CHAPTER VII



At last, after three days of variable winds, we have caught the
north-east trades. I came on deck, after a good night's rest in
spite of my poor knee, to find the Ghost foaming along, wing-and-
wing, and every sail drawing except the jibs, with a fresh breeze
astern. Oh, the wonder of the great trade-wind! All day we
sailed, and all night, and the next day, and the next, day after
day, the wind always astern and blowing steadily and strong. The
schooner sailed herself. There was no pulling and hauling on
sheets and tackles, no shifting of topsails, no work at all for the
sailors to do except to steer. At night when the sun went down,
the sheets were slackened; in the morning, when they yielded up the
damp of the dew and relaxed, they were pulled tight again--and that
was all.

Ten knots, twelve knots, eleven knots, varying from time to time,
is the speed we are making. And ever out of the north-east the
brave wind blows, driving us on our course two hundred and fifty
miles between the dawns. It saddens me and gladdens me, the gait
with which we are leaving San Francisco behind and with which we
are foaming down upon the tropics. Each day grows perceptibly
warmer. In the second dog-watch the sailors come on deck,
stripped, and heave buckets of water upon one another from
overside. Flying-fish are beginning to be seen, and during the
night the watch above scrambles over the deck in pursuit of those
that fall aboard. In the morning, Thomas Mugridge being duly
bribed, the galley is pleasantly areek with the odour of their