From time to time a fleecy tuft of mist with yet some gleaming light left upon it drops down upon the dense floor of gray and loses itself in the opaque and impenetrable mass. The atmosphere is evidently charged and surcharged with electricity. The wind never lulls but to acquire increased strength. The vast bank of heavy clouds is a huge reservoir of fearful windy gusts and rushing storms. There's a heavy storm coming on I cried pointing towards the horizon. Those clouds seem as if they were going to crush the sea. On the mast already I see the light play of a lambent St Elmo's fire. The outstretched sail catches not a breath of wind and hangs like a sheet of lead. But if we have now ceased to advance why do we yet leave that sail loose which at the first shock of a tempest may capsize us in a moment. That will be the safest. No no never. The piled up vapors condensed into water and the air put into violent action to supply the vacuum left by the condensation of the mist rouses itself into a whirlwind. Hans stirs not. From the under surface of the clouds there are continual emissions of lurid light. Electric matter is in continual evolution from their component molecules. The gaseous elements of the air need to be slaked with moisture. For innumerable columns of water rush upwards into the air and fall back again in white foam. I refer to the thermometer it indicates. The figure is obliterated. Is the atmospheric condition having once reached this density to become final. The raft bears on still to the south east. At noon the violence of the storm redoubles. Each of us is lashed to some part of the raft.