"Up with the helm, reverse the engines." The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port, described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the burning light.
I was mistaken.

She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath.

Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and motionless.

The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves.

It made the round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and enveloped it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track, like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind.