It was a race between the sun and the ship. He knew quite well that though she was coming apparently dead on to him, the chances were that she might pass him by a considerable distance, and, as though the thought had cast a blight on her, for a long time she hung, not seeming to alter in size. Then magically, she took distinctness, mystery and beauty left her; in a short half hour she became clearly defined, a small vessel of perhaps two hundred tons, at a distance of perhaps five miles. She would not be doing more than eight or nine knots.
Gaspard looked behind him at the sun. It had outraced the ship, there were still diameters between it and the horizon, but the western blue was just beginning to turn, to tinge with vague orange, as though an impalpable mist of gold dust were rising from the sea.
But now the ship, as a runner strains when near the goal, seemed straining to reach him. Moment by moment she leapt nearer, and the old stained sails that had lost the vague rose of distance caught now the first touch of gold from the sunset.
The eastern sky still held its blue, and against it the ship burned like a ship of gold, and before her prow the water divided like glittering silk cut by a golden sword.
Scarcely a mile away she leapt more triumphantly into life, she seemed within hail; standing up and stripping off his coat Gaspard waved it, shouting against the wind, delirious, forgetful of distance, forgetful of the sun and then—just as though a bad wizard had touched her she began to lose her brilliancy; she had seemed springing towards him with golden arms outspread, triumphant, and seeking to save him and then, just as though indifference had suddenly seized her, she seemed to lose her speed.
He turned his head. God! the sun was gone, just a trace of fire lingered beneath the gold of the sunset, through which, like a dark blue wind, was stealing the night.
* * * * *
The vessel from a ship had turned to a phantom lost in a world of violent shadow. With the passing of the sun the breeze fell away to a gentle breathing of air. Then, in that moment of darkness and indecision, before the stars have taken full possession of the sky, standing up and straining his eyes he could not see the ship at all.
Ah! here she came at last, stealing along in the starlight with sails just filling and, then, more clearly to view as ten million stars lit the sea, turning it to frosted silver.
At four knots without a light showing, softly and seeming the very embodiment of treachery and evasion she came. She would pass by some five cable lengths to starboard and Gaspard, seizing the sculls turned the boat’s head to cut her off.