CHAPTER XXIV.
OF "LA BEALE FRANCE."
There was a faint, pale light away in the north-east, telling of the coming dawn. Looming up dim and indistinct against the grey horizon, Ralph, who was armed, and stood near the Captain of the Wight, saw a dark hull and lofty sails.
The breeze was fresh, and they were now about mid-channel. The strange sail came topping the waves, which curled and seethed under her broad bow as she rose on their crests and dipped again in the trough of the sea. Swiftly she ran down before the salt sea breeze, and a gallant sight she looked.
"You'd best hide the gleam of your harness, my lord," said the old master, "or they'll be smelling a rat."
Without stopping to inquire how a gleam could assist a sense of smell, the Captain of the Wight, accompanied by Ralph, stepped off the lofty poop and took their stand under the lee gunwale.
"Luff!" sung out the Master, who was carefully watching the movements of the stranger; and a cloud of spray dashed over the bow as the head of the ship came more round to the sea.
"That'll do; keep her going so. Ay, ay, my beauty, I sees ye; but ye need not be in such a hurry--we're a-waiting for you, but 'twon't do to let you think it; so now up with the helm, and let her fall off a bit. There, keep her jogging like that: they'll be alongside in another minute."
From where Ralph stood, by screwing his head a little he could just see the top of the masts and the round "crow's nests" in the "tops." The main and fore yards were braced square, and the great bellying sails stretched out tight as drums before the fresh breeze. The masts looked so close, he thought she must be aboard of them, and expected every moment to hear a crash as her stem cut into the broad stern of his own ship.
"Halloa! you there! you'll be aboard o' us an' you take no more care," sung out the Master through a speaking-tube.