Explore "Wyndham's Pal" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The night was hot and nearly calm, and Marston, sitting on the cabin skylight, languidly looked about. A Krooboy held the wheel, and his dark figure cut against the phosphorescent sea. _Columbine_'s bulwarks were low and when she rolled the long, smooth swell ran level with their top. A dim glow came from the compass binnacle, but the schooner was close-hauled and the Kroo steered by the faint strain on the helm. The wind was light and baffling and _Columbine_ beat against it as she worked along the coast.
She carried all her canvas and her high gaff-topsail swung rhythmically across the sky, shutting out the stars. Her dark mainsail looked very big and every now and then shook down a shower of dew as its slack curves swelled. A small moon touched the tops of the undulations with silver light, and when the bows went down the foam that leaped about the planks glimmered with green and gold. Booms and blocks rattled and timbers groaned.