Useless, the moment his back was turned on the sail it was gone from his mind as from his sight. He had to keep it in view and shifting his position with the sculls half drawn in, he sat watching.
He had not so good an horizon sitting as standing, yet the sail had sensibly increased in size even allowing for the altered elevation.
With a dip of the sculls he kept the boat so that he was always facing the approaching vision, and sitting thus the picture before him resolved itself into three components: the after part of the boat, white, clean-scoured by spray, and burning in the sun with the exception of the space covered by his shadow; the blue of sea and sky; the ship.
Seated, with the sculls ready to correct the boat when she twisted to the wind and the current, his eyes passed from the boat to the far-off ship, from the ship to the sea and sky.
And still she grew, as a child grows in the womb, as an idea in the mind, adding member to member, significance to significance. He could see now the fore topsail distinct from the fore course. She was a square rigged vessel as to the fore part, but coming as she was, the spread of fore and topsails screened her rig.
She had altered, too, in colour; the frost white star was now a truncated pyramid of pale but brilliant rose, around which the deep blue heart of the sky paled to emerald by contrast.
And still she grew, motionless, or seeming not to move, yet becoming more definite, expanding as a bud expands, voiceless, and like a vision developing in a dream.
Moment joined itself to moment, minute to minute. She might now be ten miles away, or maybe more, her course would bring her directly to the boat and she would sight it to a certainty if she had light.
It was his own shadow cast by the oblique rays of the sun on seat and bottom board and thwart that suggested the chilling clause.
The sun was little more than an hour from his setting; would he cut the sea line before the vessel sighted the boat?