We lay, scarcely rolling on the placid sea, unable to follow.

Wolf Larsen was apprehensive.

The barometer was down, and the sky to the east did not please him.

He studied it with unceasing vigilance.
"If she comes out of there," he said, "hard and snappy, putting us to windward of the boats, it's likely there'll be empty bunks in steerage and fo'c'sle." By eleven o'clock the sea had become glass.

By midday, though we were well up in the northerly latitudes, the heat was sickening.