“Now will you look at that!” cried Gil.
                  Drawn by the reverential tone of his father’s voice, Jordi looked up to see a sleek 
              ketch with a gleaming white hull and white sails materialize, wraithlike, out of the fog, 
              a phantom of a boat. In the light northeasterly breeze, she was sailing close-hauled 
              on the starboard tack—main, mizzen, and huge overlapping jib all drawing nicely. The 
              leach of her jib shivered. She had, as sailors say, a bone in her teeth—the water parted 
              at her bow, a double sash of white foam spreading out like trailing scarves. She moved 
              steadily through the water, a fancy of pure, graceful power.                          
                                                                                               -Chapter 1