WE were a long, long way from Spain.

A flight of birds went over us.
They were flying too high for distinguishing, but we did not hold them to be sea birds.

We sounded, but the lead touched no bottom.

West and west and west, pushed by that wind! Late September, and we had left Palos the third of August.
The wind shifted and became contrary.

The sea that for so long had been glassy smooth took on a roughness.