“A good omen,” said Jarl; “no harm will befall us so long as they stay.”

But however that might be, follow us they did, for many days after:  until an event occurred, which necessitated their withdrawal.

CHAPTER XIX Who Goes There?

Jarl’s oar showed sixteen notches on the loom, when one evening, as the expanded sun touched the horizon’s rim, a ship’s uppermost spars were observed, traced like a spider’s web against its crimson disk.  It looked like a far-off craft on fire.

In bright weather at sea, a sail, invisible in the full flood of noon, becomes perceptible toward sunset.  It is the reverse in the morning.  In sight at gray dawn, the distant vessel, though in reality approaching, recedes from view, as the sun rises higher and higher.  This holds true, till its vicinity makes it readily fall within the ordinary scope of vision.  And thus, too, here and there, with other distant things:  the more light you throw on them, the more you obscure.  Some revelations show best in a twilight.

The sight of the stranger not a little surprised us.  But brightening up, as if the encounter were welcome, Jarl looked happy and expectant.  He quickly changed his demeanor, however, upon perceiving that I was bent upon shunning a meeting.

Instantly our sails were struck; and calling upon Jarl, who was somewhat backward to obey, I shipped the oars; and, both rowing, we stood away obliquely from our former course.

I divined that the vessel was a whaler; and hence, that by help of the glass, with which her look-outs must be momentarily sweeping the horizon, they might possibly have descried us; especially, as we were due east from the ship; a direction, which at sunset is the one most favorable for perceiving a far-off object at sea.  Furthermore, our canvas was snow-white and conspicuous.  To be sure, we could not be certain what kind of a vessel it was; but whatever it might be, I, for one, had no mind to risk an encounter; for it was quite plain, that if the stranger came within hailing distance, there would be no resource but to link our fortunes with hers; whereas I desired to pursue none but the Chamois’.  As for the Skyeman, he kept looking wistfully over his shoulder; doubtless, praying Heaven, that we might not escape what I sought to avoid.

Now, upon a closer scrutiny, being pretty well convinced that the stranger, after all, was steering a nearly westerly course—­right away from us—­we reset our sail; and as night fell, my Viking’s entreaties, seconded by my own curiosity, induced me to resume our original course; and so follow after the vessel, with a view of obtaining a nearer glimpse, without danger of detection.  So, boldly we steered for the sail.

But not gaining much upon her, spite of the lightness of the breeze (a circumstance in our favor:  the chase being a ship, and we but a boat), at my comrade’s instigation, we added oars to sails, readily guiding our way by the former, though the helm was left to itself.