still on and the issue somewhat doubtful.
* * *