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.
