The most pleasant time of all on deck was after tea; it was then cool, with the almost daily spectacle of a magnificent sunset. Sometimes the sinking globe went down amid a glory of clouds, which turned the sea into a blaze of red and gold; at others its descent could be traced inch by inch as the ball of fire sank below the horizon on its road to other lands, leaving behind it a track of light across the still waters. One evening in the Pacific the whole sky, east as well as west, was covered with pink clouds, which found their counterpart in the water below. It is at times such as sunset, when sky and sea form a joint panorama, that the dweller on the water truly comes into his own. In ordinary circumstances, contrary to what might be expected, the ocean appeals less to the imagination when seen from shipboard than when viewed from the land; without foreground or counterbalancing element its restless infinity seems bewildering to the comprehension. But when at sea the sky takes up the tale; then the waters below and the firmament above each find in the other their perfect complement and expression. As soon as twilight reigned the gazer was recalled to the work-a-day world; the navigator came up from the chart-room to take the ship’s position by the evening star, the junior member of the watch clambered up the fore-rigging to hang out the ship’s lights, and so night fell. One of the charms of a ship is that she never sleeps. In the hours of darkness the ordinary habitation relapses to a state of coma, and to the mental condition of the primitive jelly-fish; a vessel is always alive, always intelligent. The larger the craft, the more the vital functions are withdrawn from the common gaze; in a small yacht they are ever visible as an inseparable part of the whole. In wakeful nights and from hot cabins, it is only necessary to stumble up the companion to find the cool freshness of deck and waking companionship. Silhouetted against the sky, is the dark figure of the man at the wheel, somewhere in the gloom is the officer in charge, and for’ard, though invisible, is the watch on the look-out. The latest news of wind and progress are to be had for the asking; it is full of mystery and yet reassuringly practical. The night _Mana_ crossed the Equator is unforgettable; the yacht, borne along by the newly caught trade wind, raced through the water with the very poetry of motion. The full moon made a silver pathway over the sea and lit up not only the foam from the vessel’s bows, but also her white sails, which were faintly reflected in the dark sea; the masts and rigging stood out black against the deep blue sky, while over all was the Southern Cross. What has been said of sunset from shipboard is still more true of moonlight and starlight nights. Then ocean and sky become a whole of marvellous beauty, and of majesty beyond human ken; always suggesting questions, always refusing the answer. [Illustration: EASTER ISLAND PHYSICAL]