Hetty looked steadily seaward, and a fine flush came to her face; but Drew was struck with the philosophy of the situation.
"That surely ought to be true," he acquiesced—"that the sailor is the most unchanging of men. One should come back wiser in sea-lore, but solitude and the singleness of his purpose should keep him untouched by all the distractions that change other men. I've noticed in Blackwater the freshness of spirit, almost boyishness, of old men."
Hetty's face was turned forward, and now she leaped to her feet.
"What is that, Tom?" she exclaimed. "We are running on a sand-bar!"
A hundred yards ahead of them stretched a great golden-brown field that looked like a salt-meadow in April. Above it wheeled a flock of sea-birds.
Medbury scarcely turned his head.
"Sargasso weed," he answered, and grinned. "It's always waltzing about in these latitudes."
The girl walked to the main-rigging, and, leaning across the sheer-pole, watched the yellow plain with wondering eyes. A moment later, as they plunged into it, she caught her breath; it seemed incredible to her that there should be no shock.
Instantly the sounds of the sea were hushed; there was only the soft hissing of the weed as it swept past the side of the brig.
"Come up to the forecastle-deck and see it pile up on the bow," Medbury said to the girl.