“That doesn’t look like a pirate craft, anyhow.”
The boys were on the docks bright and early the next morning, and were looking at the vessel in which they were expected to embark within the next hour for the trip down the Elbe to the sea.
As Billy had put it, the ship they were viewing was neither “low, long, nor rakish.” Herr Roque had not deceived them on that point, at least. It was a “trading vessel.” All of the crew in sight were of the roustabout class, except the captain, who was somewhat of a dandy, with a glazed cap, high collar, military blouse, and corduroy trousers.
“Hi, there!” he called to the boys in high-pitched German, “are you from Herr Roque?”
Henri advised in loud tone that such was the fact.
“Come aboard, then,” invited the boss of the deck.
The boys made short work of the rickety gangboard, and, aboard, cast an eye about for their host.
The captain said something in his way of speaking that meant “you’ll see him later.”
It was some time later—at the mouth of the Elbe, and late at night.
Before this happened, the boys, not experienced as seamen, were surprised to the limit at the ready transformation of that “trade vessel.” Tarpaulin coverings removed, like magic unfolding, revealed a funnel, gunbeds, and guns in them, of the kind to raise the mischief with a hull at short range; spars were stripped of clumsy sails, and the craft generally departed from the peaceful classification in which it cleared from Hamburg.