July 10, eight days at sea, the _Spray_ was twelve hundred miles east
of Cape Sable. One hundred and fifty miles a day for so small a vessel
must be considered good sailing. It was the greatest run the _Spray_
ever made before or since in so few days. On the evening of July 14,
in better humor than ever before, all hands cried, "Sail ho!" The sail
was a barkantine, three points on the weather bow, hull down. Then
came the night. My ship was sailing along now without attention to the
helm. The wind was south; she was heading east. Her sails were trimmed
like the sails of the nautilus. They drew steadily all night. I went
frequently on deck, but found all well. A merry breeze kept on from
the south. Early in the morning of the 15th the _Spray_ was close
aboard the stranger, which proved to be _La Vaguisa_ of Vigo,
twenty-three days from Philadelphia, bound for Vigo. A lookout from
his masthead had spied the _Spray_ the evening before. The captain,
when I came near enough, threw a line to me and sent a bottle of wine
across slung by the neck, and very good wine it was. He also sent his
card, which bore the name of Juan Gantes. I think he was a good man,
as Spaniards go. But when I asked him to report me "all well" (the
_Spray_ passing him in a lively manner), he hauled his shoulders much
above his head; and when his mate, who knew of my expedition, told him
that I was alone, he crossed himself and made for his cabin. I did not
see him again. By sundown he was as far astern as he had been ahead
the evening before.

[Illustration: "He also sent his card."]

There was now less and less monotony. On July 16 the wind was
northwest and clear, the sea smooth, and a large bark, hull down, came
in sight on the lee bow, and at 2:30 P.M. I spoke the stranger. She