“See a whale spouting, sir? I should have thought it was getting too dark.”
“No, Joe; but I have just made out the sloop with the glass.”
“Nay, sir! Don’t say that!” cried the man, in a startled tone.
“Take the glass, Joe. I am afraid it’s true.”
“Oh, murther! as Pat says,” groaned the sailor, as he hurriedly adjusted the glass and began to sweep the horizon in the direction Rodd pointed out, a few points on the starboard bow. “Can’t see nothing, sir. Were you sure?”
“Yes, Joe; quite.”
“But it’s getting dark too fast, sir. I can make nothing out. If you are right, though, she mayn’t have seen us and may be out of sight again by morning.—Ah, I’ve got her!”
“There, I knew I was right, Joe.”
“Not quite, sir. Yes, I’ve got her quite plain now, but she’s dying out fast. It aren’t a man-of-war. It’s a two-master of some kind. A big schooner or a brig. It’s all right, sir. There’s life in a mussel, after all. My word, though, didn’t it bring my heart up into my mouth!”
“Are you sure it’s not a three-master, Joe?” cried Rodd joyously.