I knew then, as a certainty, that it was not caused by heat.

And that was the beginning of it.

The next day, I kept a pretty close watch, during all my time on deck; but the atmosphere remained clear.  Yet, I heard from one of the chaps in the Mate’s watch, that it had been hazy during part of the time he was at the wheel.

“Comin’ an’ goin’, like,” he described it to me, when I questioned him about it.  He thought it might be heat.

But though I knew otherwise, I did not contradict him.  At that time, no one, not even Plummer, seemed to think very much of the matter.  And when I mentioned it to Tammy, and asked him whether he’d noticed it, he only remarked that it must have been heat, or else the sun drawing up water.  I let it stay at that; for there was nothing to be gained by suggesting that the thing had more to it.

Then, on the following day, something happened that set me wondering more than ever, and showed me how right I had been in feeling the mist to be something unnatural.  It was in this way.

Five bells, in the eight to twelve morning watch, had gone.  I was at the wheel.  The sky was perfectly clear—­not a cloud to be seen, even on the horizon.  It was hot, standing at the wheel; for there was scarcely any wind, and I was feeling drowsy.  The Second Mate was down on the maindeck with the men, seeing about some job he wanted done; so that I was on the poop alone.

Presently, with the heat, and the sun beating right down on to me, I grew thirsty; and, for want of something better, I pulled out a bit of plug I had on me, and bit off a chew; though, as a rule, it is not a habit of mine.  After a little, naturally enough, I glanced round for the spittoon; but discovered that it was not there.  Probably it had been taken forrard when the decks were washed, to give it a scrub.  So, as there was no one on the poop, I left the wheel, and stepped aft to the taffrail.  It was thus that I came to see something altogether unthought of—­a full-rigged ship, close-hauled on the port tack, a few hundred yards on our starboard quarter.  Her sails were scarcely filled by the light breeze, and flapped as she lifted to the swell of the sea.  She appeared to have very little way through the water, certainly not more than a knot an hour.  Away aft, hanging from the gaff-end, was a string of flags.  Evidently, she was signalling to us.  All this, I saw in a flash, and I just stood and stared, astonished.  I was astonished because I had not seen her earlier.  In that light breeze, I knew that she must have been in sight for at least a couple of hours.  Yet I could think of nothing rational to satisfy my wonder.  There she was—­of that much, I was certain.  And yet, how had she come there without my seeing her, before?