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- 2041
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:18.534Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1970
- text
- CHAPTER XIX.
Who Goes There?
Jarl’s oar showed sixteen notches on the loom, when one evening, as the
expanded sun touched the horizon’s rim, a ship’s uppermost spars were
observed, traced like a spider’s web against its crimson disk. It
looked like a far-off craft on fire.
In bright weather at sea, a sail, invisible in the full flood of noon,
becomes perceptible toward sunset. It is the reverse in the morning. In
sight at gray dawn, the distant vessel, though in reality approaching,
recedes from view, as the sun rises higher and higher. This holds true,
till its vicinity makes it readily fall within the ordinary scope of
vision. And thus, too, here and there, with other distant things: the
more light you throw on them, the more you obscure. Some revelations
show best in a twilight.
The sight of the stranger not a little surprised us. But brightening
up, as if the encounter were welcome, Jarl looked happy and expectant.
He quickly changed his demeanor, however, upon perceiving that I was
bent upon shunning a meeting.
Instantly our sails were struck; and calling upon Jarl, who was
somewhat backward to obey, I shipped the oars; and, both rowing, we
stood away obliquely from our former course.
I divined that the vessel was a whaler; and hence, that by help of the
glass, with which her look-outs must be momentarily sweeping the
horizon, they might possibly have descried us; especially, as we were
due east from the ship; a direction, which at sunset is the one most
favorable for perceiving a far-off object at sea. Furthermore, our
canvas was snow-white and conspicuous. To be sure, we could not be
certain what kind of a vessel it was; but whatever it might be, I, for
one, had no mind to risk an encounter; for it was quite plain, that if
the stranger came within hailing distance, there would be no resource
but to link our fortunes with hers; whereas I desired to pursue none
but the Chamois’. As for the Skyeman, he kept looking wistfully over
his shoulder; doubtless, praying Heaven, that we might not escape what
I sought to avoid.
Now, upon a closer scrutiny, being pretty well convinced that the
stranger, after all, was steering a nearly westerly course—right away
from us—we reset our sail; and as night fell, my Viking’s entreaties,
seconded by my own curiosity, induced me to resume our original course;
and so follow after the vessel, with a view of obtaining a nearer
glimpse, without danger of detection. So, boldly we steered for the
sail.
But not gaining much upon her, spite of the lightness of the breeze (a
circumstance in our favor: the chase being a ship, and we but a boat),
at my comrade’s instigation, we added oars to sails, readily guiding
our way by the former, though the helm was left to itself.
As we came nearer, it was plain that the vessel was no whaler; but a
small, two-masted craft; in short, a brigantine. Her sails were in a
state of unaccountable disarray, only the foresail, mainsail, and jib
being set. The first was much tattered; and the jib was hoisted but
half way up the stay, where it idly flapped, the breeze coming from
over the taffrail. She continually yawed in her course; now almost
presenting her broadside, then showing her stern.
Striking our sails once more, we lay on our oars, and watched her in
the starlight. Still she swung from side to side, and still sailed on.
Not a little terrified at the sight, superstitious Jarl more than
insinuated that the craft must be a gold-huntress, haunted. But I told
him, that if such were the case, we must board her, come gold or
goblins. In reality, however, I began to think that she must have been
abandoned by her crew; or else, that from sickness, those on board were
incapable of managing her.
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