when day still lingers, but some few stars begin faintly
to pierce the twilight. The horizon was singular. The mist upon it
varied. Haze predominated on land, clouds at sea.

The skipper, noting the rising billows, hauled all taut before he got
outside Portland Bay. He would not delay so doing until he should pass
the headland. He examined the rigging closely, and satisfied himself
that the lower shrouds were well set up, and supported firmly the
futtock-shrouds--precautions of a man who means to carry on with a press
of sail, at all risks.

The hooker was not trimmed, being two feet by the head. This was her
weak point.

The captain passed every minute from the binnacle to the standard
compass, taking the bearings of objects on shore. The _Matutina_ had at
first a soldier's wind which was not unfavourable, though she could not
lie within five points of her course. The captain took the helm as often
as possible, trusting no one but himself to prevent her from dropping to
leeward, the effect of the rudder being influenced by the steerage-way.

The difference between the true and apparent course being relative to
the way on the vessel, the hooker seemed to lie closer to the wind than
she did in reality. The breeze was not a-beam, nor was the hooker
close-hauled; but one cannot ascertain the true course made, except when
the wind is abaft. When you perceive long streaks of clouds meeting in a
point on the horizon, you may be sure that the wind is in that quarter;
but this evening the wind was variable; the needle fluctuated; the
captain distrusted the erratic movements of the vessel. He steered
carefully but resolutely, luffed her up, watched her coming to,
prevented her from yawing, and from running into the wind's eye: noted
the leeway, the little jerks of the helm: was observant of every roll
and pitch of the vessel, of the difference in her speed, and of the
variable gusts of wind. For fear of accidents, he was constantly on the
lookout for squalls from off the land he was hugging, and above all he
was cautious to keep her full; the direction of the breeze indicated by
the compass being uncertain from the small size of the instrument. The
captain's eyes, frequently lowered, remarked every change in the waves.

Once nevertheless he raised them towards the sky, and tried to make out
the three stars of Orion's belt. These stars are called the three magi,
and an old proverb of the ancient Spanish pilots declares that,