“How long is it since you made the ship to leeward?” gravely demanded Wilder.
“I will not swear that a real living ship has been made out at all, sir. Something I did see, just before the bell struck seven, and there it is, just as clear and just as dim, to be seen now by them that have good eyes.”
“And how did she bear when you first saw her?”
“Two or three points more toward the beam than it is now.”
“Then we are passing her!” exclaimed Wilder, with a pleasure too evident to be concealed.
“No, your Honour, no. You forget, sir, the ship has come closer to the wind since the middle watch was set.”
“True,” returned his young Commander, in a tone of disappointment; “true, very true. And her bearing has not changed since you first made her?”
“Not by compass, sir. It is a quick boat that, or would never hold such way with the ‘Royal Caroline,’ and that too upon a stiffened bow-line, which every body knows is the real play of this ship.”
“Go, get you to your hammock. In the morning we may have a better look at the fellow.”
“And—you hear me, sir,” added the attentive mate, “do not keep the men’s eyes open below, with a tale as long as the short cable, but take your own natural rest, and leave all others, that have clear consciences, to do the same.”