They hurried on board the Nancy, and drawing up their dory, proceeded to make their way out into the harbour where lay their objective.
The schooner Pierre had boarded was a swift-looking little craft of about sixty tons, neatly rigged, painted dead black, with her deck bare of the fishing dories which most of her type in the harbour carried. Her deck seemed deserted.
It was growing dusk when Ben and Dare neared her, and they could not read her name on her bow, it being very faintly painted. They made a detour and passed under the stern, and there they read plainly enough the legend: "Mary Lee, St. John's, Nfld."
"Well," said Ben in a harsh whisper as they rowed quietly by, "she's St. John's registered, but the feller who went on board her is a Frenchman or I'll eat my boots, though I do say he's the queerest lookin' Frenchman I ever seed."
"Partly," said Dare.
"Partly what?" asked Ben, not quite clear about what Dare was alluding to.
"Partly French. He's half English."
"How do you know?" asked Ben, surprised.
"I heard someone say so."
"You heard somebody say so!" repeated Ben.