"To no purpose, now," says her commander, seeing his last sail set.
Then adding, as he casts a glance at the sky, sternwards, "The wind's
going down. In ten minutes more we'll be becalmed."

Those around need not be told this. The youngest reefer there, looking
at sky and sea, can forecast a calm.

In five minutes after, the frigate's sails go flapping against the
masts, and her flag hangs half-folded.

In five more, the canvas only shows motion by an occasional clout; while
the bunting droops dead downward.

Within the ten, as her captain predicted, the huge warship lies
motionless on the sea--its surface around her smooth as a swan-pond.

CHAPTER TWO.

A CALL FOR BOARDERS.

The frigate is becalmed--what of the barque? Has she been similarly
stayed in her course?

The question is asked by all on board the warship, each seeking the
answer for himself. For all are earnestly gazing at the strange vessel
regardless of their own condition.

Forward, the superstitious thought has become intensified into something
like fear. A calm coming on so suddenly, just when they had hopes of
overhauling the chase! What could that mean? Old sailors shake their
heads, refusing to make answer; while young ones, less cautious of
speech, boldly pronounce the polacca to be a spectre!

The legends of the _Phantom Ship_ and _Flying Dutchman_ are in their
thoughts, and on their lips, as they stand straining their eyes after
the still receding vessel; for beyond doubt she is yet moving on with
waves rippling around her!

"As I told ye, mates," remarks an old tar, "we'd never catch up with
that craft--not if we stood after her till doomsday. And doomsday it
might be for us, if we did."

"I hope she'll hold her course, and leave us a good spell behind,"
rejoins a second. "It was a foolish thing followin' her; for my part,
I'll be glad if we never do catch up with her."

"You need have no fear about it," says the first speaker. "Just look!
She's making way yet! I believe she can sail as well without a wind as
with one."

Scarce are the words spoken, when, as if to contradict them, the sails
of the chased vessel commence clouting against the masts; while her flag
falls folded, and is no longer distinguishable either as signal of
distress, or any other. The breeze that failed the frigate is also now
dead around the barque, which, in like manner, has been caught in the
calm.

"What do you make her out, Mr Black?"