Unless perchance a sombre thunder-head breaks away from the main body to career all over the gulf till it escapes into the offing beyond Azuera, where it bursts suddenly into flame and crashes like a sinster pirate-ship of the air, hove-to above the horizon, engaging the sea.
At night the body of clouds advancing higher up the sky smothers the whole quiet gulf below with an impenetrable darkness, in which the sound of the falling showers can be heard beginning and ceasing abruptly--now here, now there.

Indeed, these cloudy nights are proverbial with the seamen along the whole west coast of a great continent.

Sky, land, and sea disappear together out of the world when the Placido--as the saying is--goes to sleep under its black poncho.

The few stars left below the seaward frown of the vault shine feebly as into the mouth of a black cavern.

In its vastness your ship floats unseen under your feet, her sails flutter invisible above your head.