“Well, I don’t think you would find anything that would suit your purpose better than the Creole. She would make a splendid yacht for a gentleman who had a fancy for long cruises.”
“What is her age?” the mate asked.
“Well, of course we can’t tell exactly; but the dockyard people thought she couldn’t be above four or five years old. That is what they put her down as when they sold her. At any rate she is sound, and in as good condition as if she had just come off the stocks. She had been hulled in two or three places in the fight when she was captured, but she was made all right in the dockyard before she was put up for sale. All her gear, sails, and so on are in excellent condition.”
“Where are they?”
“They are on board. As we had a care-taker it was cheaper to leave them there and have good fires going occasionally to keep them dry than it would have been to stow them away on shore.”
There was a brisk breeze blowing, and in less than the half hour mentioned by the agent he said: “That’s her lying over on the farther side.”
“She looks like a slaver all over,” Martyn said as he stood up to examine the long low craft. “I suppose they caught her coming out of a river, for she would show her heels, I should guess, to any cruiser that was ever built, at any rate in light winds. If she is as good as she looks she is just the thing for us.”
When they reached the vessel they rowed round her before going on board.
“She is like a big Surf,” Will said to Horace; “finer in her lines, and lighter. She ought to sail like a witch. I see she carried four guns on each side.”
