So near were we that we could catch a glimpse of the figures upon her deck as she heeled over to the breeze, and could bear the creaking of her yards and the flapping of her weather-stained canvas as she prepared to go about.
'Look ye, Micah,' said my companion, looking up from his fishing-line.
'That is a most weak-minded ship--a ship which will make no way in the world.

See how she hangs in the wind, neither keeping on her course nor tacking.

She is a trimmer of the seas--the Lord Halifax of the ocean.' 'Why, there is something amiss with her,' I replied, staring across with hand-shaded eyes.

'She yaws about as though there were no one at the helm.

Her main-yard goes aback! Now it is forward again! The folk on her deck seem to me to be either fighting or dancing.