“How low down can you see her?” demanded Spike, in a voice of thunder.
So emphatic and remarkable was the captain's manner in putting this question, that the mate cast a look of surprise beneath him ere he answered it. A look with the glass succeeded, when the reply was given.
“Ay, ay, sir; there can be no mistake—it's a cruiser, you may depend on it. I can see the heads of her topsails now, and they are so square and symmetrical, that gold bands are below beyond all doubt.”
“Perhaps he's a Frenchman—Johnny Crapaud keeps cruisers in these seas as well as the rest on'em.”
“Johnny Crapaud's craft don't spread such arms, sir. The ship is either English or American; and he's heading for the Mona Passage as well as ourselves.”
“Come down, sir, come down—there's work to be done as soon as you have breakfasted.”
Mulford did come down, and he was soon seated at the table, with both Josh and Jack Tier for attendants. The aunt and the niece were in their own cabin, a few yards distant, with the door open.
“What a fuss'e cap'in make 'bout dat sail,” grumbled Josh, who had been in the brig so long that he sometimes took liberties with even Spike himself. “What good he t'ink t'will do to measure him inch by inch? Bye'm by he get alongside, and den 'e ladies even can tell all about him.”
“He nat'rally wishes to know who gets alongside,” put in Tier, somewhat apologetically.
“What matter dat. All sort of folk get alongside of Molly Swash; and what good it do 'em? Yoh! yoh! yoh! I do remem'er sich times vid'e ole hussy!”