“Following the gale, the weather fell into a regular condition of doldrums. Sometimes it blew a light wind, but more often a dead calm till it seemed that we were doomed to haunt the Brazilian coast for the rest of our lives. The men grew restive. It was insufferably hot and the calking in the deck seams fairly bubbled and boiled. “Thus passed an entire week and the only man or board whose nerves were not on edge was Captain Munson. He appeared not to worry or chafe over our situation in the least. This was the more curious, inasmuch as Sterling had informed me that the seas in which we lay were the very identical ones in which the fatal battle with the pirates who had looted Captain Munson’s last command had taken place. “One morning just after breakfast I was standing against the taffrail, with Sterling by my side, idly gazing horizonward for a sign of coming wind. All at once I saw Sterling clap his telescope to his eye and gaze intently off into the southeast. “‘Wind?’ says I. “‘No,’ says he. “‘Well, what then?’ says I. “‘A sail,’ says he. “‘Then they must be getting more wind than we are,’ says I. ‘What do you make her out to be?’ “‘Can’t tell yet; but somehow I don’t much like the look of her.’ “He handed me the glass. “‘Take a look yourself,’ he said. “I squinted through the telescope and at last made out the distant sail. She was a black brigantine, low in the water and with a rakish sort of look about her masts and spars. The water over around her was dark blue—of a deeper tinge than the ocean surrounding us—showing that the wind was blowing off in that direction. “‘She doesn’t show any colors,’ says I, handing the glass back to Sterling. ‘What do you make her out to be?’ “He shrugged his shoulders. “‘I don’t know, laddie,’ he said, ‘but she looks to me like a war vessel of some sort. Maybe a Brazilian craft.’ “‘Well, whatever she is,’ says I, ‘she’s got the wind with her and it’ll hit us in a minute.’ “‘That’s right,’ says he, coming out of a sort of a reverie. ‘Get your yards squared and your courses braced up.’ “I hastened to put these orders into execution, and hardly had they been completed when the long awaited wind struck us. The _Cambrian Hills_ heeled over and began to move through the water. “The crew set up a cheer as we began to get under way and the noise brought the skipper on deck. He looked more than usually grave and had a Bible, which he had evidently been reading, in his hand. “‘Wind at last, Mr. Sterling?’ he said quietly. “‘Aye! aye, sir,’ said the mate. ‘I knew the luck was bound to turn,’ he added. “‘There is no such thing as luck, Mr. Sterling,’ said the captain in his quiet, grave way. ‘All is the doings of Providence.’ “Then he turned and moved away, but Sterling was at his side in a minute. “‘There’s a sail off there to windward, sir. Will you take a look at her and tell us what you think of her? You know it pays to be suspicious in these waters, and I don’t much like her looks.’