Of a sudden, shading his face with his hand, he gazed fixedly for an instant, and then springing to his feet, uttered the long-drawn sound--"Sail ho!" Just tipping the furthest edge of the sky was a little speck, dancing into view every time we rose upon the swells.

It looked like one of many birds; for half intercepting our view, fell showers of plumage: a flight of milk-white noddies flying downward to the sea.
But soon the birds are seen no more.

Yet there remains the speck; plainly a sail; but too small for a ship.

Was it a boat after a whale?
The vessel to which it belonged far astern, and shrouded by the haze?
So it seemed.
Quietly, however, we waited the stranger's nearer approach; confident, that for some time he would not be able to perceive us, owing to our being in what mariners denominate the "sun-glade," or that part of the ocean upon which the sun's rays flash with peculiar intensity.
As the sail drew nigh, its failing to glisten white led us to doubt whether it was indeed a whale-boat.

Presently, it showed yellow; and Samoa declared, that it must be the sail of some island craft.