“Take you the glass, Earing, and tell me under what canvas the stranger holds his way, and what may be his distance,” said Wilder, thoughtfully, and without appearing to advert at all to what the other had just observed.
The honest and well-meaning mate deposed his hat on the quarter-deck, and, with an air of great respect, did as he was desired. Nor did he deem it necessary to give a precipitate answer to either of the interrogatories. When, however, his look had been long, grave, and deeply absorbed, he closed the glass with the palm of his broad hand, and replied, with the manner of one whose opinion was sufficiently matured.
“If yonder sail had been built and fitted like other mortal craft,” he said, “I should not be backward in pronouncing her a full-rigged ship, under three single-reefed topsails, courses, spanker, and jib.”
“Has she no more?”
“To that I would qualify, provided an opportunity were given me to make sure that she is, in all respects, as other vessels are.”
“And yet, Earing, with all this press of canvas, by the compass we have not left her a foot.”
“Lord, sir,” returned the mate, shaking his head, like one who was well convinced of the folly of such efforts, “if you should split every cloth in the main-course, by carrying on the ship you will never alter the bearings of that craft an inch, till the sun rises! Then, indeed, such as have eyes, that are good enough, might perhaps see her sailing about among the clouds; though it has never been my fortune be it bad or be it good, to fall in with one of these cruisers after the day has fairly dawned.”
“And the distance?” said Wilder; “you have not yet spoken of her distance.”
“That is much as people choose to measure. She may be here, nigh enough to toss a biscuit into our tops; or she may be there, where she seems to be, hull down in the horizon.”
“But, if where she seems to be?”