The Parki Gives Up The Ghost A long calm in the boat, and now, God help us, another in the brigantine.

It was airless and profound.
In that hot calm, we lay fixed and frozen in like Parry at the Pole.
The sun played upon the glassy sea like the sun upon the glaciers.
At the end of two days we lifted up our eyes and beheld a low, creeping, hungry cloud expanding like an army, wing and wing, along the eastern horizon.

Instantly Jarl bode me take heed.
Here be it said, that though for weeks and weeks reign over the equatorial latitudes of the Pacific, the mildest and sunniest of days; that nevertheless, when storms do come, they come in their strength: spending in a few, brief blasts their concentrated rage.
They come like the Mamelukes: they charge, and away.
It wanted full an hour to sunset; but the sun was well nigh obscured.
It seemed toiling among bleak Scythian steeps in the hazy background.
Above the storm-cloud flitted ominous patches of scud, rapidly advancing and receding: Attila's skirmishers, thrown forward in the van of his Huns.

Beneath, a fitful shadow slid along the surface.

As we gazed, the cloud came nearer; accelerating its approach.
With all haste we proceeded to furl the sails, which, owing to the calm, had been hanging loose in the brails.