All eyes watched it coming, even Wolf Larsen's; but he was the only unperturbed man aboard.

Louis, gazing fixedly, betrayed a trouble in his face he was not quite able to hide.
The boat drew closer and closer, hurling along through the seething green like a thing alive, lifting and sending and uptossing across the huge-backed breakers, or disappearing behind them only to rush into sight again and shoot skyward.

It seemed impossible that it could continue to live, yet with each dizzying sweep it did achieve the impossible.

A rain-squall drove past, and out of the flying wet the boat emerged, almost upon us.
"Hard up, there!" Wolf Larsen shouted, himself springing to the wheel and whirling it over.
Again the _Ghost_ sprang away and raced before the wind, and for two hours Johnson and Leach pursued us.

We hove to and ran away, hove to and ran away, and ever astern the struggling patch of sail tossed skyward and fell into the rushing valleys.