It was on the twelfth day out that the first untoward event happened, for one of the seamen cried down to us that he had sighted a small boat that was all but sinking. Sure enough, we on deck could descry a point of white ahead, and all of us gathered in eagerness as we drew up to her. Thus far we had had good weather, and by now even Maisie Graham was free of the sickness.
As we came closer to the little boat, which was no larger than a sloop, we saw that she held only one man. Then a sense of strangeness seemed to settle over us when we knew that this one man was old, his long white hair and beard flying in the wind, but he stood erect and tall at his tiller. The strangest thing of all was that his cranky old craft was headed west, into the ocean itself, instead of back toward the land.
As we came closer to the little boat
we saw that she held only one man.
At our hail he came about readily enough, for his boat seemed much battered and was half full of sea-water. Handling her with no little skill, he laid us aboard and sprang over the rail. As he did so, I heard some of the seamen muttering in Gaelic—something about one of the sea-wizards; but to this I gave little heed as we all hastened to surround the old man and to talk with him.
CHAPTER IV.
THE MAN FROM THE SEA.
A fine-looking man he was, too, despite his age. I put him down as three-score and ten, and found later that I had not been far wrong. His face was hard-set and stern, like that of some eagle, his nose finely curved, and his deep-set eyes—ah, what eyes those were! Never since have I seen eyes like his. They seemed to be gazing far off, even as they looked into one's own; they seemed to see some great vision not given to other men's sight, as in truth I believe they did.
His hair was snow-white, but very thick, hanging about his shoulders, and on his bronzed neck was tattooed some strange animal which I had never before seen. So we stood about him, staring, while Wat Herries cast off the little sloop and left her to sink as she would.