he saw all plain sail
being made on the brig. Through the remaining hours of the night he sat
grasping the tiller and keeping his eyes on the shadowy and high pyramid
of canvas gliding steadily ahead of his boat with a slight balancing
movement from side to side.

IV

It was noon before the brig, piloted by Lingard through the deep
channels between the outer coral reefs, rounded within pistol-shot a low
hummock of sand which marked the end of a long stretch of stony ledges
that, being mostly awash, showed a black head only, here and there
amongst the hissing brown froth of the yellow sea. As the brig drew
clear of the sandy patch there appeared, dead to windward and beyond a
maze of broken water, sandspits, and clusters of rocks, the black hull
of the yacht heeling over, high and motionless upon the great expanse of
glittering shallows. Her long, naked spars were inclined slightly as
if she had been sailing with a good breeze. There was to the lookers-on
aboard the brig something sad and disappointing in the yacht's aspect
as she lay perfectly still in an attitude that in a seaman's mind is
associated with the idea of rapid motion.

"Here she is!" said Shaw, who, clad in a spotless white suit, came just
then from forward where he had been busy with the anchors. "She is well
on, sir--isn't she? Looks like a mudflat to me from here."

"Yes. It is a mudflat," said Lingard, slowly, raising the long glass to
his eye. "Haul the mainsail up, Mr. Shaw," he went on while he took a
steady look at the yacht. "We will have to work in short tacks here."

He put the glass down and moved away from the rail. For the next hour
he handled his little vessel in the intricate and narrow channel with
careless certitude, as if every stone, every grain of sand upon the
treacherous bottom had been plainly disclosed to his sight. He handled
her in the fitful and unsteady breeze with a matter-of-fact audacity
that made Shaw, forward at his station, gasp in sheer alarm. When
heading toward the inshore shoals the brig was never put round till the
quick, loud cries of the leadsmen announced that there were no more than
three feet of water under her keel; and when standing toward the steep
inner edge of the long reef, where the lead was of no use, the helm
would be put down only when the cutwater touched the faint line of the
bordering foam. Lingard's love for his brig was a man's love, and was
so great that it could never be appeased unless