“But what makes you think that, Joe?” asked Rodd. “Why, look at her rig, sir. See what a heap of sail she could carry. I don’t hold with a brig for fast-sailing, but look at the length of them two masts, and see how she’s pierced for guns. She has shut up shop snug enough on account of the storm, but I’ll wager she could run out some bulldogs—I mean, French poodles—as could bark if she liked. Then there’s a big long gun amidships.”
“I didn’t see it,” said Rodd. “Maybe not, my lad, but I did.”
“Well, but a merchantman might carry guns to defend herself, Joe.”
“Ay, she might, sir; but she wouldn’t, unless she was going on a job like ours and wanted to scare off savages; and that aren’t likely, for I should say we are the only vessel afloat as is going on such a fishing expedition as ours. And then look at her crew.”
“What about her crew?” said Rodd. “It seemed to be a very good one so far as I could see.”
“A deal too good, sir. Who ever saw a merchantman with such a crew as that? Didn’t you see how smart they were in obeying orders and getting down that anchor?”
“Why, no smarter than our crew,” said Rodd rather indignantly.
“Smarter than our crew, Mr Rodd, sir! I should think not!” cried the sailor. “Why, they are French! Still it was very tidy for them. I should like to know, though, what they are. I do believe I’m right, and that she is a private ear. Not been watching us, has she? Seems rather queer.”
“Why should she be watching us?”
“Why should a private ear be watching any smart schooner, except to make a prize of her?”