Her mast now bent under a strong, steady pressure, and her bellying sail swept the sea as she rolled scuppers under, courtesying to the waves.

These rolling waves thrilled me as they tossed my ship, passing quickly under her keel.

This was grand sailing.
September 4, the wind, still fresh, blew from the north-northeast, and the sea surged along with the sloop.

About noon a steamship, a bullock-droger, from the river Plate hove in sight, steering northeast, and making bad weather of it.

I signaled her, but got no answer.