Chapter Seven.
The Sea-Serpent.
The breeze, though it continued light and rather baffling at times, still held when the sun rose next morning; and on looking astern, I found that the homeward-bound ships had all disappeared; and of the outward-bound craft, our light heels had enabled us to get so far ahead that the topsails of the nearest were already dipping. Of course, light winds and smooth water made exactly our kind of weather; and the enormous spread of our lighter sails caused the little craft to slip through the water in quite an extraordinary manner, whenever we could show them. There was just enough wind to barely ruffle the surface of the gently-swelling ocean, yet our patent log told us we were going rather over six knots, mainly through the persuasive influence of our spinnaker and gigantic balloon-topsail.
At noon our observations showed that we were nearly a degree south of the line; and I began to be sanguine that the breeze we now had would run us into the trades. In this, however, I was disappointed; for about sundown the wind fell so light that we barely had steerage-way. All night long it continued the same, and the greater part of next day; and for about sixteen hours I considered that we did not advance more than a knot per hour.
Towards the close of that afternoon, however, when I came on deck to take the first dog-watch, Bob directed my attention to the appearance of the sky in the south-eastern quarter, announcing it as his opinion that there was a look of the trades about it. And so it proved, for the breeze gradually freshened, and drew more round from the eastward, and by eight bells we were doing our nine knots, with a nice fresh breeze.
This was doubtless the first of the south-east trade-winds; for by midnight it had so far freshened that, for the sake of our spars, it became necessary to take in our spinnaker and balloon-topsail, and to substitute for them the working jib and our jib-headed topsail. Even this would have been deemed perilous sail for so tiny a craft by most persons; but we were by this time thoroughly acquainted with the Lily, and knew that she would carry with ease all the canvas that her spars would bear.
Nothing particular occurred for the next two days. The wind held, and continued to blow with a force which was, for us, a good, staggering breeze, but without much sea; and we kept flying to the southward at a pace which left even my impatience no reason for complaint.
On the second day after getting the breeze, we passed the Brazilian mail-boat near enough to show our number in the yacht-list, and to ask him, by signal, to report us “all well.”
The next morning it was my watch on deck until noon. Bob had cleared away the breakfast, carefully washing up everything, and stowing it away, and had been in his hammock about an hour.
I was enjoying the fresh beauty of the morning and the exultant feeling excited by our rapid motion, and picturing to my imagination the delight with which my father would welcome the appearance of our snowy canvas—when we should heave in sight—when my visions were dispersed by a loud, cracking sound like the report of a rifle, from some distance away on our weatherbow. I looked in that direction, and caught a momentary glimpse of some distant object whirling in the air, and immediately afterwards the sound was repeated.