CHAPTER V.
_In Which We Begin to Understand our Unwelcome Passenger._ Charlie Webster had hinted at a nor'easter--even a hurricane.

As a rule, Charlie is a safe weather prophet.

But, for once, he was mistaken.

There hadn't been much of any wind as we made a lee at sunset; but as I yawned and looked out of my cabin soon after dawn, about 4.30 next morning, there was no wind at all.
There was every promise of a glorious day--calm, still, and untroubled.
But for men whose voyaging depended on sails, it was, as the lawyers say, a _dies non._ In fact, there was no wind, and no hope of wind.
As I stood out of the cabin hatch, however, there was enough breeze to flutter a piece of paper that had been caught in the mainsail halyard; it fluttered there lonely in the morning.

Nothing else was astir but it and I, and I took it up in my hand, idly.