I could clearly see the dark-gray buildings on the island as the sloop brought it abeam.

No flag or sign of life was seen on the dreary place.
Later in the day a French bark on the port tack, making for Cayenne, hove in sight, close-hauled on the wind.

She was falling to leeward fast, The _Spray_ was also closed-hauled, and was lugging on sail to secure an offing on the starboard tack, a heavy swell in the night having thrown her too near the shore, and now I considered the matter of supplicating a change of wind.

I had already enjoyed my share of favoring breezes over the great oceans, and I asked myself if it would be right to have the wind turned now all into my sails while the Frenchman was bound the other way.

A head current, which he stemmed, together with a scant wind, was bad enough for him.