"A brigantine; a raal sharp-shooter," said Matthews.
"How painted?"
"All one color, spars and all, betwixt black and a lead color. I says to Dick (we was on the fore-topsail-yard, freshening the sarvice on the topgallant-sheet), 'Dick,' says I, 'that's some kind of a smuggler, or slaver, or something. So handsome a clipper as that's not painted such a color for nothing.'"
"Was she heavy sparred? Did she carry a press of sail?"
"She was all sail; long yards, and plenty of staysails and savealls, a whacking mainsail, and a ringtail at the end of it. I noticed it," said Dick, "and spoke of it then, what a spread she had to her fore-rigging and long spreaders on the cross-trees to spread the topgallant and royal back-stays."
"That must be the vessel I'm looking for; but if she passed you, beating up, why ain't she here?"
"She went into Salem."
"O, ho! went into Salem! Then it's her. The captain belongs in Salem; and, as he had a head wind and tide, he went in there, and will be up to-day."
Captain Rhines had proceeded but a little way after leaving Dick, when, just before him, a man was pushed out of the door of a sailor boarding-house, and fell his whole length on the sidewalk. He rose with difficulty to his feet as the captain came along, and addressed him by name. He was covered with filth, his face bruised and bloody, a battered tarpaulin on his head, a beard of three weeks' growth, clothed in a red shirt, canvas trousers, and barefoot. He trembled like a man with the fever and ague, evidently being in that state expressively termed by sailors the "horrors," and could scarcely stand.
"Cap'n," he cried, "don't you know me?"