tion is,
that it disciplines the very ship herself. It diminishes her obedience
to the winds, and increases her docility to man.

The Durande had never worked better at sea than on that day. She made
her way marvellously.

Towards eleven o'clock, a fresh breeze blowing from the nor'-nor'-west,
the Durande was off the Minquiers, under little steam, keeping her head
to the west, on the starboard tack, and close up to the wind. The
weather was still fine and clear. The trawlers, however, were making for
shore.

By little and little, as if each one was anxious to get into port, the
sea became clear of the boats.

It could not be said that the Durande was keeping quite her usual
course. The crew gave no thought to such matters. The confidence in the
captain was absolute; yet, perhaps through the fault of the helmsman,
there was a slight deviation. The Durande appeared to be making rather
towards Jersey than Guernsey. A little after eleven the captain
rectified the vessel's course, and put her head fair for Guernsey. It
was only a little time lost, but in short days time lost has its
inconveniences. It was a February day, but the sun shone brightly.

Tangrouille, in his half-intoxicated state, had not a very sure arm, nor
a very firm footing. The result was, that the helmsman lurched pretty
often, which also retarded progress.

The wind had almost entirely fallen.

The Guernsey passenger, who had a telescope in his hand, brought it to
bear from time to time upon a little cloud of grey mist, lightly moved
by the wind, in the extreme western horizon. It resembled a fleecy down
sprinkled with dust.

Captain Clubin wore his ordinary austere, Puritan-like expression of
countenance. He appeared to redouble his attention.

All was peaceful and almost joyous on board the Durande. The passengers
chatted. It is possible to judge of the state of the sea in a passage
with the eyes closed, by noting the _tremolo_ of the conversation about
you. The full freedom of mind among the passengers answers to the
perfect tranquillity of the waters.

It is impossible, for example, that a conversation like the following
could take place otherwise than on a very calm sea.

"Observe that pretty green and red fly."

"It has lost itself out at sea, and is resting on the ship."

"Flies do not soon get tired."

"No doubt; they are light; the wind carries them."

"An ounce of flies was once weighed, and afterwards counted; and it was
fou