he setting sun shining
through it, dim and unreal.

I knew then, as a certainty, that it was not caused by heat.

And that was the beginning of it.

The next day, I kept a pretty close watch, during all my time on deck;
but the atmosphere remained clear. Yet, I heard from one of the chaps in
the Mate's watch, that it had been hazy during part of the time he was
at the wheel.

"Comin' an' goin', like," he described it to me, when I questioned him
about it. He thought it might be heat.

But though I knew otherwise, I did not contradict him. At that time, no
one, not even Plummer, seemed to think very much of the matter. And when
I mentioned it to Tammy, and asked him whether he'd noticed it, he only
remarked that it must have been heat, or else the sun drawing up water.
I let it stay at that; for there was nothing to be gained by suggesting
that the thing had more to it.

Then, on the following day, something happened that set me wondering
more than ever, and showed me how right I had been in feeling the mist
to be something unnatural. It was in this way.

Five bells, in the eight to twelve morning watch, had gone. I was at the
wheel. The sky was perfectly clear--not a cloud to be seen, even on the
horizon. It was hot, standing at the wheel; for there was scarcely any
wind, and I was feeling drowsy. The Second Mate was down on the maindeck
with the men, seeing about some job he wanted done; so that I was on the
poop alone.

Presently, with the heat, and the sun beating right down on to me, I
grew thirsty; and, for want of something better, I pulled out a bit of
plug I had on me, and bit off a chew; though, as a rule, it is not a
habit of mine. After a little, naturally enough, I glanced round for the
spittoon; but discovered that it was not there. Probably it had been
taken forrard when the decks were washed, to give it a scrub. So, as
there was no one on the poop, I left the wheel, and stepped aft to the
taffrail. It was thus that I came to see something altogether unthought
of--a full-rigged ship, close-hauled on the port tack, a few hundred
yards on our starboard quarter. Her sails were scarcely filled by the
light breeze, and flapped as she lifted to the swell of the sea. She
appeared to have very little way through the water, certainly not more
than a knot an hour. Away aft, hanging from the gaff-end, was a string
of flags. Evidently, she was signalling to us. All this, I saw in a
flash, and I just stood an