The wind was not a very helpful one and soon after midnight it fell
almost calm. There were only light airs to urge the _Seamew_ on. Yet
she glided through the starlit murk in a ghostly fashion as though
some monstrous submarine hand forced her seaward.
The water chuckled and gurgled under her bow, flashing in ripples
now and then. There was no phosphorescence, no glitter or sparkle.
The schooner moved on as through a tideless sea. Now and then a
clutter of spars or a suit of listless sails loomed up in the dark.
But even if the other craft likewise was tacking seaward, the
_Seamew_ passed it and dropped it behind.
Tunis paced the deck--Horry was at the wheel--and quite approved of
the feat his schooner was performing.
"If she can sail like this on only a breath of wind, what can she do
in a gale?" he said buoyantly in the old man's hearing.
"That's all right. She sails pretty. But I don't like that tug to
sta'bo'd," growled Horry. "It 'minds me too much of the _Marlin B._"
Captain Latham gave no heed.
The sun stretched red beams from the horizon and took the _Seamew_,
all dressed out at sunrise in her full suit of canvas, in his arms.
She danced as lightly over the whitecaps that had sprung up with the
breeze at dawn as though she had not a ton of ballast in her hold.
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