“I squinted through the telescope and at last made out the distant sail. She was a black brigantine, low in the water and with a rakish sort of look about her masts and spars. The water over around her was dark blue—of a deeper tinge than the ocean surrounding us—showing that the wind was blowing off in that direction.
“‘She doesn’t show any colors,’ says I, handing the glass back to Sterling. ‘What do you make her out to be?’
“He shrugged his shoulders.
“‘I don’t know, laddie,’ he said, ‘but she looks to me like a war vessel of some sort. Maybe a Brazilian craft.’
“‘Well, whatever she is,’ says I, ‘she’s got the wind with her and it’ll hit us in a minute.’
“‘That’s right,’ says he, coming out of a sort of a reverie. ‘Get your yards squared and your courses braced up.’
“I hastened to put these orders into execution, and hardly had they been completed when the long awaited wind struck us. The Cambrian Hills heeled over and began to move through the water.
“The crew set up a cheer as we began to get under way and the noise brought the skipper on deck. He looked more than usually grave and had a Bible, which he had evidently been reading, in his hand.
“‘Wind at last, Mr. Sterling?’ he said quietly.
“‘Aye! aye, sir,’ said the mate. ‘I knew the luck was bound to turn,’ he added.