seventy fathoms by the stern.

"We are not aground," says the captain, "unless there is a rock
sticking up like a needle in the middle of the Caspian Sea!"

"There is magic in this," say the sailors.

"Hoist more sail," says the captain; and up go the white sails,
swelling out in the wind, while the masts bend and creak. But still
the ship lay shivering and did not move, out there in the middle of
the sea.

"Hoist more sail yet," says the captain; and up go the white sails,
swelling and tugging, while the masts creak and groan. But still the
ship lay there shivering and did not move.

"There is an unlucky one aboard," says an old sailor. "We must draw
lots and find him, and throw him overboard into the sea."

The other sailors agreed to this. And still Sadko sat, and played his
dulcimer and sang.

The sailors cut pieces of string, all of a length, as many as there
were souls in the ship, and one of those strings they cut in half.
Then they made them into a bundle, and each man plucked one string.
And Sadko stopped his playing for a moment to pluck a string, and his
was the string that had been cut in half.

"Magician, sorcerer, unclean one!" shouted the sailors.