Growls and murmurs rumbled along the shore from clump to clump of leaves where the men stood hidden. Chris pulled his spyglass from his pocket and looked eagerly at the pirate ship only a little way out from shore.
It looked familiar, although Chris had had time to see so few ships he could not be certain. He shifted the glass, looking at details here and there, and at the name in gold carved letters against the black-painted side. Vulture. The letters stood out neat and clear and then Chris's heart stopped and started again.
"Ned!" he called down softly, for sound carries far and clearly over water, as every sailor knows, "Ned, don't most ships just paint the name on the side?"
"Aye lad, that they do," Ned replied in a puzzled tone, looking up through the leaves at the two boys.
"Then isn't it unusual to have letters carved of wood and gilded, on the side of a ship?" Chris persisted.
"Aye, that it be." Ned's puzzled tone was sharper now and he looked up at Chris and then out to the pirate vessel. "What're ye aimin' at now, me lad, eh?" Ned asked. "What's in your mind?"
"Just tell me what ships you know whose name is not painted on but set in carved letters, Ned," Chris said, and he lowered his glass and looked down.
Their conversation, in the silence, had had some quality of excitement in it that had been caught by the others, for when Chris glanced down he saw half the ship's company knotted around the base of the tree, and a half-circle of faces turned up to his, along with Ned's.
Ned's face puckered with effort for a few moments, as he muttered: "Let me see, now. There's the Southerner—no, that's painted on, or the Priscilla Drew—no; that's painted too." He turned, searching the faces of his friends. "Come, boys, what ship has carved letters for her name, not painted ones? Where's a better memory nor mine?"