She was about a quarter of a mile distant when she swept past us. All that way off I heard the drum-like roll of the wind in the high white spaces of her canvas, and the sullen, continuous roar of the water she parted. And all the time she hung to windward, drawing ahead and opening out the squares of her sails till their hollows, blackening upon us, showed like a growing thunderstorm upon the sea-line, but with never a wink of light from cabin window or binnacle-stand. Tom and the mate commented upon her; my sweetheart in a rapid, fierce voice; Bates sulkily. Tom said: ‘The devil’s in command there, and he has stocked her forecastle with a troop of devils.’ ‘They’ll be no worse than their shipmates,’ said the mate. ‘How they’re driving her! Our escape has woke them up! There’s fear and there’s meaning, too, in that press. Where are they bound to, and who’s to carry them there? Are they lying drenched and drugged and damned again as last night, thick as poisoned rats one atop of another? Oh, the beasts!’ ‘I guess what’s happened,’ said the mate, in a gloomy voice. ‘That chap with a cast eye, who put the scheme of the Pacific Islands into their heads, has taken charge of the ship. There’s a sailor’s hand in that spread of cloths. Butler, they’ll know where they started, from what you told them; that cast-eyed rogue’ll heave the log and plump foul of what’s nearest and split. Lord, what a beautiful ship to run away with! And they’ll lose her, they’ll lose her!’ ‘They’re steering straight for Tristan d’Acunha,’ said I. ‘Aye, straight as a fly crawls up a pane of window!’ exclaimed Tom. ‘She’ll make no Tristan. They’ll head off for the Horn, and continue their navigation with a chart they can’t read and a dirty forefinger.’ ‘If Barney Abram but knew we were in this brig!’ I exclaimed. Tom left the top of the deck-house and let go the maintopsail halliards. The big sail bellied out from the yard on the cap, losing its driving power, and in a few moments the brig’s pace sensibly diminished. ‘Let her get out of sight,’ said he, returning. ‘There’s no horizon wide enough to divide us. Why, Bates, think of daylight coming along and a stark calm falling, and yonder ship of devils, with Nick at the helm and Barney at the prow, lying stagnant within an easy boat-row!’ ‘Here’s a wind to blow her clear of us, sir,’ said the mate.