Meanwhile the wind, scant as it was, seemed inclined to become more scanty still, until at length, by "six bells"--that is to say, seven o'clock--our courses were drooping motionless from the yards, the maintop-sail was wrinkling ominously, with an occasional flap to the mast as the brig hove lazily over the long low undulations of the swell--and only the light upper canvas continued to draw, the ship's speed having declined to a bare two knots, which gave us little more than mere steerage way.  And loud was the grumbling, fore and aft, when, a little later, as the hands were piped to breakfast, the breeze died away altogether, and the _Shark_, being no longer under the control of her helm, proceeded to "box the compass"--that is to say, to swing first this way and then that, with the send of the swell.  Our only consolation was that the strangers to leeward were in the same awkward fix as ourselves; for if we had no wind wherewith to pursue them, they, in their turn, had none wherewith to run away from us.