Ludlow walked into the lee-gangway of his ship, and, leaning with his
elbow on the empty hammock-cloths, he gazed long and in silence at the
object of his pursuit. The Water-Witch was lying in the quarter of the
horizon most favorable to being seen. The twilight, which still fell out
of the heavens, was without glare in that direction; and for the first
time that day, he saw her in her true proportions. The admiration of a
seaman was blended with the other sensations of the young man. The
brigantine lay in the position that exhibited her exquisitely-moulded hull
and rakish rig to the most advantage. The head, having come to the wind,
was turned towards her pursuer; and as the bows rose on some swell that
was heavier than common, Ludlow saw, or fancied he saw, the mysterious
image still perched on her cut-water, holding the book to the curious, and
ever pointing with its finger across the waste of water. A movement of the
hammock-cloths caused the young sailor to bend his head aside, and he then
saw that the master had drawn as near to his person as discipline would
warrant. Ludlow had a great respect for the professional attainments that
his inferior unquestionably possessed; and he was not without some
consideration for the chances of a fortune, which had not done much to
reward the privations and the services of a seaman old enough to be his
father. The recollection of these facts always disposed him to be
indulgent to a man who had little, beyond his seaman-like character and
long experience, to recommend him.
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