There was the river gleaming before us under a rainbow mist that hallowed every shape. There seemed affinity between the earth and the sky. I've never seen that particular soft unity out of Devon. And every ship, however black or modern, on those pale waters, had the look of a dream ship. The tall green woods, the red earth, the white houses, were all melted into one opal haze. It was raining, but the sun was shining behind. Gulls swooped by us—ghosts of the old greedy wanderers of the sea.
We had told our two boatmen to pull us out to the Pied Witch! They started with great resolution, then rested on their oars.
“The Pied Witch, zurr?” asked one politely; “an' which may her be?”
That's the West countryman all over! Never say you “nay,” never lose an opportunity, never own he doesn't know, or can't do anything—independence, amiability, and an eye to the main chance. We mentioned Pearse's name.
“Capt'n Zach'ry Pearse!” They exchanged a look half-amused, half-admiring.
“The Zunflaower, yu mane. That's her. Zunflaower, ahoy!” As we mounted the steamer's black side I heard one say:
“Pied Witch! A pra-aper name that—a dandy name for her!” They laughed as they made fast.
The mate of the Sunflower, or Pied Witch, or whatever she was called, met us—a tall young fellow in his shirtsleeves, tanned to the roots of his hair, with sinewy, tattooed arms, and grey eyes, charred round the rims from staring at weather.
“The skipper is on board,” he said. “We're rather busy, as you see. Get on with that, you sea-cooks,” he bawled at two fellows who were doing nothing. All over the ship, men were hauling, splicing, and stowing cargo.
“To-day's Friday: we're off on Wednesday with any luck. Will you come this way?” He led us down the companion to a dark hole which he called the saloon. “Names? What! are you Mr. Treffry? Then we're partners!” A schoolboy's glee came on his face.