Awnings were stretched and for hours and even days the Wanderer would
lie almost motionless, except for the impalpable swell from which the
bosom of the sea is never entirely free.

One dull, damp morning, when the decks were slippery with moisture and
a curtain of mist veiled everything beyond a hundred yards, Ralph, who
was in the foretop on the lookout, fancied that he detected a sound
somewhat different from the usual noises surrounding a vessel even in a
calm.

They were nearing the land, as the captain's last reckoning showed, yet
soundings taken not half an hour previous, had discovered no bottom at
a depth of several hundred feet. Ralph called to a sailor below to ask
the second mate to come forward.

"Well, what now, Granger?" demanded Duff from the main deck.

Ralph had hardly explained, before the mate sprang up the rigging to
the lad's side. The trained ear of the officer instantly divined what
might be the matter.

"Down with you, Ralph," said he, hurrying to the deck himself. "Pipe
up all hands and shorten sail!" he shouted to the boatswain, then
emerging from the forecastle. "Lively now!"

The schooner was under full canvas, with the purpose of making the most
of what little air might be stirring. A moment before, the most
profound repose was reigning, but with the shrill call that instantly
rang out, all was changed to a scene of the most intense activity.