I tried to reply lightly, but I could not, and did not reply at all. The Prince said nothing, and in a few minutes they had faded away into the darkness. I went back to the stern, and stood there for a long time, peering out, but seeing nothing. The silent man at the wheel was some comfort, and once in a while Mr. Tilton, who had that watch, looked in. There was the faint bubbling of the wake, and the same noises as before, but largely cut off by the roof of the house. I had glanced at the compass, which was swung just inside the cabin skylight instead of in a binnacle, and had seen that we were heading due north. That was not sailing very close, but the Clearchus really made more if she was not held too close to the wind. I was getting drowsy in spite of my uneasiness, and was just making up my mind to turn in. In fact I had taken my elbows from the taffrail, on which I had been leaning, and raised my eyes. {286} Suddenly, without my being conscious of it, there broke from my throat a yell that would have waked the dead; and there loomed out of the blackness, just at our stern, the flying jibboom of a ship. It was high over my head, and I could just dimly make out jibs rising from it which seemed to reach to the heavens. I had no time to think, but I know I had the impression that our stern was sure to be cut off, and I yelled again. If I had taken time to think I should have realized that that other ship was bound for the Strait, as we were, but sailing a couple of points closer; and that, even if she was going three knots to our one, our chances of escape were good. Hindsight is easy; and when I saw the end of the spritsail yard and some stays within reach of my hand I grabbed them—probably the flying-jib guys—and hauled myself up and landed in her nettings. I was still there when the two vessels came together. The yards of the ship I was on were braced well around, or the damage would have been greater. As it was, the Clearchus had her spanker carried away, and a spare boat brushed off the roof of her after house, and she was given a gentle push on her course. Then she vanished quickly into the night. The strange ship had apparently put her helm down as soon as it was known that there was danger of a collision, but was just beginning to feel it. A big ship—this ship turned out to be about twice the size of the Clearchus—a big ship like that does not mind her helm instantly, and she had come up perhaps half a point or less when the moment had passed, and the helm was put up again, bringing her back to her course. I do not believe she would have come up much more in any case, for a moment later showed me that she had everything set, even to studding-sails on the weather side; and having all those sails taken suddenly aback in the breeze that was blowing might have resulted in greater damage—to her, at least—than an actual collision. {287}