high up in the void behind a stirring, shimmering veil of silvery
blue gauze that seemed at times to stir and float in the breeze
which fanned us slowly along. The peace of that enchanting
forenoon was so profound, so untroubled, that it seemed that every
word pronounced loudly on our deck would penetrate to the very
heart of that infinite mystery born from the conjunction of water
and sky. We did not raise our voices. "A water-logged derelict, I
think, sir," said the second officer quietly, coming down from
aloft with the binoculars in their case slung across his shoulders;
and our captain, without a word, signed to the helmsman to steer
for the black speck. Presently we made out a low, jagged stump
sticking up forward--all that remained of her departed masts.

The captain was expatiating in a low conversational tone to the
chief mate upon the danger of these derelicts, and upon his dread
of coming upon them at night, when suddenly a man forward screamed
out, "There's people on board of her, sir! I see them!" in a most
extraordinary voice--a voice never heard before in our ship; the
amazing voice of a stranger. It gave the signal for a sudden
tumult of shouts. The watch below ran up the forecastle head in a
body, the cook dashed out of the galley. Everybody saw the poor
fellows now. They were there! And all at once our ship, which had
the well-earned name of being without a rival for speed in light
winds, seemed to us to have lost the power of motion, as if the
sea, becoming viscous, had clung to her sides. And yet she moved.
Immensity, the inseparable companion of a ship's life, chose that
day to breathe upon her as gently as a sleeping child. The clamour
of our excitement had died out, and our living ship, famous for
never losing steerage way as long as there was air enough to float
a feather, stole, without a ripple, silent and white as a ghost,