Swiftly the white patch crept above the horizon; sail by sail the gleaming canvas of the _Sea Witch_ lifted fair and graceful, until her black hull was visible as a mere dot beneath the immense sweep of her snowy wings. Every stitch of cloth she could spread was pulling her homeward. David had been at sea for more than a year without glimpsing such a noble picture as this. When they had run close enough to make out the stars and stripes whipping from the mizzen of the _Sea Witch_ like a tongue of flame, he drew a long breath and felt little chills run up and down his back. Now he began to understand what the sea and its ships meant to Captain John Bracewell, ship-master of the old school.