The upper sails,
top-gallant-sails, and royals of a ship were visible on our
weather-quarter, distant from fifteen to twenty miles. As we were now
in the track of whalers, of which there were a good many in that part
of the Pacific, I thought it was probable this was one; but Marble
laughed at the notion, asking if I had ever heard of a whaler's
carrying royals on her cruising ground. He affirmed it was the
Crisis, heading the same way we were ourselves, and which had only got
to windward of us, by keeping a better luff. We had calculated too
much on the schooner's weatherly qualities, and had allowed her to
fall off more than was necessary, in the night-watches.
The Pretty Poll was now jammed up on a wind, in the hope of closing
with the chase in the course of the night. But the wind had been
growing lighter and lighter for some hours, and by noon, though we had
neared the chase so much as to be able to see her from deck, there was
every prospect of its falling calm; after which, in the trades, it
would be surprising if we did not get a blow. To make the most of our
time, Marble determined to tack, when we had just got the chase a
point off our weather-bow. An hour after tacking, an object was seen
adrift on the ocean, and keeping away a little to close with it, it
was ascertained to be a whale-boat, adrift.
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