He sprang to the signal-halliards and lowered the flag, just as you pull off your hat when you say good-bye. The American colour sank in graceful beauty and soared again, and again sank the Red Ensign to be again gaff-ended, and thrice did these two vessels salute each other and then belayed their halliards, leaving their banners flying. A faint cheer came from the American vessel, and Hardy sprang into the mizzen-rigging and flourished his cap. Then the Yankee fell off and filled a rap-full; her wake throbbed in pulses of foam under her counter, fountain-bursts of sparkling stars of brine flashed off her bows, every stitch of canvas was mastheaded, and away she went with yearning stunsail, a leaning vision of transcendent beauty--a spirit now, for she hath long since departed from the waters which she walked, and remains but a memory to the old. Hardy went to the wheel, put his helm a little up, and the _York_ started again for home under steady curves of canvas. For two days after this the ship's company of three had their hands full. It came on to blow a strong breeze right ahead: they managed to brace up, and went staggering away to the west and north. It was impossible for so slender a company to put the ship about; neither could Hardy wear her, for who was to square and then brace round the yards to the hard-over helm? Every wind then must be a fair wind for that ship; she must splutter through it as best she could, and all that the two brave hearts could pray for was that it should never blow so hard as to dismast them or burst the canvas into rags. Julia was now a practised as well as a fearless helmswoman, and Hardy was able to get the sleep he needed; she too enjoyed plenty of intervals. In those two days it did not blow fiercer than a two-reef breeze, and Hardy eased the ship by keeping her a little away. For it mattered nothing to him or Julia if the passage home extended into months so long as they got home at last. CHAPTER XIX. THE CAMILLA OF THE SEA Within ten weeks of the date of the sailing of the clipper ship _York_ from the River Thames the vessel was about two hundred miles to the westward of the coast of Portugal. It was a leaden day. The ocean was breathing deeply after a long conflict with the gale. The swell ran in sullen masses, lifting with the lazy sickness of oil, but the breeze was light and scarcely creased the moving knolls, and the shadow of cloud hung like tapestry in a darkened chamber, low down in ragged skirts upon the winding line of the sea.