And sure enough patches of wrinkles began to appear here and there on the gloss of the sea's surface, as if handfuls of sand had been thrown on it. Soon these catspaws gather force and come together. The frigate-birds wake up and throw themselves from the yards, the seagulls are screaming now, the sails catch the breeze and bellow out.
Luckily the wind comes from the right direction, so she is kept away, and steered for the distant island.
Distant island? Yes, yonder green island that appears to float in the sky. The fairy-isle, as the lads called it, while they went singing and rowing towards it.
The señor had gone forward to the bow, where around the weather bulwarks was a group of men with a puzzled half-frightened expression on their faces. No one speaks; but a dozen hands are pointed in the direction of the green island.
It has strangely altered in appearance. The hills are lower. It has lengthened out along the horizon. It is receding as the ship advances.
Señor beckons to the captain, who comes hurrying forward, and speedily turns his glass towards the island. Just then some clouds that had come up out of the sea with the wind abaft obscure the sun, and lo! the fairy isle disappears, as if suddenly engulphed in the ocean.
Hardly knowing what he is doing, the captain keeps bewilderedly sweeping the sea for a time with the glass; but never a sign of land is to be seen, only the clearly defined line 'twixt ocean and sky, for the haze has lifted or melted away.
A strange wave of superstitious dread rushes over the hearts of the men standing there near the winch, and one or two of them are deadly pale.
A sailor, more bold than the rest, clutches the captain's arm.
"Tell us, sir," he gasps, "What does it all mean?"