"There's another phantom ship a good deal older and bigger than the Flying Dutchman; so big is she that the ship I've been telling you about wouldn't make a yawl for her. The French sailors call her the Lightning Chaser; and she's so big that it takes her a year to make a tack. Once, when she was bound north, she got stuck in the Straits of Dover; but her captain smeared the port side of the ship with soap, and she crept through; but the soap scraped off against the British cliffs, and that's what makes 'em so white. When she got into the Baltic, the sea was too narrow, and they had to lighten her. The ballast that she threw over made the island of"-- A cry of "Sail ho!" from the mast-head attracted the attention of everybody, and made a sudden end to the story of the Flying Dutchman. I forgot to say that when we found in the morning that the man-of-war was quite out of sight we changed our course back to the proper one; that is, the one on which we were running when we sighted that unwelcome stranger. The new sail was reported dead ahead: there was a bare possibility that it might be the one whose acquaintance we made the day before, and I heard the captain say to the mate that we'd better change our course and avoid her; but no orders were given to do so. The captain and mate went out of earshot of the men, and so I can't tell what they talked about. They kept looking every little while, or rather the captain did, at the sail which we were steadily nearing. It was evident that she was not running in the same direction that we were, or we would not have overhauled her so rapidly. We had the weather-gauge of her, though, just as the Britisher had the weather-gauge of us the day before. Consequently, if we did not like her looks on getting nearer, it was quite easy for us to get out of her way. It was my watch on deck at the time, and when I could do so I took a squint at the ship, and wondered why the captain did not turn away and leave her to herself. On and on we went; and after a time Haines said to me,---- "I don't believe that's any man-of-war at all!" "Why so?" I asked. "Why, don't you see?" said he, "a man-of-war always looks a great deal more trim and neat than a merchantman: they've plenty of men on board to do all the work they want, and more too; and sometimes the officers sits up nights to study up things to keep the men busy. The captain has made out long ago that she ain't no man-of-war; for I can see it with my naked eye. Her sails are all hanging lopsided like, and I'll bet from the looks of her she's mighty short-handed in crew. Our captain's running to speak to her; or, at all events, he's running near enough for it."